Ding Ding

Today/yesterday (past-present thingie again) is/was international women's day.  One day a year where women are "celebrated" for doing things great and small.  Funny how that works.  Yesterday (for me) my great thing for women's day was to have round four of THE ROOT CANAL done.  This time the dentist did the final filling of my tooth.  I think she (yes she) said she was filling it with rubber - but I could be wrong.  I'm never quite sure if what I think I hear and what she actually says mean the same thing.  It's that whole language thing again.  Misinterpretation can lead to either a lot of laughter or some major misunderstandings between people - even when they are supposed to be speaking the same language.  At least, I think we are speaking the same language...  Yes, I definitely recognized a number of the words that person said, so it must be english.  I have encountered people in places that are supposedly english speaking and I have absolutely no clue what it is they have said.  I find myself asking them two or three times to repeat what they've said in order to understand or at least get the gist of what the conversation/question is supposed to be about.  Now I know, you will say that I'm just getting old and my hearing is going - which is, I suppose, a possibility.  We do all lose things as we age.  You know.  You lose your keys, your wallet, your cell phone, your hearing, your mind - but not necessarily in that order.  I know of one woman who lost four cell phone in less than a month, and she's half my age, so not certain the age thing is a valid argument, but there it is.  A handy excuse, and I'll use it more and more often just because I can.  As for international women's day, I celebrated it with some fairly good, mixed company - laughs, discussions, comparison of travel experiences and just a really good way to relax after a trip to the dentist.  Happy women's day, ladies. Until next time.

Support

My sister sent me an email that got me thinking about support.  Support can take a variety of forms.  You can support your local team or organization, support your friends in time of need, and support a shelf with extra nails or brackets.  There are support hose that supposedly keep your legs and feet from swelling, or getting varicous veins.  There are bras that promise support, but in  the end let you down, because let's face it, no matter how much elastic, cotton, or underwiring there is, gravity will have its way every time.  The same goes for those plastic casings women used to be expected to wear called girdles.  I don't know about you, but I am eternally grateful to the person who created pantihose so we no longer had to wear all that spandex and lycra to hold in and "smooth out" our body contours.  That man could invent such torture for women and expect them to be thrilled about it is really pretty bizarre, but then the fashion industry has always been that way.  Just look at the bustle and the very tight bustiers of days gone past.  There are, of course, other types of support.  Braces on men's pants to keep them up, as well as belts (very handy those).  Personally I think a good belt is a handy thing for both men and women. It holds your pants up, can be a fashion statement, and can (if it's wide enough) cover some fashion faux pas.  If only my male students could bring themselves to wear one on their shorts or pants, then we wouldn't have to keep reminding them to pull up their pants because their underwear is showing.  Which of course brings me to guys and their lack of fashion sense.  I told one of my students to get a belt because if his pants fell any lower they'd end up around his ankles and this wouldn't be so great, especially if there was an emergency and he had to make a run for it.  He'd either trip and fall or end up leaving his pants behind.  Not sure the girls would be thrilled about seeing some guy running around in his undies, but there you go.  Things change all the time.  Speaking of change, I guess I should get ready for the day.  Until next time.

Olympian's wild magazine shoot

So here's the question:  Why would an Olympian shoot a wild magazine?  What kind of magazine did he/she hunt down?  Does he/she have all the wild magazines he/she has ever shot mounted on his/her wall at home as trophies of a successful shoot?  What did he/she shoot the magazine with?  Are we talking camera or rifle?  Is this olympian a biathlete?  Given that it was the winter olympics, one can only suppose it was someone handy with a rifle, unless it was a camera, then the question should be what kind of camera did he/she use?  Where did the shoot take place?  Was it the interior of B.C. where wild things are known to live (not to be confused with the children's book "Where the Wild Things Are" - though even that might be possible) or exterior B.C. (after all if there is an interior there must also be an exterior).  Was the magazine big game like Time or Fortune 500 or a smaller magazine, much harder to hunt, but a much more valuable trophy?  Why go after a wild magazine when he/she could have shot a tame one.  After all, it's known in hunting circles that to shoot a "tame" animal is easier than to hunt down and shoot a wild one.  Was it the adrenaline rush of the hunt?  Was it the off chance that he/she would come away empty handed that promted this shoot?  How many paparazzi were attached to this wild magazine and were any of them shot at the same time (yes I'm sure there are many celebs out there who wish this would actually happen, and many paparazzi who hope it never does)?  Did he/she brag about his/her wild magazine shoot and where?  Is it on facebook?  My Space?  Maybe he/she twittered about it (sorry I keep thinking about birds when I write about the social space - just me, not to worry).  The question then is, who cares and why is it important enough for a headline?  No idea.  Until next time.

Wear clothes

Before I left work for the day I was talking with our librarian.  She's quite a lot of fun and we laugh a lot, which is a good thing.  This is book week and all week long she has set up events for students and staff to participate in.  Tomorrow is a "dress as your favourite character in a book" day.  I think she meant to say wear a costume, but that's not how it came out. Instead she said to wear clothes.  I told her that wearing clothes would be a really good idea and that it would be a pretty frightening thing if I came to work without any on.  It's interesting how language can have so many implications.  Her simple statement "wear clothes" has all sorts of things tied to it.  Like, do I not usually wear clothes?  I think I do.  Yes.  I'm certain I do.  Well, ok.  Not in the shower, but generally speaking pretty much all the time.  It could be a command - wear clothes, with the implication that I will sometimes, or often wear something that isn't quite clothing, like a bathrobe, or a bathing suit, or a gunny sack maybe. Maybe she meant instead of a black plastic garbage bag (not that I've ever worn either a gunny sack or a black plastic bag - but you get the picture).  I'll never really know.  We did have a really good laugh, though. One of my students asked the other day where all the words from English come from (I was insisting they do vocabulary, thus the question) and I told him English is a language of borrowing.  We borrowed a little Anglo Saxon, added some French, tossed in little German, some Spanish, and spiced it up with a little Arabic, Chinese and Hindi, stirred it all together and voila!  English.  It's handy.  This way we have lots of words to describe things.  Take flag for instance.  It could mean a marker planted in the ground to indicate a place of importance (like a buried power line that you really don't want to accidentally dig up), or a piece of cloth on the end of a tall pole, usually belonging to a country, state/province or territory.  It can also mean to run out of steam.  Given the way many governments in many countries go, maybe the idea of things flagging isn't so far from the actual flag.  You know, droopy, lacking colour after so many encounters with hot air, cold reality, and the inability to stir on too many occasions.  Words are such fun, but do wear cothes.  Until next time.

Round 3

ding, ding!  Went for the third it what is now becoming a serial (as opposed to cereal) session with the dentist.  I'm beginning to feel more like a construction site than a person with a tooth problem.  Is this how it feels when pavement is being jackhammered into oblivion, or the ground when the diggers and trucks have a go before something new is built?  If so, I'll pass.  However, once it's done.  It's done.  Forever.  And will last way longer than I probably will, but that's ok.  By then no one will care, especially not me.  I wonder though if this qualifies for a flight on the RCMP plane.  You know.  The one that flies social events around. Hmmm.  Social events huh?  Like a Bud beer party social event, or is the event more of a Paris Hilton variety?  How about a Brangelina event (and given the fact they are trying to have their own soccer team it really would be an event).  Can you imagine the Mounties doing diaper duty?  Not to sound like I'm putting down those Mounties who do do diaper duty - at home, but somehow a dirty diaper just clashes with red serge.  Perhaps the social event is more black tie.  Like a social evening for the very rich and famous (of which I'm neither, but I can still hold out hope).  Which reminds me.  While these social events are going on in the plane, what exactly are the Mounties doing?  Are they acting the role of host/ess?  Do they serve - whatever is being served?  Are they on guard duty (and why would you need mounties on guard when the whole plane belongs to them?)?  Maybe the social event is  for the mounties.  In which case, who would be serving them?  How long are they in the plane for and where does it land once the social event is over?  If having a root canal can qualify, how many guests would I be limited to inviting and how long a flight would I be entitled to?  Just a little something to chew on, since I can't chew using the root canal side of my mouth. Until next time, when hopefully we'll be little closer to gaining the crown.

Curdling

No, I have not spelled curling wrong (though that is a distinct possibility).  I'm talking about the thing that happens when you put what you think is fresh milk, or cream, or non-powdered whitener of choice into coffee, tea or whatever hot beverage you are about to drink, only to have it go all gross.  You know.  Stringy, lumpy, gross you out.  The flavour isn't so great either, and there is no way to salvage the beverage.  It has to be tossed and a new cup (after you've rinsed out the grotty stuff) poured.  Then the container of offending stuff has to be tossed as well, which is kind of a nuisance and can be expensive, especially if you just bought the milk/cream/whitener and had checked that the expiry date hadn't passed.  Of course the stores might let you bring it back, assuming you've kept the bill with the date/time stamp on it and said store might replace it, but don't hold your breath on that one.  To top it all off - no pun intended, but there it is - you don't have any milk/cream left to put into your second cup of whatever, or on your cereal, or wherever you put your milk/cream until you go back to the store to buy another box/jug/plastic bag of the stuff.  Fortunately, today I had milk that was still fresh to put into my second cup of coffee.  That doesn't always happen, so I consider myself lucky.  On the other hand, I really only got to have one good cup of coffee today, so will have to wait now until I get to work to have another cup.  All I can hope is that the milk at work doesn't curdle as well.  Which reminds me.  Why do people say someone let out a blood curdling yell?  How do they know if someone's blood actually curdled?  Was this person a vampire and ticked because his/her favourite beverage was spoiled?  How would one know?  Why would anyone (well except for said vampire) care?  Just a little something to chew on - so to speak.  Until next time.

Could you be sleeping

too much?  I don't know.  How much is too much?  Who decides?  How old are you if you are sleeping too much?  Babies sleep a lot. Is that too much?  So do teenagers, and really old people.  Ok, maybe not so really old people.  I find myself dozing off on the couch the same way my mom does.  We make a great couple when I'm home for a visit.  She's in her chair, I'm on the couch, we're watching something on tv and the next thing you know we're both in lala land.  Happens every time.  Though, sometimes she drifts off to sleep in the middle of a conversation.  Or I do.  Or we both do.  No idea why.  It just seems to happen.  Good thing neither of us care and aren't trying to hold a conversation about the state of the world or anything exciting.  On the other hand, I can distinctly remember my self and my sons as teenagers (not at the same time of course) needing way more sleep than we were getting.  That had to do with the whole morphing thingie that teenagers go through.  How else can you explain how they have no energy to get out of bed in the morning for school, takes at least the first two classes to be fully alert, but have lots of energy to party hard all weekend long.  So again.  How much is too  much sleep?  Is eight hours enough and who decided that eight was the magic number.  What if your body really needs nine or ten hours to function and warp speed?  What if you thrive on six or seven with lots of catnaps (and cats nap a lot - I know - I've watched them).  Speaking of cats and naps, have you noticed that when there is a cat around, both you and it end up drifting off to sleep?  Kind of like the whole thing with my mom and I.  Never fails and doesn't work quite the same with a dog.  Dogs snooze, then make you take them for a walk when they wake up.  Cat's just - sleep.  Not for long stretches of time usually, but they do sleep.  I figure if it's good enough for them, it must be good enough for me.  So on that note, I think I'll go have a nap.  There has to be something on TV that will put me to sleep in a hurry. Until next time.