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.

Fauxmance

What exactly is a fauxmance?  Is it a new animal?  A different kind of fur coat?  Is it like faux pearls - not really pearls, but kind of?  An immitation of whatever a mance is?  To me a mance is the place where a minister and his family live, so does this make it a fake house?  No.  Not really.  It's just jouralist's newest craze, mushing words together because they can't be bothered to write things out in full.  Apparently, a fauxmance is a fake romance.  Huh?  Say what?  I can hear it now, "You're dumping me because this was really a fauxmance?!"  There should be some kind of rules around about fake romances.  You know, like faux pearls, you know it's not real but it sure looks like it.  Which brings me back to mushing words together.  The classic is of course mushing names of two people together.  We've all heard about Bennifer and Brangelina so let's see what else we can come up with.  What if we mushed together President Obama's name with his wife's.  You'd have Barachelle.  Hmmm.  Not bad.  Maybe if we "merged" more things we'd have a whole new language.  For example, when a student hands in an essay that isn't their's you could call it a fauxssay.  Then of course we'd have to create classes in school to help students and others understand what people are saying.  Not to mention that texting would be just that much faster and simpler, especially for old folks like me who spend time spelling out words on our SMS's because we can't bring ourselves to "textspeak".  This of course leads to the concept of textspeak, which might be fine on a cell phone, but not so great when a person is actually talking to someone, or actually has to write a report for something.  I somehow can't imagine CEO's of major corporations impressing their investors with a year end report that is made up entirely of textspeak or mushwords.  Then again, maybe they already do that and I'm just really behind the times. Didn't Huxley already write about this? Speaking of time, the month is finally almost over.  Last day of February.  Hmmm.  Labruary ....  Never mind.  Until next time.

George Clooney's Villa

is apparently not for sale.  Dang!  Here I thought I'd have enough money saved that I could actually afford to own - one of the paving stones.  Blew it again.  Ah well.  I'm sure Mr. Clooney needs the villa far more than I need the paving stone.  Besides, it would only add to the weight I have to haul to wherever I go to next.  So I guess I'll leave the stone where it is.  Though it might be an interesting topic of conversation with Customs.  I can hear it now.  Custom officer:  Do you have anything to declare?  Me:  Yes.  I'm importing a paving stone from George Clooney's Villa.  Custom officer:  Is it one of the banned plant or animal materials?  Me:  No.  Custome Officer:  Is it sharp?  Me:  No, it's rock.  Custom Officer:  Is it a liquid?  Me:  No.  It's a stone.  A very heavy stone.  Custom Officer:  What is the purpose of this stone?  Me:  Uhhh.  To help pave a driveway maybe?  Custom Officer:  I see - .  At this point in time he or she would either confiscate the said stone, or pass me on through figuring it would take way too much time and energy to investigate further.  The next question is, of course,  what could I DO with the stone?  It is only one, can't use it to pave anything.  Won't work as a garden decoration (after all who would actually SEE the stone in the dirt or grass? or under a very large pile of snow?).  It might make an interesting coffeetable decoration and discussion focal point, but then I wouldn't have had to import it.  I could just go to any old construction site and get a paving stone from there.  It would have the same impact.  But then it wouldn't be George's stone.  On the plus side it would be better than trying to move the entire villa.  Wait.  What am I saying?  George's villa is in Italy.  Why on earth would I want to move a villa from Italy to some other part of the world, when I could be in Italy?  Perhaps it's best if Mr. Clooney keeps his villa after all.  I'm not sure I could handle the responsibility.  Until next time.

Actor doesn't expect Oscar

The headline read Canadian actor doesn't expect Oscar.  To do what?  Who is Oscar?  What is he supposed to do or not do and why doesn't this person expect him?  Was it an invitation gone bad?  You know, I phoned you, you called me and our answering machines got together to do lunch.  Or maybe Oscar was supposed to deliver something to the the actor, like a really good script for a change, and it didn't happen.  Or possibly Oscar was supposed to show up for a grand opening at some event and didn't, or the actor in question doesn't expect he will.  Or maybe the actor and Oscar had a date and it was way past the time Oscar was supposed to show up, and so now the actor has been stood up and is simply stating a fact.  I don't know.  I just wish whoever Oscar is, that he will apologize to the actor for not being there, and I hope the actor really didn't expect this flaky person, Oscar, to do what he said he would.  Otherwise this actor will be continuously disappointed in Oscar. 
Ohhhhhh.  Never mind.  I figured it out.  Oscar isn't a person.  It's that silly gold coloured door stop that actors hope they'll win, but rarely do - kind of like a lottery for the film community.  You know.  All the fanfair and foofarah, spinning the big wheel and the winner is ... not you.  Or you.  Or even you.  Dang!  I knew I should have bought that other ticket.  Sigh.  Oh well.  There's always next year.  (Now I REALLY wish people wouldn't use sentence fragments for their headlines.  It just confuses me.)

Canadian Giant in hot water with U.S.

I don't know about you, but this conjures up sooo many images in my mind that I have to stop and go someplace else to do something else.  Just imagine it.  A giant canadian in the Paul Bunyionish mode.  Is this giant male or female?  Where does it live?  What does it eat?  Does it have giant lumberjack clothes?  Just imagine the groceries it could buy with it's giant underpants (see fill your panties if you're not sure about this).  So why would this giant be in hot water with the U.S.?  Who invited who?  Where is this hot water?  How hot is hot?  Is it in a tub or a jaccusie?  Are they sitting around having many cups of bush tea and discussing the weather or debating climate change and what it will mean to their lives?  How about what they are wearing in the hot water.  Are they wearing the latest in swimsuit fashion, or sticking with their old, more than slightly worn, models?  What colour are the swimsuits they are in?  Are they wearing basic black that goes with everything?  You know, like the little black dress, you can wear it plain or you can put a string of pearls on and go out to a high end restaurant.  Or are they in something much more daring like plaid or stripes and is the pattern figure flattering or just plane tackie?  How would we know?  Will the paparazzi take many pictures of this or will security fend them off so this pair can have some quality time alone?  This inquiring mind  isn't sure it wants to know, but hey, somebody might.  Until next time.