What do all the items in this title have in common? They are all random thoughts generated by my brain. Here we go:
1. Can giant goldfish live in the canals in South Florida? Because I'm pretty sure I saw one the other day.
2. I recently found out it is possible to print photos from Facebook at CVS by logging into your account right there in the store. Convenient yet oddly unsettling.
3. We had the trees trimmed, which really upset the Evil Squirrel and Eviler Mockingbird. But somehow the nut tree is dropping nuts all over the driveway again. How many times per year will it do this?
4. I have discovered that I am highly skilled at sorting through an elderly person's medical insurance printouts and putting them into logical piles.
5. You can put any kind of comforter you want into a duvet cover. It doesn't just have to be one of those white down comforters.
6. I will do anything my dog wants if she sits and stares at me.
7. Ricky and I ran an errand together by going to Sears to buy more vacuum cleaner bags. Somehow this seemed romantic, because we wanted to go together to do it.
8. I now only view/rate clothes and shoes by how comfortable they are. Only.
9. The toilet paper holder Ricky and I fixed is so loose that it swirls around in circles like clock hands. Sigh.
10. At the Veterans Day parade in NEW YORK I saw people wearing shirts that said Wounded Warrior Project. I looked it up on the Internet. A week later I got mail in FLORIDA from that organization. Should I find this creepy?
11. It kind of freaks me out when the full moon is brighter than the streetlight.
12. If you use the phrase "think outside the box," you are actually not thinking outside the box.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Sleep Denier
Let me state unequivocally that I love to nap. No...more than that. I adore napping. Napping is bliss. Just a little snooze can do so much for a gal's disposition. I actually adore sleeping in general, and I am very grumpy if I get less than eight hours a night, but actually prefer nine.Yes, that's a thing! Some people like nine hours of sleep a night, okay?
My husband, on the other hand, is a sleep denier. I do not mean that he denies others the opportunity to sleep. And I do not mean that he keeps himself from sleeping. I mean that he denies it when he has been sleeping, as if there is some sort of stigma attached to it.
We'll be watching "The Daily Show" on the DVR when I'll notice a slight rumbling/snoring sound emanating from the other side of the bed. Ricky will be dozing with the remote control clutched tightly in his hand. As the show goes to a commercial, at which time fast forwarding would be appropriate, I look over at the snoring Ricky and wait for a moment. I do not do this out of consideration; I do this to have evidence. After a half a minute or so, I will wake him.
"Ricky!"
This startles him awake, and his first reaction is to make sure he is still clutching the remote. Once he is relieved to find it still there, he will begin fast forwarding through the commercials.
Me: "You were sleeping."
Ricky: "No I wasn't."
Me: "Yes you were."
Ricky: "No I wasn't."
Me: "You were snoring."
Ricky: "I know. I could hear myself snoring. That's how I know I wasn't sleeping."
(Do you see what I have to contend with here? This is why I needed to accumulate evidence.)
Me: "So why didn't you fast forward through the commercials right away?"
Ricky: "I did."
Me: "No you didn't."
Now just to pull this all back for a minute: Keep in mind that I am not accusing him of doing anything wrong! I am merely stating the fact that he had been sleeping. Why does he need to deny this? I ask him this.
Me: "Why are you denying sleeping? There's nothing wrong with sleeping."
Ricky: (No response.)
Me: "Ricky?"
Ricky: (Snore.)
My husband, on the other hand, is a sleep denier. I do not mean that he denies others the opportunity to sleep. And I do not mean that he keeps himself from sleeping. I mean that he denies it when he has been sleeping, as if there is some sort of stigma attached to it.
We'll be watching "The Daily Show" on the DVR when I'll notice a slight rumbling/snoring sound emanating from the other side of the bed. Ricky will be dozing with the remote control clutched tightly in his hand. As the show goes to a commercial, at which time fast forwarding would be appropriate, I look over at the snoring Ricky and wait for a moment. I do not do this out of consideration; I do this to have evidence. After a half a minute or so, I will wake him.
"Ricky!"
This startles him awake, and his first reaction is to make sure he is still clutching the remote. Once he is relieved to find it still there, he will begin fast forwarding through the commercials.
Me: "You were sleeping."
Ricky: "No I wasn't."
Me: "Yes you were."
Ricky: "No I wasn't."
Me: "You were snoring."
Ricky: "I know. I could hear myself snoring. That's how I know I wasn't sleeping."
(Do you see what I have to contend with here? This is why I needed to accumulate evidence.)
Me: "So why didn't you fast forward through the commercials right away?"
Ricky: "I did."
Me: "No you didn't."
Now just to pull this all back for a minute: Keep in mind that I am not accusing him of doing anything wrong! I am merely stating the fact that he had been sleeping. Why does he need to deny this? I ask him this.
Me: "Why are you denying sleeping? There's nothing wrong with sleeping."
Ricky: (No response.)
Me: "Ricky?"
Ricky: (Snore.)
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Group Psychosis in the NFL
You know it's bad when the people who keep talking in an attempt to make it better only keep making it worse. This is how I feel every time I hear yet another experienced member of football culture explain to those of us uninitiated, weak, know-nothing, sadly clueless outsiders how incredibly normal it is to abuse teammates.
"Yeah, we chop each other's arms off with a hatchet all the time, but it isn't done maliciously!"
I just finished reading -- in "New York" magazine of all places -- an article by former Denver Bronco Nate Jackson. He talks about being hazed and being a hazer, listing many of the crazy behaviors that have been reported lately relating to the Dolphins, Richie Incognito and Jonathan Martin. It's all one big N-word festival filled with equipment-toting, check-paying rookies who need to be tough, because, you know, you have to be able to count on them in the fourth quarter. Jackson implies that there is some sort of correlation between being able to hold the line on third-down-and-one and giving up your place under the shower when you're soapy.
His article lists a wide array of activities that are part of an unwritten code that surely was created by a bunch of depraved middle schoolers. It's a warped view of manhood, a warped view of camaraderie, a warped view of what it means to be loyal. But Jackson argues that fans can't expect players to be animals on the field and then shut that off in the rest of their lives. Well, perhaps he's right on that one. It's become apparent that the players are so entrenched in this group psychosis that they don't even realize how crazy they sound when they are defending it.
But what about the sports writers? Where have they been all this time? They're not supposed to be writing as fanboys; they're supposed to be reporters. None of the sideline specialists or locker room insiders knew about these behaviors? I find that a little hard to believe. Maybe someone needs to straighten them out, toughen them up, show them how real reporters do it. I'm sure if someone would just tie them up and shave their heads, that would make them much more reliable.
"Yeah, we chop each other's arms off with a hatchet all the time, but it isn't done maliciously!"
I just finished reading -- in "New York" magazine of all places -- an article by former Denver Bronco Nate Jackson. He talks about being hazed and being a hazer, listing many of the crazy behaviors that have been reported lately relating to the Dolphins, Richie Incognito and Jonathan Martin. It's all one big N-word festival filled with equipment-toting, check-paying rookies who need to be tough, because, you know, you have to be able to count on them in the fourth quarter. Jackson implies that there is some sort of correlation between being able to hold the line on third-down-and-one and giving up your place under the shower when you're soapy.
His article lists a wide array of activities that are part of an unwritten code that surely was created by a bunch of depraved middle schoolers. It's a warped view of manhood, a warped view of camaraderie, a warped view of what it means to be loyal. But Jackson argues that fans can't expect players to be animals on the field and then shut that off in the rest of their lives. Well, perhaps he's right on that one. It's become apparent that the players are so entrenched in this group psychosis that they don't even realize how crazy they sound when they are defending it.
But what about the sports writers? Where have they been all this time? They're not supposed to be writing as fanboys; they're supposed to be reporters. None of the sideline specialists or locker room insiders knew about these behaviors? I find that a little hard to believe. Maybe someone needs to straighten them out, toughen them up, show them how real reporters do it. I'm sure if someone would just tie them up and shave their heads, that would make them much more reliable.
Sunday, November 3, 2013
Man vs. Toilet Paper Holder
The toilet paper holder broke. Oh, no! This is a reason for widespread panic in the Weiss household. We cannot fix anything, no matter how minor, and reattaching a toilet paper holder to the side of a cabinet seemed like a very advanced procedure. It requires making holes, permanent holes, into a permanently installed structure in the bathroom.
It also requires going to Home Depot with its aisles and aisles full of parts that need to be assembled and tools that are used for that assembling. Parts and tools all separated and spread around the cavernous store. Many of these parts look exactly the same and go by names that are nothing more than measurements. There are nails and screws and pieces of wood and plastic.
How have Ricky and I survived this long without knowing how to fix anything? By our wits, that's how. And hiring people. Yes, that's a good strategy, too.
But sometimes it's just too ridiculous to hire someone, like when you need to attach a toilet paper holder to the side of a cabinet.
"Why don't we just get one of those toilet paper holders that stands on the floor?" Ricky said.
"No!" I said. "That's giving up!"
We headed to Home Depot and took the broken toilet paper holder with us. We have found this to be a good technique in the past. Rather than trying to explain what we need, we can just hold the item up and point at it until a nice man in an orange apron walks us to the correct area of the store. Then the nice man will say words like: butterfly nuts, paint thinner, rubber mallet, two-by-four, drill bit, and hemi. No, wait, I think that last one was a car word. Anyway, we will just nod a lot and then buy whatever the man touches while talking.
This time, we bought a new toilet paper holder that looked exactly like the old one, and we were able to install it with minimal hysteria. Success! And it only wiggles slightly.
It also requires going to Home Depot with its aisles and aisles full of parts that need to be assembled and tools that are used for that assembling. Parts and tools all separated and spread around the cavernous store. Many of these parts look exactly the same and go by names that are nothing more than measurements. There are nails and screws and pieces of wood and plastic.
How have Ricky and I survived this long without knowing how to fix anything? By our wits, that's how. And hiring people. Yes, that's a good strategy, too.
But sometimes it's just too ridiculous to hire someone, like when you need to attach a toilet paper holder to the side of a cabinet.
"Why don't we just get one of those toilet paper holders that stands on the floor?" Ricky said.
"No!" I said. "That's giving up!"
We headed to Home Depot and took the broken toilet paper holder with us. We have found this to be a good technique in the past. Rather than trying to explain what we need, we can just hold the item up and point at it until a nice man in an orange apron walks us to the correct area of the store. Then the nice man will say words like: butterfly nuts, paint thinner, rubber mallet, two-by-four, drill bit, and hemi. No, wait, I think that last one was a car word. Anyway, we will just nod a lot and then buy whatever the man touches while talking.
This time, we bought a new toilet paper holder that looked exactly like the old one, and we were able to install it with minimal hysteria. Success! And it only wiggles slightly.
Death and the Genius
When I read The Last Lecture, the bestselling book containing the uplifting final words of computer scientist Randy Pausch who died of pancreatic cancer, this was my reaction: How ironic it is that a man who was brilliant in scientific thinking spent his life and impressive brainpower creating games instead of going into the medical field where he may have been able to discover a cure for the incurable disease that killed him.
I thought about this book again recently when I read an article about the computer game industry and the hours and hours of manpower spent trying to satisfy the ever-more-demanding denizens of the gaming world who are relentless in their quest for the most realistic explosions and depictions of blood-spurting dismemberment as they murder their way through their leisure time. In the name of entertainment arts, or I should say, Electronic Arts (because that is one of the companies for which Pausch worked), people who can write advanced code are creating fantasy lands of killing instead of trying to heal the world.
Earlier this week, I quickly glimpsed on the front page of my local newspaper a picture of a hand touching a computer screen. My first thought was that the article must be about the measures being taken to fix the healthcare website, but then I realized the computer screen in the photo had a felt green background and a smattering of playing cards. The story was about Internet gambling games that are appearing in casinos. Of course!
Let us direct the true geniuses among us toward the great halls of learning about tech fun. Let them create for us screens we can tap for entertainment, especially the kind of entertainment that panders to our most violent selves. Have them figure out a way for us to wear our computers on our faces or talk to our TVs so we don't even have to lift a finger, literally.
But this is a reality I don't like. If only I could design a game...
I thought about this book again recently when I read an article about the computer game industry and the hours and hours of manpower spent trying to satisfy the ever-more-demanding denizens of the gaming world who are relentless in their quest for the most realistic explosions and depictions of blood-spurting dismemberment as they murder their way through their leisure time. In the name of entertainment arts, or I should say, Electronic Arts (because that is one of the companies for which Pausch worked), people who can write advanced code are creating fantasy lands of killing instead of trying to heal the world.
Earlier this week, I quickly glimpsed on the front page of my local newspaper a picture of a hand touching a computer screen. My first thought was that the article must be about the measures being taken to fix the healthcare website, but then I realized the computer screen in the photo had a felt green background and a smattering of playing cards. The story was about Internet gambling games that are appearing in casinos. Of course!
Let us direct the true geniuses among us toward the great halls of learning about tech fun. Let them create for us screens we can tap for entertainment, especially the kind of entertainment that panders to our most violent selves. Have them figure out a way for us to wear our computers on our faces or talk to our TVs so we don't even have to lift a finger, literally.
But this is a reality I don't like. If only I could design a game...
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