I don't understand how people decide what hashtags to use. Whenever I post a link on Twitter to one of my blog posts, the hashtag that I randomly come up with never seems to be one that pops up in the magical list of tags. For my last post about not wanting to hold babies, I typed in #babies and a list came up that had one of the top selections as #babiesareexpensive. That's a popular tag? I clearly do not have my finger on the pulse of pop culture.
Another issue I have with hashtags is the words running together, like in the expensive babies one. I was watching ESPN this morning and noticed they had a hashtag (or maybe it was an @ thingy) that said #watchespn. I read this as "watches pn." I know that's not what they meant, but that's how my brain wanted it.
There is a reason why spaces and punctuation were created. Thoughts need some space, which means words need some space. And if life is about being creative and individual, then why is it a good skill to come up with the same hashtags as everyone else? Unless you're in marketing.
I have been at events where someone will announce that everyone should use #thisthingIamtellingyou. I have never followed that suggestion. I guess that means I'm #missingoutonsomething. This may make me a hashtag idiot, but I am definitely not a #idiot.
Thursday, June 26, 2014
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
Hold the Baby
I don't want to hold your baby.
It's not that I don't like babies. I can recognize their cuteness as well as the next guy. It's just that I've never been one of those people who sees a baby and says: "Ooh! Can I hold him?"
So of course this means that babies love me. It's like cats. If a group of people enters a home containing a cat, the cat will know right away which visitor hates cats and then only want to go sit on that person's head.
People will often say that babies or animals love them as a type of brag. The theory is that babies and animals know who the "good" people are, so if these innocent creatures love you, you must be on par with Mother Teresa. This is a false conclusion. I think babies like people who don't freak them out. Think back to when you were a small child. Remember the old lady who always wanted to squish your cheeks or pick you up or give you sloppy kisses? Scary, right? Can't you just see her swooping in on you?
Now picture this. I am sitting at the gate in the airport waiting several hundreds of hours for my flight. There is a 3-year-old toddling around. Her exhausted parents are chasing after her, feeding her Cheerios, letting her suck on their iPhones. They momentarily collapse in despair. She toddles my way. The baby and I make eye contact.
What do I do? I make a face. Quick. Subtle. Not a big oogly, woogly face. Just a little raise of one eyebrow. Or maybe a sly smirk or knowing nod. No one else sees. The baby freezes in her tracks. She keeps staring at my face. Will it happen again? No. That's it. We've made a spiritual connection that leaves me free of any miniature-person body fluids and/or hair pulling. No need to hold the baby.
But now the baby is intrigued. She comes closer. She offers me her Cheerios and her parents' cellphones. Does this mean I'm a saint? Well, hmm. I didn't accept the cellphones, so there's that.
It's not that I don't like babies. I can recognize their cuteness as well as the next guy. It's just that I've never been one of those people who sees a baby and says: "Ooh! Can I hold him?"
So of course this means that babies love me. It's like cats. If a group of people enters a home containing a cat, the cat will know right away which visitor hates cats and then only want to go sit on that person's head.
People will often say that babies or animals love them as a type of brag. The theory is that babies and animals know who the "good" people are, so if these innocent creatures love you, you must be on par with Mother Teresa. This is a false conclusion. I think babies like people who don't freak them out. Think back to when you were a small child. Remember the old lady who always wanted to squish your cheeks or pick you up or give you sloppy kisses? Scary, right? Can't you just see her swooping in on you?
Now picture this. I am sitting at the gate in the airport waiting several hundreds of hours for my flight. There is a 3-year-old toddling around. Her exhausted parents are chasing after her, feeding her Cheerios, letting her suck on their iPhones. They momentarily collapse in despair. She toddles my way. The baby and I make eye contact.
What do I do? I make a face. Quick. Subtle. Not a big oogly, woogly face. Just a little raise of one eyebrow. Or maybe a sly smirk or knowing nod. No one else sees. The baby freezes in her tracks. She keeps staring at my face. Will it happen again? No. That's it. We've made a spiritual connection that leaves me free of any miniature-person body fluids and/or hair pulling. No need to hold the baby.
But now the baby is intrigued. She comes closer. She offers me her Cheerios and her parents' cellphones. Does this mean I'm a saint? Well, hmm. I didn't accept the cellphones, so there's that.
Monday, June 23, 2014
My doggie doo-doo it brilliantly
Wherein I will attempt to convince you that my dog is the most brilliant dog of all based on where she has poop accidents.
My dog only has accidents in the bathroom.
This may not impress you. You may be thinking that once a dog has an accident somewhere, she may out of habit just keep doing it there. But there's more!
In our previous house, we had three bathrooms that were in three different corners of the house. At different times over the years, we came home to find that Daisy had had accidents in each of those three bathrooms, always on the tile.
Still not impressed? Listen to this. At night, Daisy sleeps in our bedroom. We close the door, which she definitely cannot open. We also partially close the door to the bathroom, which she can push open. Our previous bedroom was carpeted. When Daisy had to have an accident in the middle of the night, she would push open the bathroom door and go in the bathroom on the tile.
Now you may be saying, maybe the dog just likes going on tile. Ha! Then listen to this. Our new house has tile everywhere. There is no carpet in the house at all. At night, we close the bedroom door as usual. Last night Daisy went into the NEW bathroom -- which has the same tile as the bedroom -- and had an accident there! Brilliant!
Clearly, Daisy understands what a bathroom is for. Now would someone please invent a doggie toilet? Then we'd be all set.
My dog only has accidents in the bathroom.
This may not impress you. You may be thinking that once a dog has an accident somewhere, she may out of habit just keep doing it there. But there's more!
In our previous house, we had three bathrooms that were in three different corners of the house. At different times over the years, we came home to find that Daisy had had accidents in each of those three bathrooms, always on the tile.
Still not impressed? Listen to this. At night, Daisy sleeps in our bedroom. We close the door, which she definitely cannot open. We also partially close the door to the bathroom, which she can push open. Our previous bedroom was carpeted. When Daisy had to have an accident in the middle of the night, she would push open the bathroom door and go in the bathroom on the tile.
Now you may be saying, maybe the dog just likes going on tile. Ha! Then listen to this. Our new house has tile everywhere. There is no carpet in the house at all. At night, we close the bedroom door as usual. Last night Daisy went into the NEW bathroom -- which has the same tile as the bedroom -- and had an accident there! Brilliant!
Clearly, Daisy understands what a bathroom is for. Now would someone please invent a doggie toilet? Then we'd be all set.
Friday, June 20, 2014
Parade of the Workmen
Yesterday my closet door fell on me. But, huzzah! I gracefully caught it, and then yelled for Ricky to come take it from me as I was slowly sinking under its weight.
We've been in our new house for three weeks now. (Yay!) No more extended-stay motel. (Yay!) We have our own beds. We have our own stuff. (Yay and ahhh.) The cockapoo is no longer confused, and she has reclaimed her favorite chairs and couches and pillows into which she curls up. (Woof!)
The only thing now standing between us and our suburban serenity is the repairs. There is nothing majorly wrong with the house, but every little thing is a little off. Or missing. Or needs a little love, as they say on HGTV. One of the most important first purchases was the spools for the toilet paper holders. And that, folks, is the extent to which Ricky and I know how to repair anything.
So there has been a parade: appliance delivery and installation, pressure cleaning and painting, tree trimming, cable/phone/Internet installation, alarm setup, caulking, exterminating, minor roof fixing. Each of these tasks has been done by a different person or set of people. It has been three weeks of color swatches, toilet kits, door knobs, and light bulbs.
But it is home.
We've been in our new house for three weeks now. (Yay!) No more extended-stay motel. (Yay!) We have our own beds. We have our own stuff. (Yay and ahhh.) The cockapoo is no longer confused, and she has reclaimed her favorite chairs and couches and pillows into which she curls up. (Woof!)
The only thing now standing between us and our suburban serenity is the repairs. There is nothing majorly wrong with the house, but every little thing is a little off. Or missing. Or needs a little love, as they say on HGTV. One of the most important first purchases was the spools for the toilet paper holders. And that, folks, is the extent to which Ricky and I know how to repair anything.
So there has been a parade: appliance delivery and installation, pressure cleaning and painting, tree trimming, cable/phone/Internet installation, alarm setup, caulking, exterminating, minor roof fixing. Each of these tasks has been done by a different person or set of people. It has been three weeks of color swatches, toilet kits, door knobs, and light bulbs.
But it is home.
Saturday, June 14, 2014
Warning: Cuban food required after this movie
We went to see "Chef" before dinner. Okay, maybe now it seems an obvious tactical error. Food preparation has never been my thing, so I thought I'd be immune, but, alas, I am not immune to seeing delicious food prepared over and over again when I haven't had dinner yet. Ricky and I walked out of the theater ravenous and headed directly to a nearby Peruvian restaurant that also serves Cuban food. Evening saved!
"Chef" is one of those little movies. I don't know much about being a movie star, but I've read a lot about how actors get tired of making big-ticket action/drama/romance/commercial films and like to take a break periodically to do something more artsy, something smaller. "Chef" apparently fit that criteria for Scarlett Johansson, Dustin Hoffman, Sofia Vergara, John Leguizamo, Bobby Cannavale, Oliver Platt, Robert Downey, Jr., Amy Sedaris and Jon Favreau, the film's lead.
Are you a Food Network junkie? Do you like movies with big stars? Do you like sentimentality? Romance? Parent/child/divorce/family issues? Personal quests? Social media? Road trips? Buddy films? A happy ending? There's an awful lot stuffed into this little movie, not the least of which is a Miami-born Cuban sandwich that sent us directly to dinner after the closing credits.
If you're looking for explosions and/or sex scenes, this is not the movie you want. But if you're looking for a more updated menu, try "Chef."
"Chef" is one of those little movies. I don't know much about being a movie star, but I've read a lot about how actors get tired of making big-ticket action/drama/romance/commercial films and like to take a break periodically to do something more artsy, something smaller. "Chef" apparently fit that criteria for Scarlett Johansson, Dustin Hoffman, Sofia Vergara, John Leguizamo, Bobby Cannavale, Oliver Platt, Robert Downey, Jr., Amy Sedaris and Jon Favreau, the film's lead.
Are you a Food Network junkie? Do you like movies with big stars? Do you like sentimentality? Romance? Parent/child/divorce/family issues? Personal quests? Social media? Road trips? Buddy films? A happy ending? There's an awful lot stuffed into this little movie, not the least of which is a Miami-born Cuban sandwich that sent us directly to dinner after the closing credits.
If you're looking for explosions and/or sex scenes, this is not the movie you want. But if you're looking for a more updated menu, try "Chef."
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