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Wit Love, Kath

~ My love letters about the funny side of life

Wit Love, Kath

Category Archives: Travel

A Companion for the Doctor – Who?

19 Saturday Sep 2015

Posted by Kath Carroll in Celebrity, Geekery, Humor, Pop Culture, Television, Travel

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BBC, Chewbacca, Dalek, Doctor Who, Doctor Who companion, Donald Trump, Frozen, humor, Jenna Coleman, Olaf, Star Wars

Yesterday it was announced that Jenna Coleman is leaving Doctor Who. Jenna has been the Doctor’s steady companion, Clara, through his regeneration from Matt Smith to Peter Capaldi, from young to old, from eccentric to grumpy. In her normal life when she not traveling in the TARDIS, Clara has been a nanny, a school teacher, a girlfriend to Danny Pink, and a friend to many. But now Jenna’s off to play Queen Victoria in a eight-part drama series.

Jenna’s absence will leave a much coveted hole in the show’s cast. Who will be the next companion?? Below are five top contenders the producers and director should consider:

Chewbacca – Since his stunning self portrayal in the Star Wars epic series, Chewie has languished in Hollywood, receiving neither the respect nor the recognition he so justly deserves. The emotion he wrung out of unforgettable lines like brrwhhhaargh and grrrwaaaaaarggggh (Such joy! Such angst!), should long ago have placed him in the pantheon of Greats. Instead, he spends his off-grooming time traveling from ComicCon to ComicCon, selling himself for photo ops. And while Chewbacca will make a reappearance in The Force Awakens, isn’t it time he claim a more prominent role? Chewbacca is uniquely positioned to become the new companion. He has experience as Hans Solo’s sidekick, and  his “bigger on the outside” persona offers a nice counterpoint to the TARDIS’s “bigger on the inside” dimensions.

Con: shedding all over the Tardis

Olaf – What has become of Olaf? Sure his image graces waffle makers, sippy cups, toothbrushes, lunchboxes, beach towels, slippers, ice skates, T-shirts, costumes, backpacks, cereal, mugs, pretzels, phone cases…, but is the cutthroat world of retail really suited to such a sensitive, optimistic snowman? To package Olaf is  to melt him–and no one puts Olaf on a shelf. Olaf is a risk-taker! Olaf is ready to die for love! If these are not the qualities of a good companion, I don’t know what are. Rescue Olaf from the inhumanity of consumerism and cast him as the Doctor’s next companion.

Con: leaving puddles in the TARDIS.

Robby the Robot – A contemporary of both the first Doctor, William Hartnell, and the second, Patrick Troughton, Robby rolled on the scene in 1965 in TV’s Lost in Space. Despite his rather intimidating description as a Class M-3 Model B9 General Utility Non-Theorizing Environmental Control Robot, Robby is surprisingly human, poignantly capable of humor, melancholy, sarcasm, guitar playing, and singing. Keenly perceptive, Robby would be invaluable to alert the Doctor to peril with his flailing arms and warning words: “Danger! Danger! Will Robinson” (At last, the Doctor’s name is revealed!!). Other favorable traits include his familiarity with space travel, his prior experience working with doctors (Dr. John Robinson, Dr. Maureen Robinson) and his knack for thwarting a fierce nemesis (Dr. Zachary Smith).

Con: The singing? It wasn’t so hot.

Donald Trump – Because he has otherworldly hair, and there is apparently a law that every list, article, or show must include him.

Con: too many to mention.

A Dalek – In a world torn apart by strife, let’s restore hope by healing the rift between Time Lord and Dalek. Only by working together can these two mortal (immortal?) enemies bring peace to the universe (and if they could EX-TER-MIN-ATE ISIS in the process, so much the better).

Con: The competition to choose which color Dalek would represent the species could get ugly. Red? Blue? Heck, it’s starting to look a lot like the U.S. presidential campaign—just not as contentious.

Best of luck, Jenna. You’ll be hard to replace.

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What a Phoney

10 Thursday Sep 2015

Posted by Kath Carroll in Humor, Satire, Shopping, Travel, Vacation

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humor, robocalls, satire, telemarketing, theme parks, vacation clubs, vacation packages

I thought my relationship with Tim was going so well. For weeks now, he’s called me every morning and every evening with a regularity and attentiveness shown only by the most committed. I imagined him sitting in his cubicle over at “Customer Service (925) 374-1188” pining to talk to me. In my mind I saw his tousled brown hair and his bright, clear eyes—green, I think. He’d be wearing a wrinkle-resistant plaid or, maybe, chambray shirt and brown, tan, blue, or black pants from Gap.com because—you know—Tim’s a guy.

Whenever I answered his calls, I loved to hear Tim’s synthetically young, eager voice—his enthusiasm never dimmed by repeated rejection or the cruel words of people rushing to get out the door or just sitting down to dinner.

But tonight things didn’t go very well, and I’m afraid it might be over between us. I answered as I always did: “Hello.”

“Hi,” he nearly sang. “It’s Tim. Can you hear me okay?” See how sweet? His first thought was always for my welfare.

“Yes,” I answered cheerily. Tim’s passion was infectious. Here, Tim usually paused for awhile, and before I hung up I always thought how nice it was that we could just spend some quiet time together. I felt secure enough in our relationship to know that Tim would call again.

So tonight when Tim called and considerately asked, “Do you have time to talk?,” I leveled with him: “I don’t really have time tonight, Tim,” I said.

“I’m sorry. I can’t hear you clearly,” he yelled into the phone. Hey, Tim, I thought, you’re the one with the hearing problem, not me.  “Do you have time to talk?”

The term “selective hearing” flashed through my mind. “Not really, Tim…” I began, but he plunged on, oblivious. He invited me to take a fantastic vacation worth eighteen hundred dollars at a luxurious resort and with discounted theme park tickets. As his warm, sunny patter washed over me, I relaxed and was transported to that tropical clime. I saw myself lounging under the palms, sipping a piña colada.

“Do you have a credit or debit card?” I heard him inquire through my reverie.

Whaaaat? Abruptly the island mirage vanished and reality loomed—dishes in the sink, laundry to fold. A credit or debit card? Could Tim only be after money? What, I scolded myself, do I really know about Tim anyway?

“Tim, I lost my credit card,” I lied, determined to know the truth. If Tim truly cared about me, this shouldn’t matter, right?

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you clearly,” he repeated, his jovial tone suddenly acquiring a frantic edge. “Most resorts accept a credit or debit card. Do you HAVE a credit or debit card?” His friendly manner was gone, replaced by an accusatory incredulousness.

It was true then. I had his number, but he wasn’t getting mine. “Tim,” I said, the lie coming easier the second time, “I lost my card.”

Hearing this Tim was a changed man. “Well!” His voice was rushed now and heavy with the scorn of one whose time has been wasted. He longed only to end this conversation and move on. “I didn’t mean to bother you,” he sniped. “Good Night.”

Goodnight, Tim. And goodbye.

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Dipping into the grab bag of life

04 Tuesday Aug 2015

Posted by Kath Carroll in Baking, Driving, Humor, Inspiration, Shopping, The Formative Years, Travel, Vacation

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Tags

grab bags, humor, Inspiration, nostalgia, vacation, Volkswagen beetle

In the 1960s to early ’70s, my mother, sister, and I were living the cliché. Packed into a red Volkswagen Beetle, we took to the open roads snaking across the country from Hollywood, Florida to St. Louis, Missouri for our annual summer vacation. We stuffed the frunk (front trunk) with sturdy suitcases and bags full of mangoes, grapefruit, and avocados from our backyard that steadily ripened in the searing heat. The odor each morning was so repellent we had to air out the car before driving away from the motel.

But once we got underway, the meandering back roads led us through quaint country towns like we never saw in Florida, over rolling farmland lush with summer crops, into one-radio-station no man’s lands where a farm auction or Paul Harvey was the only thing on, and to hours of charades, license plate games, car bingo, daydreams, and imagination.

WitLoveKath - Corn Dish - car bingo III

One and a half days into our 3-day odyssey, in Hardin, Kentucky, stood The Hitching Post & Old Country Store—an oasis of marvels with cool drinks to quench our thirst, a Conestoga wagon and stocks for fun photos, and shelves and shelves of trinkets and knick-knacks to mesmerize any child with an allowance to spend. But all those wonders paled in comparison to the mysteries of the grab bags heaped in a basket near the cash register.

I was always enthralled by the unknown: Nancy Drew was my heroine and Adam West’s Batman was my muse (what could be more enigmatic than a superhero with his eyebrows on the outside of his mask?). So, I was instinctively drawn to those unmarked, brown packages. By the age of 8, I was a hard-core grab bagger. Picking each up in turn, I carefully weighed the pros and cons of every box. The long one could be a doll or maybe a necklace; the short one a smaller doll, earrings, or maybe a stuffed animal….such wonderful treasures danced in my imagination.

As we pulled away from The Hitching Post, I’d open the box and peek inside. Of course it was never something as magical as a doll or a secret box. My mother, watching through the rear view mirror as tears rimmed my eyes, always had ready comfort: my father would like the reproduction antique bottles; the corn dish would be perfect for pickles and olives on the dinner table.

Ah, the corn dish!

WitLoveKath - Corn Dish - dish

One year, to my elation, I actually did discover a doll in the package, and back at home I added it to my collection. I now realize that it was one of those celluloid numbers with the glued-on clothes, creepy open-and-close eyes, and nightmarish haircut. It is long gone, but the corn dish still stands on a shelf of my kitchen breakfront.

Its shiny paint has not been faded by pickle or olive brine or from repeated washings. The rim has suffered no chips. In fact, the dish may only have been used once or twice—that first summer. But the corn dish is one of my favorite possessions. For me it symbolizes many things—and what kind of reader/writer would I be if I did not find symbolism in even the most common household objects?

Dipping into a grab bag represented everything life is supposed to be: unknown and unknowable until you explore, a little scary but thrilling, random, sometimes disappointing, always surprising…

And the corn dish? For me it symbolizes persistence in the face of disappointment (the life blood of any hopeful writer), longevity, compassion, idealism, hope, and humor.

I joke with my kids that the corn dish will one day be their inheritance, but really I couldn’t wish to hand down a better heirloom.

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In the egg carton of life…

21 Tuesday Jul 2015

Posted by Kath Carroll in Baking, Food, Humor, Inspiration, Pop Culture, Random Thoughts, Travel

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eggs, humor, inclusiveness, life, musings, small world, world map

…it really is a small world after all.
WitLoveKath - Egg Carton of Life - small world IIWitLoveKath - Egg Carton of Life - small world IV II

 

 

 

 

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Selfie Tips for the Accident Prone

11 Saturday Jul 2015

Posted by Kath Carroll in Books, Health, Humor, Parodies, Photography, Pop Culture, Technology, Travel

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Dr. Seuss, Green Eggs and Ham, humor, Parody, photography, Russian Safe Selfie guide, safe selfies, satire, selfies

It seems that selfies are on the defensive these days. Selfie sticks have been banned at Disney World parks, major museums, Lollapalooza, the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona (wouldn’t it be embarrassing to be gored by a selfie stick instead of a bull?) and many world landmarks. Now the Russian Interior Ministry has published a Safe Selfies guide after hundreds have been injured and dozens killed while attempting to get the perfect pic.

In one recent incident a woman shot herself in the head while posing with a gun. (Can you pat your head and rub your tummy? If not, don’t try this! Which hand is for the camera and which for the trigger again?) In June a young man was injured when he brought down a statue of Vladimir Lenin while capturing a special moment. Viva la Revolution! (Or Russian words to that effect. Who knew the solution was so simple?)

In addition to the Kremlin’s campaign, a group named For Security wants the Education and Science Ministry to add a Safe Selfie curriculum to Russian schools. Lessons would be taught by police, psychologists, and professional photographers. Other real victims’ stories suggest they should get some medical professionals (“If you blow your hand off with a grenade, use this tourniquet.”) and wild animal specialists (“When posing with a snake, ensure it’s not poisonous—beforehand.”) involved as well.

Of course, America has its own safety-challenged photographers. Perhaps we should also rethink our classrooms and introduce STEM: Selfie Techniques to Eliminate Mishaps. We do not want to fall behind our comrades in these important skills.

But how about our littlest photographers? How will we keep them safe? Maybe this reworking of a beloved classic, with the aid of the Russian guide, will help. (Thanks and apologies to Dr. Seuss.)

A Selfie Ham

WitLoveKath - Selfies - I am Sam

 

I am Sam.

A selfie ham.

 

 

 

 

 

WitLoveKath - Selfies - reading II

 

That Sam-I-am!

That Sam-I-am!

I just don’t get

That Sam-I-am!

I’d never be a selfie ham.

 

 

Can I take one

WitLoveKath - Selfies - Washington Monument

 

here?

 

 

 

 

WitLoveKath - Selfies - snake

 

 

Or there?

 

 

 

 

 

WitLoveKath - Selfies - Dr. Seuss holding hand up

 

You should not take one

Here or there.

You should not take one anywhere.

You should not be a selfie ham.

You should not be one Sam-I-am.

 

 

WitLoveKath - Selfies - on a house

 

Can I take one on a house?

Can I take one with a mouse?

 

 

 

WitLoveKath - Selfies - houseWitLoveKath - Selfies - animals

 

Not on a house.

Not with a mouse.

Do not take one here or there

Do not take one anywhere.

Do not be a selfie ham

Do not be one, Sam-I-am.

 

 

Can I? Should I?

With a gun?

I will! I’ll take it!

I’ll have fun!

Hey! You may like it.

Show some flair!

Let us take one on the stairs!

WitLoveKath - Selfies - stairs

 

We should not, cannot on the stairs!

WitLoveKath - Selfies - gun

 

Or with a gun! Don’t take dares!

You should not be a selfie ham.

You should not be one, Sam-I-am.

WitLoveKath - Selfies - train DS

 

 

A train! A train! A train! A train!

Can I, should I on a train?

WitLoveKath - Selfies - on a train

 

 

 

Not on a train! Not on the stairs!

Not with a gun! Sam, no one cares!

 

Say! On a tower? A power tower?

Can I, should I on a tower?

Should I, can I on a cliff?

WitLoveKath - Selfies - cliff Russian

 

You should not, cannot on a cliff

WitLoveKath - Selfies - electical tower

 

 

 

Not on a tower. Not on a train.

Not on the stairs. Not with a gun.

You should not take them, Sam. Not one!

WitLoveKath - Selfies - goat

 

 

Can I, can I with a goat?

 

 

WitLoveKath - Selfies - boat Dr. Seuss

 

Should I, could I on a boat?

 

 

 

 

 

WitLoveKath - Selfies - boatYou should not, could not on a boat.

You should not be a selfie ham.

You should not be one Sam-I-am.

 

You do not like them so you say.

Take one! Take one! And you may.

Take one and you may, I say.

WitLoveKath - Selfies - let me be

 

 

Sam! If you will let me be, I will take one. You will see.

 

 

 

 

WitLoveKath - Selfies - I like itSay!

I like to be a selfie ham!

I do! I like it, Sam-I-am!

But I will take one in a floatie

And I will take one with a goatee.

I will take one in my bed.

And one that will not leave me dead.

I will take one in a train

And clear Amtrak of any blame.

I will hold de-clawed kittens,

But only if I’m wearing mittens.

And I will pose in bubble wrap,

But leave an eye and breathing flap.

I will take them here and there.

But never once just anywhere.

I so like being a selfie ham!

With proper precautions,

Sam-I-am.

*All images of Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss courtesy of seuss.wikia.com

**All images of Russian Safe Selfie Guide courtesy of Ministry of Internal Affairs RF

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It’s a trip going to the ER

23 Saturday May 2015

Posted by Kath Carroll in Health, Random Thoughts, Travel

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Tags

doctor, emergency room, health, healthcare, hospital, humor, nurse

Yesterday I woke up to the phone ringing. It was my mother telling me she’d hurt her back opening a window.  The shocking thing about this was not so much the injury as the fact that she felt so hot she wanted the window open. Usually she wears a sweater and a thermal undershirt in 90 degree weather. Perhaps it’s a testament to our frigid winter that 70 degrees now seems sweltering to her.

Our local emergency room looks like a fine hotel. "Which way to the pool?"

Our local emergency room looks like a fine hotel. “Which way to the pool?”

So I met my mom at the ER, which really should be short for Eerie Reality. Anyone who’s spent time in an ER knows what I mean. Over the years, I’ve traveled to this alternate realm several times, so the environment is not as formidable as it once was. Experience and training have prepared me for these vagaries of the ER:

1. The Time Warp

Whooshing through the doors of the ER is like entering a portal to wonky time. First comes the period of painful (pun intended) slow motion, which begins the moment you enter the registration line. It doesn’t matter if you have a Monty Pythonesque flesh wound (like the poor older man I stepped aside for yesterday) or about to deliver a baby (who turns out to be a girl and is named Jenny) right in the waiting room, the staff pecks unhurriedly at the computer as if they’ve never seen a keyboard before.

If you’re not “in their system,” they usher you into a secluded office for the Insurance Assurance Process, during which the hospital assures itself you have insurance. Here a hushed negotiation takes place—similar to buying a new Mercedes or diamonds at Tiffany’s, either of which would be much, much less expensive.

I’ll spare you the agonizing layover in the waiting room, where the monotonous drone of the ceiling TV destroys whatever sense of passing time you have left, and the Pandora’s Box of actually getting a “room” (Hope, really is the worst evil) and meander along to when time mysteriously accelerates: Discharge. As soon as the discharge papers are signed, the bed rails collapse, the wheelchair appears out of nowhere, and you’re whisked out to your car. My mom never even changed out of the hospital gown.

2. The Neighboring Patients

Our healthcare treatments are evolving in amazing ways. Not only are doctors using immunotherapy, in which your own body’s natural defenses heal you, they are employing psychotherapy in new and inventive ways.  The placebo effect is well known, but have you heard of the neighboring patient effect? Those flimsy curtain dividers between ER “rooms” are no mistake.

This may look like a normal room, but it is actually the cutting edge of treatment.

This may look like a normal room, but it is actually at the cutting edge of treatment. Image courtesy of Kona Community Hospital.

To aid the healing process (or at least the discharge rate), patients with diseases or conditions much worse than yours are placed on either side of your cubicle. Then the nurses conduct long interviews you can’t help but overhear. The psychology of comparison goes to work, and you soon begin to feel a lot better, even wondering why you came into the hospital in the first place. I mean, what would you rather suffer from: a bad back or a disastrous gastric bypass operation that has resulted in a recurring fungal infection, tinnitus, memory loss, the inability to eat, and chronic pain? I rest my case.

3. The Doctor’s Bedside Manner

If you have not voluntarily fled the ER after a few hours, a doctor—or so says the stitching on the polo shirt, which has apparently replaced hospital scrubs and would double as golf attire (and my teachers always told me to avoid stereotypes…)—sidles up to your bed. You may be flat out, your eyes squinted shut, your face pinched with pain, but the doctor says in a jaunty voice, “So, how are you feeling?”

My mother was a nurse-anesthetist back when it was unusual for women to hold such positions and she knows the score, yet she always plays along. I could almost see her eyes rolling under her closed lids before she answered craftily, “Well…” and began to tell the story of her injury almost from the day she was born until she tried to open the window that morning. Booyah! The Time Warp back atchya!

The doctor went away, eyes glazed over. I’m thinking he took advantage of Psychotherapy himself and talked to the doctor treating my mother’s neighbor, because when he came back he looked as if he was feeling better and was again sporting the jaunty smile.  He diagnosed a compression fracture of two vertebra and prescribed pain medication and a hospital bed for her room at home. Then with the speed of the TARDIS zipping from one dimension to another, he was gone and we were on the road home.

In the blink of an eye, you're leaving Eerie Reality and heading home.

In the blink of an eye, you’re leaving Eerie Reality and heading home. Image courtesy of the BBC.

All in all the trip to Eerie Reality was everything one could expect. My mom even has the hospital gown as a souvenir!

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When enough is not enough – BWapp it!

09 Monday Feb 2015

Posted by Kath Carroll in Children, Geekery, Journalism, News, Parodies, Shopping, Technology, Travel

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Brian Williams, Burger King, childbirth, humor, Jay Leno, John Lithgow, journalism, Kate Middleton, news, Oprah, Stedman Graham

I don’t usually rush to use new technology or jump on a fad, but this Brian Williamization app—iBWapp—has me pretty excited. To get noticed today, enough is just not enough. You need flash!, glitz!, glamour! iBWapp gives it to you!  Simply type in or record one of your old, boring anecdotes, and BWapp!—you’re provided with an elaborate yarn that will have friends and acquaintances hanging on your every word.

iBWapp makes you as incredible a storyteller as Brian Williams. Image courtesy David Shankbone

iBWapp makes you as incredible a storyteller as Brian Williams.
Image courtesy of David Shankbone

Need to schmooze with upper management to secure a higher position or salary but only have an old chestnut from days gone by? Don’t sweat it—Bwapp it! Your nice, normal kid’s college application not sensational enough? Don’t worry—Bwapp it! Have an amusing story, but know it will never go viral? You know what to do—that’s right! Bwapp it!

Still unsure of the power of iBwapp? Take a look at these authentically remastered accounts, and you’ll be racing to the app store with your $1.29 in hand…well, on your credit card.

1. The Birth of a Child

Good Story:

My second child’s due date was upon me. It had been a restless, emotional day and at 9:30 p.m. as the snow and tears came down in equal measure, I resigned myself that today was not that day. But suddenly, it was. At the hospital, the baby wanted nothing to do with insurance forms, and by the time I was being wheeled to a room, she was on her way. The doctor made it just in the nick of time, and Jenny was born a few minutes later at 11:55 p.m.  Just 5 minutes more and she would have her own birthday date instead of sharing one with her mom. At some point during the proceedings, I must have hit the ON button of the TV remote because, suddenly, the room was filled with laughter and John Lithgow appeared on the screen talking to Jay Leno. It was a bit surreal, but what isn’t about childbirth?

iBWapped:

My second child’s due date was upon me. It had been a restless, emotional day and at 9:30 p.m. as the snow and tears came down in equal measure, I resigned myself that today was not that day. But suddenly, it was. We drove to the hospital in a blinding blizzard, stopping only when we were hit by a semi-tractor trailer and became part of a 45-car pile-up on I-95. With labor pains only 30 seconds apart, I jumped out of the car, and we hiked over the metallic mountain and on to the hospital. On Pequot Avenue I passed several bodies lying face down in a snow bank. I hadn’t seen bodies like that since my son and his friends made snow angels in the front yard the week before.

At the hospital, I was wheeled into the delivery room at 11:45—just in the nick of time. Imagine my delight when I discovered that John Lithgow was standing in for my regular GYN, and Jay Leno was standing by to tell jokes to help me breathe—Ha-Ha-Ha. Unfortunately, the baby was born at 11:55 p.m. Just 5 minutes more and I could have heard Jay’s big closer and Jenny would have her own birthday date instead of sharing one with her mom.

If I had to share this special day with two celebrities, these would not have been my choice, but John called it when he said, "You;re too far along for an epidural." Image of John Lithgow courtesy David Shankbone

If I had to share this special day with two celebrities, these would not have been my choice, but Dr. Lithgow did call it when he said, “You’re too far along for an epidural.”
Image of John Lithgow courtesy of David Shankbone

2. Childhood Injury

Good Story:

Once, when my sister was about 5 and I was 7, my mother took us to Burger King after our dance class. While she went inside to order, my sister and I stayed outside at the table. We were leaping from one cement bench to another when my sister slipped and hit her head on the edge of a bench.  I ran into the store to tell my mother. While my mother made a mad dash to our doctor about 30 minutes away, I had to hold a cloth to my sister’s bleeding head. Fear made me whiny and complainy, for which I received severe rebukes. Fortunately, my sister’s injury was not too bad, and the doctor fixed her up with several stitches.

WitLoveKath - Enough - Burger King Logo

Image courtesy Logopedia

iBWapped:

Once, when my sister was about 5 and I was 7, my mother took us to Burger King after our dance class. While she went inside to order, my sister and I stayed outside at the table. We were leaping from one cement bench to another when two robbers ran out of the store and knocked into my sister on their mad dash to their getaway car. My sister fell, hit her head on the edge of a bench, and became unconscious. Simultaneously while performing CPR and eating a cheeseburger, I threw my tap shoe at the fleeing felons and brought them both down in a heap right at the foot of a police officer. While my mother drove like a maniac toward home, I performed brain surgery in the back seat of the car with only Harper Valley PTA on the radio for anesthesia, saving my sister’s life. For these acts of heroism, I won the Nobel Prize for Medicine and was honored with a parade down Hollywood Boulevard. (Ok, so it was Hollywood (Florida) Boulevard. But that doesn’t have to come out until after the investigation.)

Who knew robbers were such a valued demographic? Image courtesy of supersizedmeals.com

Who knew robbers were such a valued demographic?
Image courtesy of supersizedmeals.com

3. European Vacation

Good Story:

In the summer of 2012 I traveled to London. I wasn’t there for the Olympics but we arrived a few days before the closing ceremonies. One afternoon in the lobby of the Marriott County Hall Hotel, I saw the United States Beach Volleyball champion Kerri Walsh. The next morning I rode the elevator with tennis player Andy Roddick, who, afraid, I suppose, that one of us would make a big deal of it, slouched in the corner with his hat over his eyes. And he was right, one of us was making a big deal of it—him.

iBWapped:

In the summer of 2012 I was part of the official American delegation to the Olympic Games in London, England and was a guest at the famed Marriott County Hall Hotel. There I bikini shopped with Misty May-Treanor (‘cause, really, who cares or ever hears about the other one?). Afterwards, I enjoyed a lovely afternoon at Buckingham Palace having tea and crumpets with Kate Middleton. While we played croquet she whispered the secret news the whole world had been waiting for (yes, this was 3 or 4 months before she found out herself, but it will take the fact-checkers awhile to catch up). The next morning I took a tennis lesson with Andy (if you’re expecting Roddick, you will be disappointed as this narrative is for winners only) Murray, who was soon to become the British Olympic champion. It was during this trip that I discovered my true voice and wrote my Pulitzer Prize winning novel, The Great Fat Lie.

Misty May knows her way around a bathing suit shop; Kate...well, she's perfect; and Andy struggles to return one of my awesome serves. All images courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Misty May knows her way around a bathing suit shop; Kate…well, she’s perfect; Andy struggles to return one of my awesome serves.
All images courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

4. Domestic Vacation

Good Story:

The kids had just been in the pool at the JW Marriott in Washington DC during a family vacation, and I was coming back from the concierge lounge with a few snacks. As I stepped into the elevator, the only other occupant, a tall, good-looking guy, said “hello.” It was Stedman Graham. We exchanged pleasantries and exited the elevator on the same floor.

Image courtesy of stedmangraham.com

Image courtesy of stedmangraham.com

iBWapped:

In 2008 while visiting Washington DC, I rode the elevator of the JW Marriott with Oprah.

Sorry, Stedman. iBwapp chooses the upgrade, not me. Image courtesy Alan Light

Image courtesy Alan Light

Now that you’ve experienced the eye-popping, jaw-dropping excitement of iBwapp, get it for yourself. Your life will never be the same again.

 

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SkyMall, say it ain’t so!

24 Saturday Jan 2015

Posted by Kath Carroll in Geekery, Shopping, Technology, Travel

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Tags

airline travel, humor, Shopping, SkyMall

The Internet and news sources are abuzz today with the tragic story, and I, too, with a heavy heart mourn the passing of another beloved comedy icon. Only hours ago it was announced that SkyMall will cease touring. SkyMall first appeared in 1990, plying its trade aboard puddle jumpers, regional airlines, and commuter flights, testing and revising its material to the amusement of audiences from coast to coast.

In 1992 it hit the big time when, as luck would have it, Johnny Carson, enroute to the Emmy Awards in which he won a statuette for Outstanding Variety, Music, or Comedy Series, glanced through a few pages of this upstart entertainer, bought a bottle of newly launched Thierry Mugler “Angel” perfume, and stuffed SkyMall in his briefcase. After this fortuitous meeting, Skymall appeared with Johnny frequently and was invited to the much desired chair, even if it was in the…well…you know.

I think even Johnny would have been delighted with this SkyMall offering. All images courtesy of SkyMall.com

I think even Johnny would have been delighted with this SkyMall offering.
All images courtesy of SkyMall.com

As Ellen DeGeneres, David Letterman, Jerry Seinfeld, and many other comedians discovered, Johnny’s stamp of approval meant overnight success; and so it was for SkyMall. In 1992 SkyMall increased its profits 100% and became a regular performer in nearly every jumbo jet flying the friendly skies. And if the skies were unfriendly, SkyMall no doubt had a solution – or could help you think of one yourself.

This brain massager is just the thing to stimulate deep thoughts

This brain massager is just the thing to stimulate deep thoughts

Readers of my blog may remember my tribute to SkyMall in my post “Getting There is All the Fun?” Over its 25-year career, SkyMall has allowed me to laugh away elbows bruised by jostled drink trolleys, fears of sudden turbulence, irritation at guys who reclined their seats into my lap, and countless hours of boredom when I discovered someone had already done the crossword puzzle in the airline magazine. But now its wit and weird wisdom is going the way of the free bag of peanuts, the free carry ons, the free meals, the free headsets, the free blankets…well, it’s going away. Without SkyMall the friendly skies will be…

...a little alien.

…a little alien.

And air travel will be the poorer for its absence.

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Sometimes…

12 Monday Jan 2015

Posted by Kath Carroll in Art, Baking, Food, Inspiration, Random Thoughts, Shopping, Travel

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Tags

Advice, baking, eggs, humor, Inspiration, life, life lessons

Sometimes, in the egg carton of life you need a thick shell.

WitLoveKath - Egg Carton of Life IV

 

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Tales from a Car Gone to Seed

04 Friday Jul 2014

Posted by Kath Carroll in Driving, Travel

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

antique cars, Classic Car shows, gambling, humor, Jeremy Meeks, slot machines, Toyota Sienna

Yesterday, I received my property tax bill, wherein I was reminded once again that my car—a 1998 Toyota Sienna minivan—has hit rock bottom in depreciation and will soon qualify as an “antique.” I realize we live in a youth culture, but an antique? So what does that say about me?

WitLoveKath - Sienna - sienna side I

I've watched enough Antique Roadshow episodes to know that you should never clean an antique. As you can see, my Sienna retains its original "dirty patina" for maximum value.

I’ve watched enough Antique Roadshow episodes to know that you should never clean an antique. As you can see, my Sienna retains its original “dirty patina” for maximum value.

Soon I will be able to get one of those specialty black and white license plates with a picture of an old jalopy on it. It would be a welcome replacement for my front plate, which this winter fell off and became lodged in the snow bank near my garage every time I backed out and had to perform an 8-point turn to navigate the ever-narrowing passage our driveway became after multiple snow events.

WitLoveKath - Sienna - antique license plat

Wouldn’t this plate look better than the one below?

"Hang on. Let me get the plate and put it on again..."

“Hang on. Let me get the plate and put it on again…”

The new designation may have other advantages too. I could become involved in a whole new community—meet new people, go new places. I could take my Sienna to weekend car shows, tooling around unfamiliar towns and highways at 25 miles an hour just for fun. My air conditioner isn’t working at the moment, so I already have that nonchalant “arm out the window” look going on. I can picture it now—the old girl parked on a lush, green lawn in line with other beauties of bygone eras. The sliding doors will be open for better inside viewing, and I’ll be standing next to her, ready to answer any questions, such as, “Hey, pops (I know I’m a woman, but doesn’t “Hey, pops” sound more antique-y than “Hey, mama?”), how old is that stain on the carpet? What was that—a Wendy’s frosty or a brown crayon?”

I’ll mosey over to investigate the designated spot, and, with my hand on the youngster’s shoulder, say (in my newly adopted drawl), “Ya have a good eye, son. That is indeed from a melted crayon. It was 2002, and my family and I drove to Hersey Park. Crazy times. I remember Kids Bop 1 rockin’ the CD player—that was when the CD player still worked, mind you—and we stopped off at a Friendly’s restaurant for one CheesyMac, one CheesyMac and Frank (“don’t grill it”), one Chicken Quesadilla appetizer size, and one Reuben Supermelt, plus two Cone Head Sundaes. A’ course the kids were given crayons with their placemats and in two seconds they’d solved the puzzles and were on to drawin’ dinosaurs and such.

Yeah, the ol' girl has seen her share of Friendly's parking lots over the years.

Yeah, the ol’ Sienna has seen her share of Friendly’s parking lots over the years.

“I always tucked those crayons into my purse (note to self: change that to man bag?) as I slid outa’ the booth ‘cause ya never know when the car might careen into some ditch and we’d have to eat ‘em to survive.

“That partic’lar crayon raght there was used by my son to draw a Tyrannosaurus Rex. The kids did a lota’ drawin’ in those days. As ya can see, DVD players weren’t installed in these here vee-hicles.” At this, my young friend’s eyes will grow wide with astonishment and, probably, there will be the hint of a superior smirk tugging at his lips, but I’ll continue on and tell him how the crayon was dropped and then crushed under a little foot and how it fused with the carpet in a melted, matted, mound of goo. He’ll nod appreciatively, say something snarky like, “Thanks for the history lesson,” and move on to the 1993 40th Anniversary Ruby Red corvette from the National Corvette Museum Skydome sinkhole next to me.

See? Disaster can strike anywhere. Ya gotta have that survival kit. Image provided by the National Corvette Museum

See? Disaster can strike anywhere. Ya gotta have that survival kit ready.
Image provided by the National Corvette Museum.

She may be banged up--but what a story! Image provided by the National Corvette Museum.

The Ruby Red may be banged up–but what a story!
Image provided by the National Corvette Museum.

With 162,208 miles on her, the Sienna’s been a good car and is still going strong, despite a little neglect. I recently had to take the seats out to pick up a tall bookcase my daughter bought. I decided to take advantage of the open space, so Sunday I pulled her out of the garage to give her a good cleaning (inside not out, Keno brothers)—and made a bizarre discovery.

As is often the case, a small mistake led me to uncover a shocking fact: my car has been turned into a gambling establishment by some very enterprising mice or chipmunks. By following the evidence left by a careless casino patron or inexperienced attendant, I uncovered that a slot machine is cleverly concealed behind the plastic panel in the hatchback section of the van.

Here’s how the vice raid went down: one day on the carpet I spied a small spill of birdseed. This was not suspect in itself as I have hauled 40-pound bags of Lyric seed on many occasions. Indeed, a large bag can usually be found slouched near my car.

Exhibit 1: Birdseed exposed

Exhibit 1: Birdseed exposed.

As I began to vacuum up the little pile, however, the suction drew more seed from its hiding place, and soon I realized that, recognizing opportunity when they saw it, the little varmints surreptitiously have been moving product from the bag into my car to support their casino games. A little digging dislodged more seed, and deeper digging revealed more seed still. I had uncovered a goldmine. I can only think that the poker tables are kept in the spare tire tool box and the roulette wheels stashed in the backseat cup holders. I don’t even want to think about what kinds of illicit activities take place in the wheel well.

JACKPOT! Watch that seed pour into the seed tray!

JACKPOT! Watch that seed pour into the seed tray!

I don’t despair of this turn of events. On the contrary, I consider it just one more notch in the lore of my Sienna. On the classic car circuit I’ll have some notoriety, and the crowd standing on the lush, green lawn will buzz with excitement as I regale them with the story of when my Sienna went over to the seedy side.

Maybe, they’ll even make a movie. It could be called The Car that Spewed Birdseed or Birdseed Jackpot or—given a Hitchcockian twist—The Birdseed.  It could star Jeremy Meeks—expanding on his modeling career—as a handsome felon with a heart of gold who recruits a bunch of mice (chipmunks have been done) to run a mobile casino that stays just one mile (one kilometer for the European market) ahead of the law. When they are finally caught, Meeks’ character inadvertently takes a glamour mug shot and his meteoric rise to fame begins. I’m thinking Disney might be interested. Mickey Mouse could play the evil pit boss in yet another dark, revisionist character treatment.

Darn that Mrs. Meeks!

Darn that Mrs. Meeks!

Yes, the ol’ Sienna has many tales to tell. She’s not getting older; she’s just getting better.

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