“Up To the Door”—A Modern Christmas Carol

20 Saturday Dec 2014

Posted by Kath Carroll in Geekery, Holidays, Music, Parodies, Shopping

Tags

Christmas, Christmas carol parody, Christmas shopping, holiday shopping, humor, packages stolen off porch, Up On the Housetop parody

Up To the Door (sung to the tune of Up On the Housetop)

Up to the door the driver springs.
Ding, dong, ding the doorbell rings
You’re not at home to take the package,
Leaving it ripe for old-school hackage.

Ho, ho, ho!
I run tiptoe.
Ho, ho, ho!
No one will know.
Up to the porch and,
Quick, quick, quick,
The presents you ordered
Have just been nicked.

First…Hey!…An iPhone for little Nell,
Or on Ebay it could sell.
With all that money I’d be rich—
Could gorge on champagne and a cheese sandwich.

Chorus

Next…Wow!…an X-box for little Will.
Destiny ain’t just a game, I feel.
Oh! Christmas morning will be so jolly.
Of course, for you it will be melancholy.

Chorus

Dang! You ain’t near the fool I thought.
On home surveillance I was caught.
My face is splashed across the news.
I’ll be sent down to pay my dues.

Ho, ho, ho!
I’m such a schmo.
Ho, ho, ho!
How could I know?
Though in the joint
I’ll take some mocking,
I’ve learned next year to
Wear a stocking.

The What! Really?! Just For You Best Gift Pick Post – free shipping!

30 Sunday Nov 2014

Posted by Kath Carroll in Geekery, Holidays, Shopping

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Tags

Christmas shopping, Cyber Monday, Hammacher Schlemmer, holiday shopping, humor

I am so sorry. I told myself I wasn’t going to write this post this year, but, seriously, they make it just too darn irresistible. Who is “they?” Hammacher Schlemmer, of course. I have successfully ignored their daily missives touting subject lines such as “The Bearded Beanie,” “The Glow in the Dark Driver Ejecting Bumpercrafts,” “The Darth Vader Toaster,” and “The Only Exterior Pocket Impervious Carry On” (is this suitcase impervious to all pockets? Outside pockets only? Or what?). But one morning I read “The Life Size Tyrannosaurus Skeleton,” and in a nostalgic reverie, thinking back to the days when my son would have loved to have this, I clicked.

Can’t you imagine how much the neighbors would love you if this were standing in your back yard? You’re right—maybe the front yard would be better.

Well, woe be unto me—for with that one click, I was hooked. What’s fascinating to me is not so much the items themselves, but the people who would buy them. I mean who has $100,000 to plunk down on a T-rex skeleton? Maybe this is how those Powerball lottery winners squander their $365 million jackpots.

So here we go. Whether you buy these items for yourself or give them to family or friends, each and every one of these “original” or “unexpected” products is guaranteed to stun and amaze. Of course, before you can put presents under the tree, you need the tree.

Why settle for those old, boring triangular things found in nature when you can show off your inner fashionista? Be careful, though. A couple of misfortunately hung globe ornaments could have decency Santa climbing down the chimney instead of gift-giving Santa.

Or maybe this is more to your liking:

If you just can’t get enough of the Nutcracker during the holidays, perhaps you’d like to give this tree a spin. Yes, the “ballerina” pirouettes 360 degrees. Wouldn’t “balletreena” have been a better name? Hellooo….Hammacher Schlemmer…I am available as a freelance copywriter.

No one, however, does a spinning Christmas tree quite like our English cousins.

In Doctor Who’s 2005 Christmas special, Christmas Invasion, murderous rotating conifers threaten London, and in an ironic twist manage to lop off quite a few human limbs in the process. Those Brits just love a bloody good holiday.

If you’re at the mall or the airport or the train station and you’re plumb worn out, why not take a little snooze? No pillow? No problem. This handy gadget makes slipping off into dreamland so easy.

Put it on. Go on, no one will laugh. They may steal your suitcase, computer bag, shopping bags, or purse, but really…no one’s laughing. They’re too busy taking your picture and uploading it to the Internet.

Put it on. Go ahead. No one will laugh. People may steal your suitcase, computer bag, shopping bags, or purse, but really…no one’s laughing. They’re too busy snapping your picture and uploading it to the Internet.

Yeah, the Internet can be a scary place, what with all the hacking and…oh, wait, that’s just the cat spitting up a hairball. So, well…you know what I mean. You never know if your information is secure. Hammacher Schlemmer’s solution? The Morse Code Signal Lamp.

I foresee a whole new industry opening up in the STEM universe: Science, Technology, Engineering, and Morse Code. Pretty soon we’ll see babies hauling around Morse Code lamps and wonder whatever happened to the good ol’ days when they learned how to play apps and keyboard before age 2. Next year I fully expect the Hammacher Schlemmer catalog to include The Original Smoke Signal Kit.

After all this worrying, don’t you feel in the need for a little refreshment? Step up to the buffet and enjoy – as Hammacher Schlemmer puts it – “two-fisted noshing.” But how to hold the wine? That’s right—in a little holster slung around your neck.

I see just one itty-bitty problem. If both hands are occupied, how do you lift the glass to your lips? Perhaps they could include a straw? It could be one of those twisty straws or one that changes color as liquid passes through it. Something fun. A conversation starter. Because the glass hanging around your neck won’t be enough.

So now you’re a little tipsy, or maybe you’re just unsteady on your feet. Grab these Wheeled Walking Poles and go!

All I have to say is if the time ever comes when I need training wheels again, will someone please put me out of my misery?
All images courtesy of Hammacher Schlemmer

Credit cards at the ready? Great! ‘Cause these and more astounding must-haves are waiting just a click away.

Keep Calm and Stand In Line

26 Wednesday Nov 2014

Posted by Kath Carroll in Holidays, Random Thoughts, Shopping

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

checkout lines, ear buds, holiday shopping, humor, Jennifer Aniston, patience, Shopping, Taylor Swift

Checkout lines are my nemesis, and like Professor Moriarty stalking Sherlock Holmes or Wile E. Coyote hunting Roadrunner, I never know in what dastardly way one is going to get me. Usually it’s the short, mild-mannered line that turns out to be my downfall.

I step into place expecting a quick exit only to be thwarted by someone staring off into space as the clerk rings up and bags the items and announces the total. The customer, taken completely unawares, shakes him or herself from their reverie and pulls out a checkbook (checks? Really? It’s 2014 for crying out loud!). S-l-o-w-l-y they write the date (“what day is it again?”), the store (“how do you spell Stop and Shop?”, the amount (“how much did you say it is?”), and finally they sign their name. Then they go through the whole routine again in their register. Fire Ants climbing my legs couldn’t make me any more twitchy than I am watching this performance.

A close second might be customers who thrust into the cashier’s hand a soggy wad of coupons that need to be separated, flattened out, turned around, and scanned and which invariably contain several that don’t compute because they are for multiple items or are expired. Then ensues a negotiation worthy of Congress—that’s right, no go on either side. Or there’s a sluggish amble to the back of the store to pick up the missing items. Either way, time is wasting, people!

“Do you have any coupons?”
“Here you go. You can figure out which ones I can use, right?”

And don’t even get me started about waiting on the phone listening to some ear-splitting “music” or a happy voice telling me everything the company can do for me except answer the phone. Why can’t someone devise a way for your phone to access your own playlist to enjoy while you wait? Shark Tank, anyone?

It’s only a couple of minutes, you might say. But a few minutes here and a few minutes there add up to—wait a minute while I dig my phone out of my purse and turn it on and access the calculator…oops that’s the flashlight…and plug in the numbers…darn, hit the wrong button…there that’s right…and get an answer—an eternity. Aaack! And I still have so much to do!

Before I completely go off the rails, though, I’m trying to learn to be more chill. One way I now do this in the checkout lane at Stop & Shop is to turn my attention away from other shoppers and toward the tabloid racks—and you know what I see? Jennifer Aniston. Every. Single. Week. In Every. Single. Magazine. I’m not a huge Jennifer Aniston fan. I never understood the obsession with her hair, and as for Brad? He’s better off. Still, I am not without sympathy. This poor woman has been pregnant for 4 years straight—without ever giving birth. This story puts the old “My Baby Is an Alien” reports to shame. Or maybe….Nahhh. And what about her marriage already? If she and Justin are waiting for that baby to be born, they may as well forget it.

WitLoveKath - Snippets - Jennifer Aniston Pregnant together I

At least Mary had Joseph

WitLoveKath - Snippets - Jen and Justin III

These two appeared in the same week. So, ok, I give up. Which is it?

We could only be so lucky, but I think In Touch and Ok! would go out of business.

We could only be so lucky, but I think In Touch and Ok! and Us Weekly would go out of business.

While I cool my heels, I also think about my next story or blog post. Sometimes, my brain contains only a bunch of fragments, which, like young children at recess, beg to get out but defy organization. Now, as the holidays approach, is just such a time. So I’m going to release a few of those snippets that jumped around in my mind like Santa’s reindeer from roof to roof as I idled at Target, Books-A-Million, and Michaels Arts and Crafts this week.

1. In August Taylor Swift released her video for “Shake it Off,” which created a big brouhaha with critics and online commentators. One day while tooling along the road to Target, Jenny and I were discussing the song and the video when an inverted skyscraper of a city bus entered traffic from a side street. As the bus loomed into my lane, I slammed on the brakes, experiencing the kind of terror Captain Ahab must have felt when Moby Dick thrashed his tiny whaleboat. At the last second—our vehicles side-by-side—the bus driver righted her leviathan into its own lane with military precision. I felt a little shaky. Not from the near-miss obliteration but from the knowledge that one of my last words on earth would have been “twerking.”

2. Here is a jacket that Jenny ordered recently. How long do designers think an extra small petite woman’s arms are?

3. Speaking of petite: When will someone make ear buds with a cord short enough so they don’t catch on everything or become infuriatingly tangled the moment you put them down. I swear those things are alive. Shark Tank, anyone?

4. I will leave you now with one more piece of evidence that the Thanksgiving holiday will one day be as extinct as T-rex: Auto correct on my iPhone capitalizes Black Friday but doesn’t recognize Thanksgiving.

Flo/Rida: A State Divided (by the way, whatever happened to that guy?)

29 Wednesday Oct 2014

Posted by Kath Carroll in Only in Florida, The Formative Years

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Tags

51st State, Colin Woodard, Florida, humor, South Florida

On October 7th South Miami officials passed a resolution with a vote of 3-2 to split Florida in half, and make South Florida our nation’s 51^st state. I say it’s about time. As my faithful readers know, I grew up in Hollywood, Florida, and have borne the scars ever since. Yeah, most of them are from mosquito bites I shouldn’t have scratched, but the others are deeply etched in my psyche and impossible to eradicate—kind of like the cockroach that once emerged from under our sofa dragging the roach motel (“roaches check in but they don’t check out”) behind him with one leg.

I empathize with the local politicians. South Florida and North Florida are as different as alligators and crocodiles; they may seem the same, but I assure you they are not. For one thing alligators are memorialized with a state highway (Alligator Alley), and crocodiles are celebrated in song (Crocodile Rock). South Florida has beautiful waterways; white, sandy beaches; and, most recently, the woman who set her boyfriend on fire in retaliation for his throwing away her spaghetti dinner. North Florida spawned the beloved phrase “Don’t tase me, bro,” educated the man who asked Siri how to dump a body, and….umm….who knows? The only things I remember about northern Florida while driving in and out of the state during summer vacations were the violent thunder storms and blinding rain that hit as soon as we were in sight of the “Welcome to Florida, the Sunshine State” sign.

Miami’s Vice Mayor Walter Harris states that the pols in Tallahassee don’t understand the environmental concerns of the south. This is probably true—for unless you live it, you can’t possibly comprehend it. One danger facing South Florida is the rising sea level due to climate change. In the north they may think this means better surfing. But southerners know that it won’t be long before way-too-revealing itty-bitty swimsuit-wearing tourists will be forced inland and, like the walking dead, wander downtowns in search of beaches that have been swallowed by the ocean.

Those northern bureaucrats also don’t have to manage the Everglades, where pythons the length of three Jane Lynches or four Kristen Chenoweths and capable of swallowing an entire deer whole slither around at will. Although police in the north did recently have to arrest a naked 500-pound man who couldn’t fit into the cruiser—so who’s to say where the real weirdness lies.

All I can say is, “Ai Ai Ai!”
Image courtesy Care2

Miami’s Mayor Philip Stoddard went even further than Harris, expressing his frustration this way: “It’s very apparent that the attitude of the northern part of the state is that they would just love to saw the state in half and just let us float off into the Caribbean. They’ve made that abundantly clear at every possible opportunity, and I would love to give them the opportunity to do that.”

If the north is actually sharpening its saws, they might find another willing participant in Colin Woodard, who in late 2013 wrote the book American Nations: A History of the Eleven Rival Regional Cultures of North America. Woodard suggests that America can be divided into The Left Coast, The Far West, El Norte, The Midlands, Yankeedom, Greater Appalachia, New Netherland, Tidewater, New France, and The Deep South.

Where does South Florida fit into his vision of America? Nowhere, that’s where. While Woodard includes the northern counties of Florida in The Deep South, the southern counties are only mentioned in a parenthesis floating in the Atlantic that reads (Part of the Spanish Caribbean).

Poor South Florida–relegated to non-American status.
Image courtesy Tufts Magazine

To this I take exception. Yes, the north has St. Augustine and the Fountain of Youth and lays claim to the oldest jail, oldest wooden schoolhouse, oldest drugstore, and oldest house. But South Florida trumps that with the oldest oldies and so much more!

Would not America be much less rich without South Florida’s Monkey Jungle, Parrot Jungle, Jungle Island, and the JungleQueen Riverboat? In fact, any citizen of this swampy landmass could enclose a patch of ground and proudly create his or her own Lizard Jungle, Anole Jungle, Assassin Bug and his sidekick Masked Hunter Jungle (lovely), Hag Moth Jungle (lovelier), Horse Lubber Grasshopper Jungle (one of my personal favorites since we basically had one of these attractions in our backyard, and I could tell that spring had sprung when the odor of these grasshoppers’ “spit” filled the air), Spiny Backed Orb Weaver Jungle (another “favorite” that appeared everywhere in our yard. Empty “orbs” of these spiders were the most frightening because you never knew if the spiky, dangerous creatures were crawling up your arm or your back).

The Assassin–known for its horrible sting…

…and its sidekick Masked Hunter!!

This creature is so sturdy you could put a leash on it and keep it as a pet. The “puppies” start out black with a red or yellow line running down the center of their back.

Beware the prongs of this dreaded predator!!
Images courtesy Wikimedia Commons

So you can see that South Florida could more than hold its own as the 51^st state. But two questions remain—where would the border be drawn and what would the new state be called?

Mayor Stoddard has designated a dividing line along Brevard, Orange, Polk, Hillsborough, and Pinellas counties. This area includes the South Florida Water Management district; Lake Okeechobee, a major source of the state’s water; and Disney World. The politicians’ plan may sound foolish, but they’re no fools.

Here are how the two states would appear on the map. You'll notice the little jog to collect Disney World, hereafter known as Fantasy Jungle. Image courtesy of Charles Minshew, Sun Sentinel

Here is how the map of a divided Florida would look. You’ll notice the little jog to collect Disney World, hereafter to be known as Fantasy Jungle.
Image courtesy of Charles Minshew, Sun Sentinel

But what to name the new state? As a fan of anagrams, I wondered if scrambling the letters of South Florida would provide any possibilities. I was not disappointed:

Hairdo Flouts: if there’s one thing I remember from my time in Florida, it’s women—and men—flouting their hair. Of course it was the time of luxurious locks ala Farrah Fawcett and young Shawn Cassidy.

Who could live up to this?

Unfortunately, my hair tended more toward his than hers…but even this amount of “poofyness” was out of my reach.

Hi Fraud Tools/Hi Fraud’s Loot: Since South Florida is a hotbed of illicit activity, I thought either of these might fit the bill.

Ooh! Tidal Surf: I was never a surfer chick, but the high number of bronze bodies that ride the waves puts this one in the running.

Dilators of Uh…: It must be the hot sun (or maybe number 2 above) that fries so many brains, but South Florida has more of than its share of wide-eyed, lights- are-on-but-nobody’s-home residents.

Oh Adrift Soul: for the poetic-minded

Uh…Adrift Solo: for the truly lost

Or, simply, as my daughter Jenny suggested:

Crazy Town

Creating a new state takes an act of Congress, so I implore you to write your congresswoman or man and register your vote to make South Florida the new star on our flag. With your help, this nation may just become a little crazier.

Hapry Hallankstmas!

20 Monday Oct 2014

Posted by Kath Carroll in Food, Holidays, Shopping

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

candy, Christmas, Halloween, humor, Shopping, Thanksgiving

Halloween is right around the corner. How do I know? The Christmas decorations are going up in stores around the country, and the dulcet strains of holiday tunes are streaming from their sound systems. Macy’s has announced their Black Friday hours (6:00 p.m. Thanksgiving evening), and the seasonal catalogs are already arriving in the mail; can the toy “books” be far behind?

I haven’t bought my Halloween candy yet, and I’m just not sure how much to get. Our neighborhood is on its second wave of small children, so I never know year-to-year how many visitors we will have. I’d rather err on the side of having too much candy, but I don’t want a lot lying around afterward either. Last year I picked up two big multi-variety bags and poured the tasty, colorful bars into the plastic cauldron I offer to our trick-or-treaters, anticipating their excited faces. But I couldn’t give the stuff away. Literally. We have no gluttonous ghouls, voracious vampires, or insatiable specters coming to our door.

“Won’t you take a bar or two…or ten, my pretty?”

Here’s how it went down:

At 6:15 our motion-sensor gargoyle screeches, alerting us to the arrival of the first trick-or-treaters.

Eeeeeeeek! “Wel-come to our haunted house! Bwahhahaha!” Reeeeee. Reeeeee.

Ding Dong

I swing the door open to reveal a small cadre of costumed crusaders.

“Trick or Treat!!”

“Oh! You all look so cute/scary/amazing.”

They smile adorably (even the bloody mummies) and say, “Thank you.”

I hold out the cauldron. “Here you go.”

Their big eyes stare into mine. “How many can we take?”

“Whatever you’d like.”

They search the bowl and gingerly remove one bar from its depths.

Sensing that there aren’t that many trick-or-treaters out, I say, “You can take more than that.”

They look at each other warily as if I’ve just invited them to watch a show on network TV.

A couple of kids reach in again and draw out one more bar. If they happen to grab two, they put one back. “Thank you,” they say again.

Darn these easy-to-please kids! They’re hardly putting a dent in the terribly tempting treats!

“No,” I say, “take a handful!” I rattle the cauldron. “Here!”

They turn and run down the walk to their parents as I yell out, “Just one more Kitkat? How about a Twix? One Starburst? Pleeese?”

I think I’m known as “that scary lady who makes us take candy.”

I don’t know why I’m surprised at these kids’ good manners; my kids are the same way. Once, though, when my son was in kindergarten, he stood at the door of the eeriest house in our neighborhood—the one with the undead rising from its crypt, the spooky music, the spider webs, and the tombstones—and asked for more. More money for his UNICEF box. When our neighbor dropped her coins into the slot, he deemed it “not enough,” and asked, “Can’t you give more?” And, bless her, she did, hunting up more change from somewhere inside.

“One penny?! Can’t you give more?”
Image courtesy UNICEF

I think this is where my altruistic son got his start. Of course, maybe he was just making them pay in advance for the future Halloween when his little sister became so frightened of the zombie that jumped out of their bushes that she cried and never went back. Either way his heart was in the right place.

I know I’m not the only one who’s perplexed by holidays. Our local stores seem always to be swept up in some kind of celebration vortex in which products for two or more holidays mingle on the shelves. Right now it’s Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas—or as I like to call it: Hallankstmas.

Soon we’ll be able to purchase sweets and presents for the December holidays while also planning ahead for Valentine’s Day (Hanistine’s Days). In January the chocolate bunnies, jelly beans, and Easter toys will join the hearts and flowers (Valenster). At Stop & Shop one year—in a marketing gaffe that illuminated for me just how “fresh” holiday sweets really are—the Easter candy debuted on the same day as the Christmas treats. The next day it was gone, but I’m sure the Cadbury Eggs and marshmallow Peeps were simply lurking in the back warehouse waiting to make their entrance with the spring patio furniture.

Now that’s scary.

“Now, do I have everything?
Halloween? Check.
Thanksgiving? Check.
Christmas? Check.
Where’s the Easter candy? Hellooo?”

Chew On This

22 Friday Aug 2014

Posted by Kath Carroll in Food, Parodies, Television

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

Allen Salkin, Chopped, Cupcake Wars, Diners Drive-ins and Dives, Farsh Askari, Food Network, Guy Fieri, humor, Parody, Salon.com

The title of the Salon.com opinion piece screamed off the screen like Guy Fieri himself: “How one man destroyed the Food Network: Guy Fieri has made culinary TV into a viewer’s hell.”

Finally, I thought, as I read Farsh Askari’s commentary, I’m not alone in my assessment of Food Network. Then came Allen Salkin’s response, which is an impassioned defense of Guy, but equally critical of the Food Network.

Why does it always come out “Drivers, Dine-ins, and Dives” when I say it?
Image from Wikipedia

While I agree with Askari’s opinion on Guy more, they both make valid points about Food Network. I also used to like watching the creative chefs ply their trade while I cooked dinner or relaxed on the couch afterward, but in recent years a bitter bite has taken hold of the programs.

For me the turning point came with the inception of Cupcake Wars, in which a snarky host presides over a kitchen where once-fun confections have become arms for cutthroat competition. (In fact, there is now a show called Cutthroat Kitchen.) Food Network used to offer comfort food for a world gone a little—or a lot—crazy. Now it serves up recipes of the same cynical, mean-spirited, snobbish ingredients that make up modern society.

Justin Willman, magician and host of Cupcake Wars, who also goes by Justin Kredible. Image from Wikepedia

Justin Willman, magician and snarky host of Cupcake Wars, who also goes by Justin Kredible.
Justin Sipid.
Image from Wikipedia

I cut my television culinary teeth on Cake Challenge, where pastry chefs created astonishing cake sculptures based on a given theme. Artistic merit and taste determined the winner; the participants competed, but did not connive. Unfortunately, as the years passed this show became a buttercream Titanic, sinking under more and more onerous requirements until the cakes had to be towering, animatronic behemoths to be crowned champions. In fact, by the end of the show’s run, I think the cakes were the size of the Titanic.

Bronwen Weber, of Frosted Art Bakery and Studio in Dallas, was always a classy and creative contestant on Cake Challenge.
Image from Food Network

Confetti Cakes won the first Extreme Cakes Challenge with this 6-foot tall sock monkey, complete with smoking ears, laser eyes, and sparklers.

Over the years I’ve also watched Iron Chef, Restaurant Impossible, 24 Hour Restaurant Battle, Private Chefs of Beverly Hills, Food Network Star, Food Truck Wars, and Chopped. Some of these shows no longer air and the schedules of others are lost among the onslaught of Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives (“DINERS!, DRIVE-INS!, AND DIVES!!”), but I still enjoy Chopped.

Image from Wikipedia

The premise of Chopped brings four chefs together to create a 3-course meal from the ingredients in a mystery basket. Over three rounds, the chefs are “chopped” as their dishes don’t live up to the judges’ expectations until one winner remains.

Even in this show, though, there’s a creeping feeling that the judges are losing perspective, the way politicians lose all connection to “real life” or Kanye West to his own importance. War may be raging, disease running rampant, people starving, but Scott “no raw red onion” Conant or Maneet “I really wish you had…” Chauhan will glare at the chef as if he or she spit in the dish and say something like, “The braised boar was the most succulent I’ve ever had, but I don’t understand this orange slice on the rim of the plate.” The camera pans to the chef who, looking as if he’s just been caught at McDonalds, stammers some defense of his vision. Then Marc “all I want to taste is salt” Murphy nods his head in agreement with the utter embarrassment of the orange peel and levels the damning criticism, “and you should have used more salt. So for those reasons, we have to chop you.”

The Judges of Chopped
Image from Food Network

Being chopped for that lack of salt is no grain of salt to these chefs. For some the win and $10,000 prize means redemption in the eyes of their family (I think contract killers have more support from their relatives for their choice of career than chefs), a chance to open their own restaurant, pay bills, or give to charity. I like Chopped for a couple of reasons. First, it’s interesting to see how the chefs combine the mystery ingredients into a gourmet meal and to hear the running commentary of their process; second, I can empathize with these cooks. For me every night is a Chopped-style dinner.

Here’s a transcript of one of my recent episodes:

“Sometimes I like to listen to music while I cook. I have my earbuds in and I’m at the sink washing the lettuce. I turn to reach for the lettuce spinner when the unthinkable happens. My earbud cord catches on the sponge drawer knob, and my iPhone whips out of my pocket and crashes to the floor. At the same time the earbuds are torn painfully from my ears. I don’t have time for this! The silence is deafening. I untangle the cord from the knob. But I’m rushing and I just make it worse. How does it get so snarled in two seconds? At last it’s free. I bend over and pick up my phone; fortunately it’s still intact—a little dusty. I really need to sweep this floor. I reattach the earbuds and throw the lettuce into the spinner. While I pull the cord, I’m thinking how I can transform the macaroni elbow noodles.

“And then it hits me, to the pot I can add a little butter, a little milk, and a package of orange cheese powder. The processed cheddar will give the elbows a nice tang that I know my family will appreciate.

“Next I consider the chicken breasts. I’m running to the pantry. I open the door and see breadcrumbs. Suddenly, I have an idea. I open the fridge and grab an egg. I stir the egg in a bowl with a fork and sprinkle breadcrumbs into a pie plate. Between wax paper, I pound the chicken breasts thin. I dip each one into the egg mixture and then into the breadcrumbs. I slap them into the electric fry pan, hoping the crisp texture of the chicken will please the judges.

“If there’s one ingredient that’s a stumper, it’s the vegetable. I run to the freezer and pull out the basket. I find a bag of peas and a bag of broccoli. Something for everyone, I think. I know the peas will go for 4 minutes in the microwave; the broccoli 3 and a half. I know that to get all the components of my dish ready at the same time, I must get the vegetables nuking. I pour the peas into the 25-year old round microwave bowl, add a tablespoon of water, and settle the lid on top. I open the microwave and slide it inside. A single touch on the 4 button starts the oven whirring. While I wait, I grate Stop & Shop brand New York Extra Sharp Cheddar Cheese into a Pyrex bowl for the broccoli. I’m thinking the shredded cheddar will be a nice complement to the processed cheese in the macaroni. Cheese makes everything better, right. (Except for fish, of course, I’m not a barbarian.)

“While the peas are heating, I pour the broccoli into the matching square microwave bowl and attach the cover. When the timer rings, I switch out the bowls and turn my attention to the chicken breasts.

“I see they are sizzling and golden brown. Perfect. I’m transferring them to the plates when disaster strikes! One of the chicken breasts slips off the spatula and lands on the floor. For a moment I’m paralyzed, but then I remember the 5-second rule. I quickly pick up the filet and put it on my plate. You know moms always get the dregs, so it doesn’t bother me.

“Everything has come together, so I plate the meat, put serving spoons with the veggies and pasta and walk it all to the judges. They eye their dishes skeptically, as if remembering the time I served arsenic-laced burgers. Before I even sit down, the kids are cutting their meat. Jenny reaches for the broccoli and Conor the peas.

“’Why won’t you eat peas, Jenny?’ Conor taunts.

“’Because they’re disgusting,’ Jenny says. ‘I like broccoli.’

“’Broccoli is just tree-like peas,’ Conor goads.

“’They’re gross.’

“’Just eat a few of the peas with a lot of the broccoli and then less broccoli and more peas until you have a larger ratio of peas to broccoli and you’ll get used to them.” This sage advice elicits nothing but an exasperated glower as Jenny carefully separates all the components of her dish with her knife.

“’Huh?, Jenny, will you eat some peas? Huh? They’re good.’

“Finally, Jenny looks up. ‘Conor, I don’t want to eat them!’

“Conor chuckles as he inhales his food and asks to be excused.

“Jenny finishes her meal in peace.

“I taste my linoleum-infused chicken and find I have elevated the dish. As I chew I consider ways I can imbue future ingredients with the same savory flavors. A little less cleaning, a little more clumsiness, I decide.

“I feel happy. Even though my plates weren’t perfect, I feel that I’m still a winner. I’ve survived to cook another day.”

Dinosaurs extinct? I don’t think so

16 Wednesday Jul 2014

Posted by Kath Carroll in Animals, Dinosaurs, Geekery, Movies

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

dinosaur movies, dinosaurs, humor, Jeff Goldblum, Jurassic World, satire, Steven Spielberg, Steven Spielberg and triceratops, Transformers: Age of Extinction, Triceratops, Tyrannosaurus Rex

By now you have probably seen the deplorable photograph of Steven Spielberg posing and grinning in front of the Triceratops he bagged. If you haven’t I urge you to Google it. I would display the photo here, but I don’t want to promote this kind of despicable “sport.” You know how it goes—the more publicity something gets, the more people take part, and before you know it we’ll be seeing photographs of George Lucas standing triumphantly over a deceased Wookie and a mounted Ork head on the wall of Peter Jackson’s man cave.

There are many theories as to why Spielberg killed the Triceratops. Was it for the thrill? Maybe. As the director or producer of such high-adrenaline hits as Raiders of the Lost Ark, Poltergeist, Back to the Future, Men in Black, and many others, he does seem exceptionally drawn to extreme adventure.

Or could he have done it for the money? It’s possible. He’s only a paltry 151 on the Forbes list of the richest Americans. One wise pundit noted that he probably did it for the horns. After all, the medicinal benefits of powdered Triceratops horns are well documented from cave drawings (∆∆∆ 🙂 ) to oral Neanderthal lore (“Hohgn, hohgn, hohgn, gooohgd) to the texts of medical professionals around the world (∆∆∆ 🙂 ). There’s no telling what kind of fortune could be amassed through the sale of these beneficial horns.

Perhaps the horns are what Spielberg was after, but I believe there is a more sinister explanation to the death of this beloved beast. Before we tackle that, however, we must address the elephant in the room (address it—not kill it). If dinosaurs are alive now—and they most clearly are (well, except for…)—where are they?

I believe we have all been duped for a very long time. While the official story is that the dinosaurs became extinct after an asteroid hit the earth in what was until recently called the Cretaceous-Tertiary Mass Extinction Event or K-T event, I think the evidence demonstrates that it is all an elaborate hoax.

WitLoveKath - Dinosaurs - Extinction Event

Images from Wikipedia

Exhibit 1: While the name of the “asteroid hit” was once the Cretaceous-Tertiary Mass Extinction Event, the abbreviation is K-T event. Back in the day when Proofreaderasauruses still existed (I suppose they also were made extinct by an “asteroid hit?”), this kind of mistake would have been caught by a pterodactyl-eyed professional. Today in the Internet Period, however, errors like this roam both print and digital pages unchecked. Clearly, this “mass extinction” story was concocted recently.

Exhibit 2: The space-themed idea of the extinction event is no coincidence. I believe it came from the fertile mind of Steven Spielberg himself! Doesn’t it seem suspect that the extinction event is called K-T and one of Spielberg’s biggest theatrical releases is titled E-T? Obviously, Spielberg is up to his neck in the dinosaur extinction conspiracy. Flush with the success of his earlier movies Jaws and Close Encounters of the Third Kind (does anyone else see the pattern?), he never thought anyone would make the connection between E-T and K-T, and he allowed himself this little slip in originality.

So this leads us to the big question: Where are the dinosaurs? I suggest that instead of becoming extinct, they have all been captured and are being held hostage to an insatiable movie industry. They are being exploited for our enjoyment. How else can you explain the plethora of dinosaur movies dating back to the very beginnings of cinema? Did they have CGI technology back then? No! If, as we have been led to believe, all these Tyrannosaurs, Triceratops, Stegosaurus, Pachycephalosaurus, Ankylosaurs, and more died out eons ago, how have directors and cinematographers created the video for every dino film from 1914’s Gertie the Dinosaur to 2014’s Transformers: Age of Extinction (produced by none other than Steven Spielberg)?

A glance at some earlier films exposes a dark chapter in our nation’s history—one that continues to this very day. You only have to watch a few moments to wonder: If dinosaurs are really as simple and violent as the movies portray, would their fight scenes be so stilted? So transparently choreographed? Or are these traits merely stereotypes fostered by the movie industry to line their pockets?

Before you watch, I must warn you that some of the content is graphic.

Gertie the Dinosaur by Winsor McCay – 1914:

Here Gertie suffers pain and humiliating dance moves just so we can have a good laugh.

The Dinosaur and the Missing Link by Willis O’Brien – 1917:

In addition to a fight scene between a gorilla and an Apatosaurus (beginning at 4:47), this film contains the first known video of break dancing (at 4:07). And wouldn’t it have been funnier if “the drawing room of the country home,” as it is described in the film, had cave drawings on the walls?

The Ghost of Slumber Mountain by Willis O’Brien – 1918:

In this long film, an uncle tells his two nephews the story of when he, a companion, and their dog went camping on Slumber Mountain. There the uncle visits the abandoned cabin of Mad Dick, which contains books and bones of prehistoric animals. It is also haunted by Mad Dick’s ghost. In the cabin the uncle discovers a strange pair of binos, through which he can see dinos. At the 10:14 mark, the dinosaurs make their appearance. At the 14:00 mark the Triceratops enters. The action really gets going at 15:30, when a T-Rex joins the scene (if dinosaurs actually moved this slowly, they really would be extinct). A terrible struggle ensues, and once again the Triceratops is the loser.

If you read closely, you will see that the last frame at 17:57 could have used a Proofreaderasaurus. You will also see that this film employs that old dinosaur of a plot device: “it was all a dream.” Of course, since this movie is from 1918, perhaps it was a comic revelation.

The Lost World by Harry Hoyt from a story by Arthur Conan Doyle – 1925:

In this first scene, the Triceratops gives the Allosaurus his just reward

But once again the unfortunate Triceratops, after tasting a brief moment of triumph, is himself tasted.

1 Million Years B.C. by Ray Harryhausen – 1966:

In this scene a Ceratosaurus battles a Triceratops while Raquel Welch (wearing “mankind’s first bikini!”) and John Richardson (in his most defining role!) look on in horror. The most shocking thing about this clip is: who knew they had Bumpits! hair enhancers 1 million years ago?

So you can see that throughout history dinosaurs have been forced to wander forbidding landscapes, don preposterous colors, talk in ridiculous voices, hawk gasoline, perform hard labor at stone quarries, fight and “kill” one another, and, in the ultimate degradation, act alongside Jeff Goldblum. And now with Jurassic World coming hot on the heels of Spielberg’s Transformers: Age of Extinction dinobot travesty, I think the dinosaurs have said, “Enough is enough!”

WitLoveKath - Dinosaurs - We're Back, Sinclair, Flinstones

Images from Wikipedia; Flintstones clip art from picgifs.com

I think they threatened to boycott the filming. Perhaps they even broached collective bargaining. Some dinosaurs may have brains the size of walnuts, but they’re not stupid. Over the years they have earned the studios, directors, producers, and investors billions of dollars, and they deserve respect, not oblivion. Is that too much to ask?

The photograph says it all. Yes, it was. When the Triceratops came to negotiate with Spielberg in good faith, he met his end. He made the ultimate sacrifice fighting so that all his kind could live a better life. Well, I say, “You go, dinos! Let’s see them make another dinosaur movie without you.” Won’t you join me in the quest to Free the Dinosaurs!? Don’t let Tricee have died in vain.

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?

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…”

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.

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!

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!

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

Mars ain’t the kind of place to raise your kids…or is it?

25 Wednesday Jun 2014

Posted by Kath Carroll in Geekery, Travel

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Doctor Who, geekery, humor, Kim Jong-un, Mars One, Mars settlement, science fiction, space travel, Star Trek, Star Wars

A recent poll revealed that what most mothers want is a little “me time.” Ladies, I hear ya. But where to find it? I’m not really the spa type. All those attendants telling me my hair could be better, my skin softer, my shoulders more relaxed…it’s a little stressful. Besides, I can look in any mirror and know that—without paying for it.

Get my nails done? Although I’ve recently started painting my nails, I don’t relish sitting in a shop filled with the kinds of odors usually associated with industrial disasters and hazmat suits. Even the term “mani-pedi” seems more like a category on some government crime list than a relaxing outing. Going out for coffee, reading a book, or shopping for myself only reminds me of the dishes in the sink, the magazines that are piling up, and the laundry I haven’t done.

In other words, true “me time” is hard to find. So I started looking around for other opportunities, and I think I may have found the perfect solution: a trip to Mars. The Mars One Project, the brainchild of a group of scientists and marketing professionals, offers most of the qualities I value in a get-away. It promises intellectual stimulation, luxurious accommodations, exhilarating experiences, and three companionable companions, with four more added every two years. There are only a couple of downsides to this “once in a lifetimes” destination: 1) Three hours of daily exercise, and 2) you never come back.

Artistic inspiration and high end finishes complete this futuristic 6-pod settlement. Panoramic Milky Way views, new neighborhood. Designed to withstand dust storms and rogue meteors. Underground farm, two communal living spaces. New appliances, fully furnished.
http://www.marsoneproperties.com

Capsulated living at its best. You’ll never want (or be able) to leave this modern masterpiece of comfort. http://www.marsoneproperties.com (Images courtesy marsone.com).

Well, I thought, the idea of a world without the Kardashians, Congress, and spiders doesn’t sound too bad, so I went on the Mars One website (marsone.com) and learned that a lot of other folks have had the same idea. In fact, I would be getting at the back of a very long line; a line almost as long as the list of people who signed a petition to “remove Justin Bieber from our society.” How long is that? 200,000 people have applied to go to Mars. 200,000! Really? I mean, I know things aren’t great here on Earth, but is it really that bleak? Let’s check those top stories once more: ABC News–Arrestee’s “Handsome” Mug Shot Goes Viral; Atlanta Daily World–Beloved Felon, Jeremy Meeks’ Previous Mugshot Photos; NewNowNext–8 Celebrities Who Could Take a Lesson from Jeremy Meeks’ Mug Shot; Los Angeles Post Examiner–Jeremy Meeks Sets Internet on Fire.

Well, I don’t want you to go away disappointed. Remember this guy who was kicked out of Saudia Arabia for being “too hot?”
(Image courtesy sodahead.com)

Yyyyep. Give me that form. Last year my son filled out college applications, so I’m familiar with the invasive probing required to make it into a top-tier program. Perhaps, if this whole space travel thing takes off, they’ll institute a Common App accepted by all planets in the solar system. And while the first launch to Mars is priced at $6 billion, slightly less than a Harvard degree, the cost will be offset by selling souvenirs (including T-shirts, mugs, laser engravings, hoodies, stickers, and posters), collecting donations (which, as of May 8, 2014, add up to $573,923, including $1.00 from Bosnia and Herzegovina—come on, guys. Couldn’t you both give a dollar?), and a timeworn…I mean, time honored…idea that I will reveal to you later, but about which you might now sense the specter of Simon Cowell and have a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

So I sat down with the website to begin my journey to Mars. There were several questions I wanted answered. First: did I qualify? I learned there are five key characteristics to being a Marstronaut (©witlovekath.com). These are Resiliency, Adaptability, Curiosity, Ability to Trust, and Creativity/Resourcefulness. These seem pretty straightforward, but upon delving into the definitions, I began to feel the first pricks of fear that I don’t have what it takes:

Under Resiliency: Your thought processes are persistent. Would they accept me, I wondered, if they knew I often reheat my tea in the microwave and forget it then run around the house looking for my mug before finally abandoning the idea of tea, only to find the mug the next day when I open the door to cook peas for dinner?

“Ugh! There it is!”

Under Adaptability: You adapt to situations and individuals while taking into account the context of the situation. I can only hope they haven’t seen me waiting behind someone at a stoplight who doesn’t move when the light turns green because they’re texting, eating, talking, or can’t see above the dashboard .

“Go!”
(Image courtesy smarthdriving.co.uk)

Under Creativity: Your humor is a creative resource, used appropriately as an emerging contextual response. Never have I heard humor described in such a depressing way. I can just imagine my interview:

Interviewer: Why did the chicken cross the road?

Me: To get to the other side?

Interviewer: Wrong! There are no roads on Mars. Your answer is clearly inappropriate and contextually ludicrous….

Me: But…but…can’t you adapt to me as an individual while taking into account the context of this situation?

Interviewer: Nice try. You can see yourself out. Next!

I’ve always considered myself pretty well qualified for any task (except brain surgery. Well, okay, heart surgery might be a little tricky too), but after pitting myself against the requirements of the Mars One Project, my confidence was a little rattled. I decided, however, to persevere (bullet two under Resiliency) and check out my competition.

I navigated my way to the “supporters” link to check them out. To say it’s an eclectic bunch is akin to saying Comic Cons are a hotbed of diversity. By and large, the applicants are fans of Star Trek (one hopeful is even sporting a natty Star Trek uniform in his profile pic), Star Wars, Jules Verne, Lost in Space, and Doctor Who; they have degrees in or are interested in astrosciences, computers, engineering, science fiction, and music; and want to be—as stated by one eloquent candidate—“an intergalactic representation of humanity.” Much as, I imagine, the shadows on the walls were a representation of people in Plato’s allegorical cave. Or were they actually people? Hmmm.

(Image courtesy litigationps.com)

Indeed, philosophical debate is another top interest among the applicants, which is good because finding answers to issues such as: “how do I remain sane during the 20 minutes it takes each click of the computer mouse to be registered on Earth,” may take some discussion. And lest anyone fear that religous differences will divide the colony, there is this reassurance: “Mars colonization is not about faith, but about human ingenuity and vision.” If voyaging to Mars is not a leap of faith, I don’t know what is, but I guess that’s just me.

Reading on, however, I began to see that maybe I was taking the idea of populating Mars way too seriously. Whereas I was trying to compile a list of interests that would let the reviewers know I could help a colony survive the forbidding landscape, most contenders include hobbys like these: dainty sandals (did I miss the news that Nordstrom has been discovered on the red planet?), creating a Mars music album, dancing, witnessing the Zidane goal against Bayern in the UEFA final, attracting women, and juggling (did I mention the 60% less gravity?).

(Images courtesy blackgossip.org, theguardian.com, and ou.edu)

Well, in December 2013, 1,058 candidates were culled from the original pool of 200,000 and asked to complete two tasks. Successful contenders will go on to the next round in the process. What arduous challenges await our intrepid wanna-be explorers? Will they have to “dis” ex-New England Patriots tight end Aaron Hernandez without getting gunned down?, give North Korean Supreme Leader Kim Jong-un a new haircut?, or sing the Star Spangled Banner on key?

The Supreme Haircut…
(Image courtesy itv.com)

,,,on second thought, it really does look attractive on anyone.
(Images courtesy mumbrella.asia. and nydailynews.com)

No. Only these two trials stand between them and their dream: 1) opening their applicant profile to the public (which any 2-year-old can do) and 2) providing a medical statement of health from their physician. Ah! Now the need for a sense of humor becomes clear. Shall we all laugh together? Haaaaaahaaahaaaaaaa!! Any American who can slog through the morass of automated phone systems, paperwork, scheduling delays, waiting rooms, and insurance payment options to get a physical would be well-qualified for a place on the Mars One team.

From this pool of 1,058, 418 men and 287 women will be selected by “experts.” Yes, the glass ceiling just got 57 million miles higher. But how will the final lucky few be chosen? You know what’s coming. Deep down, you know. Yes—through a Television Reality Program. You, I, and “the entire world” will vote for Our Favorite Martians. In the first round, the TV viewers will pick the individual Marstronauts. In the second the Marstronauts will be divided into teams of four, and the audience will decide which team travels to Mars first.

Each team member will have a special duty. One person will be trained in the way of Mars geology; another will learn “exobiology,” or the biology of alien life (don’t they get it? We will be the alien life); and two will be trained as physicians. Yeah, they too saw the episodes where Bones lingers near death or suffers temporary insanity. Lesson learned.

(Images courtesy of fanpop.com and spacemancentral.com)

Okay, so say I make it all the way. Hey, it happened to Lee DeWyze. No? Taylor Hicks? Kris Allen? Never mind. So I’m on Mars, having flown for seven months in a locker-sized capsule, where wet-wipes “baths” and freeze-dried food make this voyage more luxurious than that for “the explorers that sailed with Columbus across the Atlantic in 1492.” Kind of a blast from the past. What will I do there? According to the website, first, I will build—using “methodologies to produce habitable volume from mostly Martian materials,” i.e. dust. My goal will be to construct “a space 10 meters wide by 50 meters long,” where I will live and “also grow trees.” No word, yet, on how tall this structure will be. When I’m settled in I’ll conduct research, not only for mankind, but also for universities, where I try to answer the big questions, such as “is there life on Mars now?” The answer—just off the top of my head—would be “Yes. Me and three other life forms.”

Or is this a trick question to determine if I am “transferring knowledge to others, not simply showcasing what I know or what others do not” (bullet two under Curiosity) or am “flexible in how an issue/problem/situation is approached” (bullet one under Creativity/Resourcefulness).

My leisure hours—and hours—will be spent watching the six favorite websites I chose to upload to the Mars habitat web server before I left home (you know–TMZ, E!, Amazon.co.mars, YouTube, ummmm…) and—because stepping outside without wearing my space suit is an automatic death sentence—doing the kinds of indoor things I did on Earth. Good Grief! Isn’t that what I went to Mars to get away from?

Whatever, I’m still ready and rarin’ to go. I may be too late for the first launch, but I know I’ll be in contention for the second. So don’t forget to vote for me at 866-GO2-MARS. I’m already packed, and because you just never know, I’m bringing my dainty sandals.

It’s a gem…or is it?

21 Tuesday Jan 2014

Posted by Kath Carroll in The Formative Years

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

earrings, humor, Jewelry, necklaces

The wild fluctuations in temperatures recently—from 9° to 55° in the same week—coupled with the distinctly March/April tinge to the rainy days, have put Jenny and me in the mood for a little spring cleaning lately.

Mostly, Jenny wanted to purge some of the knick-knacks she’s outgrown or that are taking up valuable real estate in her room. Sometimes we do this together—it’s a nice opportunity for mother/daughter bonding and to take a little trip down memory lane before certain items are stored away for posterity or deposited of permanently for sanity. Of course, as these things do, a doll led to a diary, which led to a search for the keys, and finally Jenny opened her jewelry box. “Oh, here are those earrings we were talking about the other day,” she said, dropping two small pearl studs into my palm. And so I too opened my jewelry box.

There’s something fascinating about a jewelry box with all its ornaments of the past mingling with current fads or favorite pieces in enticing drawers, velvety trays, and divided compartments—your history traced in gold and silver, real gems and cubic zirconium. And each shiny (or tarnished) bauble elicits an immediate and vivid memory of where, when, and how you acquired or wore it. Some of the pieces are beautiful, classic, enduring, while others are like the shag haircut—“what could I have been thinking?”

So on that day as I placed the studs Jenny had borrowed back in my box, I took a closer look, wondering how far back my jewelry would take me. I found pieces from my college days, and then from high school. Could I have worn these in elementary school? I asked myself as I picked up a pair of earrings. And then I was astounded to rediscover a birthstone ring I had been given as a baby by one of my aunts who was also my godmother. You can’t go back much farther than that.

Next on the timeline are the studs my ears were pierced with when I was five. I can still remember my pediatrician Dr. Tanis waltzing across the examining room with a Q-tip dipped in iodine to deposit a dot on my earlobes where the hole would be made. Dr. Tannis was the comedian out of the four doctors in the practice—and the one the patients liked best—so he was in charge of this most frightening and traumatic event. I remember laughing at his ridiculous dance, but nothing about the procedure. Jenny had her ears pierced when she was five too, but at Claire’s in the Chrystal Mall. The young women there did an excellent job, and only one small tear rimmed Jenny’s eyes (but never fell) as she bravely anticipated the second hole.

My studs are in the back. Jenny’s will always sparkle, just like she does.

And here is some more of the jewelry I’ve worn over the years and which for one reason or another I just could not part with:

This was absolutely my favorite pin when I was a child. I loved how tiny and cute it was.

This jaunty sailor is painted on a small beach stone. I bought it in a gift shop in Essex, CT on vacation one summer. My sister bought this determined, straw-haired girl.

I had a similar necklace with a pink pig on it that I wore every day in first or second grade until I lost it on the playground. This perpetually surprised rabbit replaced it, but I don’t remember wearing it as much.

These name bracelets and initial safety pins were so popular in the 70s. I didn’t usually go in for fads, but I guess the lure was just too strong!

I loved American history and this tricorn hat from a trip I took to Williamsburg the summer between freshman and sophomore year of high school.

I loved American history and this tricorn hat necklace I bought on a trip to Williamsburg the summer between freshman and sophomore year of high school.

These charm necklaces were so popular. I still like the moon and star charm, but what is it with girls and unicorns?

The Pandora of necklaces. I still like the moon and star charm, but what is it with girls and unicorns?

I received this ring for my 16th birthday.

Jenny took one look at these and said, “70s.”

I don’t remember when I wore these, and I’m not sure I want to.

These earrings may not be fancy, but their story always makes me smile.

My mom had this locket made for me when I finished my Independent Study paper in my Senior Year of college. My Thesis was on the novels of Samuel Beckett and was titled The Infinite Pilgrimage. I’m still on mine.

As a writer I can find themes in almost every aspect of daily life, and it’s no different in my jewelry box:

I wore these orange turtles often as a child, thus the peeling paint; the green ones were a gift from a boyfriend in college. How did he know?

You can take a girl’s ears away from the ocean, but you can’t take the ocean away from a girl’s ears.

I guess people have always fascinated me, whether they’re in “real life,” books, or, apparently, pinned to my clothes or dangling from my ears.

I guess people have always fascinated me, whether in real life, books, or, apparently, pinned to my clothes or dangling from my ears.

These pins would look right at home in a frame on the wall.

As Jenny rummaged through her jewelry box, she pulled out this necklace. “I always thought this said ‘I heart dinosaurs’,” she laughed, “but look.”

And there he is – the lucky one!

I think this just may be one of those pieces she will not part with.

How about you? Do you have pieces of jewelry that make you smile or laugh or even cringe? We’d love to see them! Show us and tell us about them.

	Pam Webb on A Smart Choice
	ParentingIsFunny on Twisted Confessions of a (Form…
	William McWhinney on Couldn’t Be Better?
	Kath Carroll on A Smart Choice
	Kath Carroll on When Your Whole World Cra…

Wit Love, Kath

~ My love letters about the funny side of life

Tag Archives: humor

“Up To the Door”—A Modern Christmas Carol

The What! Really?! Just For You Best Gift Pick Post – free shipping!

Keep Calm and Stand In Line

Flo/Rida: A State Divided (by the way, whatever happened to that guy?)

Hapry Hallankstmas!

Chew On This

Dinosaurs extinct? I don’t think so

Tales from a Car Gone to Seed

Mars ain’t the kind of place to raise your kids…or is it?

It’s a gem…or is it?

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