Assorted Flotsam

Two stupid things that taste great together...


1.  An open apology to the woman I didn't know at the President's Day gathering:

Me, finishing my first beer:  You look familiar.  Have we met before?

Her:  I don't think so.  I haven't been hanging out with these guys much until just recently.

Me, puzzled:  You really look familiar...

Friend:  Maybe you know each other through work?

Her:  I work at the [her workplace].

Me:  No, no, ...no.  Huh.  I could have sworn I've seen you before.  Maybe in my dreams.

*awkward pause all around*

Yeah, apparently, that was me hitting on you accidentally.  I meant to say "Maybe I'm dreaming" or "Maybe I dreamed it" but, no, I said "Maybe in my dreams".  Like I should be so lucky.  Like You're my dream girl.

Like, um, no.

So, yeah, sorry.  I'm sure you're a lovely person and your significant other, who was sitting right next to you, is a lucky fella, but I didn't actually mean to say you are my fantasy gal.

That would be Salma Hayek.

Question Uno:  What's the most inappropriate thing you've ever said by accident?  



2.  The metro cat theory...You know how every stairwell in every DC Metro station has that uber-pungent urine smell?  I think this is because Metro intentionally adds the pee smell to ensure people don't loiter in the stairwells.  Further, I'm convinced no human could create that kind of super strong urine smell.  It has to be a cat.  Because cat urine?  That's a FOREVER smell.  So, there must be some cat that Metro hires to pee in every stairwell.   But there are so many cats that COULD do the job.  Worthy cats.  Urine-rich cats.  Tough-minded "We don't need no stinkin' kitty litter" cats.

Question Dos:  How do they choose the Metro cat?

"'Cause I don't believe you" --Crack the Sky

I've seen some pretty unbelievable things in movies.  Flying monkeys, wealthy Richard Gere falling in love with hooker Julia Roberts, all those mother-effin snakes on a plane... suffice to say that Hollywood has stretched my acceptance of what is possible until my brain is as rubbery as Newt Gingrich's wedding vows.

But last night... *shakes head in disgust*  ...last night, we watched The Emperor's Club.  This is a mediocre movie in which Kevin Kline plays a teacher at an exclusive boys prep school.  That I can buy, despite the very distracting fact that Kevin Kline has no lips.  This is almost as distracting as the fact that Whoopi Goldberg has no eyebrows.  See?  Check it.  None.

Just a line where his lips are supposed to be.  When he kisses you, is it like kissing grandpa without his teeth in?  Do you get enveloped by nose, chin and cheek?
 
Regardless, Kevin Kline, teacher, prep school--check.

What I can't buy, no matter what anybody says, is the time lapse in the film that shows this:

becoming this:

In what universe does dorky Jesse Eisenberg grow up to be sex symbol Patrick Dempsey?  Who the heck was in charge of this casting?  Stevie Wonder?


Question du jour:  What's the absolute stupidest thing you've ever seen in a movie?


Oh, and just because it's my blog and I can, here's another gratuitous shot of Patrick Dempsey:

You're welcome.

"Something familiar, something peculiar..." --Stephen Sondheim

On Monday, I was off from Job 1 but worked Job 2.  During my luxurious 1/2 hour for lunch, I ran the two blocks to a little French cafe.  There, I ordered vegetable soup, a tuna melt and a drink and sat down, trying not to tap my foot impatiently.  Five minutes later, the waitress brought my lemonade and a lovely crock of vegetable soup and told me the tuna melt was on the way, which, happily, it was.  The soup looked nice.  The soup smelled lovely.  The soup tasted... well, it tasted good.  And quite familiar.  It was Progresso. 

I don't mean it tasted like canned soup.

I mean, this French cafe opened a can of Progresso vegetable soup, poured a small amount  in a small crock, nuked it for a minute, and charged me $3.50 for the pleasure.  Had I wandered into a scene from European Vacation?

Now, I am not anti-Progresso.  I am pro-Progresso.  If I were any more pro-Progresso I might go pro.  (I'm progressive that way.)  I recognized the soup because I have Progresso soups at home in the pantry for when I am sickly and weak and want a quick bowl of soup with truly minimal effort.  So, I wasn't put off, per se.  It just got me to wondering how often a restaurant dish is actually the result of opening a can or boxed frozen entree? 

So I am taking my wondering to the vast knowledge of the interwebs.  Questions du jour:  Have you ever "recognized" a portion of your meal?  Is there anything wrong with a restaurant doing this?  What percentage of your average restaurant (not fast food) meal do you think is completely pre-made?

"Working for the man every night and day" --Tina Turner

So, in some misguided attempt to prepare for a job I thought I might like to do in retirement, I took a second job.

5 Reasons I'm Grateful I'm Now Working a Second Job

1.  It's humbling.  Where I know a whole lot about Job 1 or have been faking it so long everyone thinks I do, EVERYTHING about Job 2 is new.  This means I'm making mistakes and saying "Um, I don't know but let me find out" A LOT.  Plus, a few Urkel-worthy Did I do that??s.  Really, this is amazingly good for me because 'groveling, obsequious idiot' is much preferable to 'snotty, condescending jackass'.

2.  It's making me appreciative.  Suddenly, Job 1's perks look a lot perkier.
 
3.  Lack of boredom or insomnia.  Working 7 days a week means never having to wonder what to do with all that pesky free time.  Sometimes I fall asleep in the middle of a sent

4.  I don't take my husband for granted.*  Sometimes I get to see Hubs for a few hours and it's quite delightful!  No, really!  I still remember what he looks like so I can pick him out in a crowd.  So, you know... that's nice.

5.  Extra cash.  I didn't take this job for the money, and it's a good thing since the pay stinks, but on top of Job 1's salary, it's really nice to get a second paycheck.  PLUS, I'm making commissions and I even got a holiday bonus for the first time EVAH!  Ca-ching!

On the downside, it means I don't get to hang out with my friends much and blogging has evaporated.  I miss them.  And it.  And you.  But, in about a month, I'll stop working Sundays and maybe get to luxuriate in activities like doing laundry.

Which brings us to the question du jour:  Fabric softener:  Manna from heaven or the devil's plaything?  Discuss.

Wishing you a joyful 2012,

L A Cochran






* As much.

"Don't know much" --Aaron Neville and Linda Ronstadt

A few months ago I had purchased half-price tickets for a guided tour.  I realized the tickets were expiring in March 2012, and, fearing the weather would only get worse between now and March, booked the tour for the two of us for this past Saturday, October 29th.  Fall is perfect for tours, no?

Er, no.  It snowed.  And sleeted.  And was quite cold.  The. Entire. Time.

To make matters worse, the tour guide was terrible.  Here are the highlights or maybe I should say lowlights from the tour:

*passing Pentagon*
Participant:  Excuse me, isn't that the Pentagon?
Tour Guide, looking around, in a blase voice:  Oh,... yeah.  That's the Pentagon.

*at Arlington cemetery, out in the snow/sleet, which by the way, only added to the feeling that this place is the most depressing, deathiest place I've ever been*
Tour Guide:  There are now 50 different insignias that you can get on your headstone if you are buried here.  Even Wiccan!  Wiccan is a male witch.
Hubs:  What?  No, Wiccan is someone who practices Wicca, regardless of gender.  A warlock is a male witch.
Tour Guide:  That's right.  I knew that. 

*still at the cemetery, sopping wet and still getting snowed on*
Tour Guide points to three stones at a distance:  Those are the memorials for the three NASA disasters. 
Me, thinking THREE NASA disasters?  Challenger... Columbia... Did they do something Apollo related?:  Really?
Tour Guide:  Yeah, the shuttle disasters.
I walk over to see these.  Sure enough, the ones on the left and right are memorials to Challenger and Columbia.  The one in the middle?  Well, here, look:

After walking back to the Tour Guide, disgusted, I say:  The middle one has nothing to do with NASA.  Go look!
Tour Guide, not looking:  Oh, I guess I was wrong.

*driving near Iwo Jima*

Tour Guide:  I don't know why the carillion isn't sounding.  That's really strange.

Maybe because there's no such thing as a carillion?  It's a carillon, fergawdssake.


After 5 of the 9 people cut their losses and took a cab home, they decided to cut the tour a bit short.  Best decision ever.  I can't believe I paid for this--even half price.

Which all leads to my question of the day:  Do tour guides agree to be tour guides thinking that they don't have to actually know anything about what they're touring because people who go on tours will just assume the guide is right? Grrrrr.