First, let me say that I have never been more proud to be an American. God Bless America and Barack Obama!
Now, on with today's post...
When I was six of seven, the family optometrist diagnosed me as needing glasses. I got them. If memory serves, they looked something like this:
I know. You can imagine how my milkshake brought all the boys to the yard.
I didn't wear them. At all.
One year later, the optometrist examined my eyes and announced that the glasses were helping and that my vision was improving. I announced that I hadn't worn the glasses. He paused and said that he guessed I didn't need them after all.
My parents, embarrassed, hauled my butt out of there, not sure what to do with me or the optometrist.
I went blithely on with my life for the next 30-some years (sleeping, eating, pooping like a pigeon, the usual stuff.) Then, and I remember it was around this time of year, too, I noticed that my eyes were getting dry and I was getting headachey. I went to an optometrist, who said, technically, I was better than 20/20 but that glasses might help me just a bit. So I got something along these lines:
Except they weren't tinted and, unlike this character and most of you, I wasn't all that inclined to lick myself.
I tried them for a couple weeks, but my eyes were still dry and I was still headachey, so what was the point? I bought a humidifier and stopped wearing the glasses. The symptoms went away but the wallpaper peeled. Hey, you win some, you lose some. I eventually donated the specs to a charity that made use of old glasses.
Earlier this year, feeling like my vision wasn't as crisp as it used to be, I got my eyes tested and the optometrist said, begrudgingly, yes, technically, I was still 20/20 but I was right on the cusp of inevitable, unstoppable deterioration (or some equally horrible term) and, given my age, I shouldn't be surprised.
Swell.
But I clutched that 20/20 diagnosis to my heart and carried on until about a month ago when I decided I was tired of fuzzy text in my books. I wanted crisp again. Really crisp. I wanted Pringles potato chips to be mushy compared to my eyesight.
So, I just picked up my new specs. They look sorta like this:
I've had them about an hour and I'm irritated with them already. Hm, wonder if Target has humidifiers?
Anyway, I had this depressing conversation with the very young woman who helped me select the latest glasses:
Me: I'm finally ready to deal with reality. I need glasses.
Her, sans glasses: Oh, glasses are fun.
Me, do they pay you to say that?: Yeah, okay.
Her: Honest! I don't need them but I have a pair just for fashion!
Me: *blink*
Her: And to look smarter.
Me: *blink* *blink*
Which leads me to the question of the day: Does anyone think glasses make women look fashionable, smarter, or sexier?*
* Feel free to lie to me. Especially on that last one.
05 November 2008
Playing Sexy Librarian/"I Can See Clearly Now"--Johnny Nash
04 November 2008
The straight poop on pigeons
For years, my sister used the pet name of "Pidge" or "Pigeon" for her husband until he finally put a stop to it. For some reason, my brother-in-law thought that was insulting. He went on about "stupid, filthy, disgusting creatures."
I think he had it all wrong. Consider the evidence...
A) They're smart:
Notice how the pigeon poops on the chess board as a way to psych out his opponent. Smart! This is step 1 of the famous Mazursky poop-and-peck-to-death strategy.
B) They have much cuter tails than rats do.
This guy wishes he could grow feathers.
C) They've got that cool Kate Hepburn head bob, like they're always listening to some great music on a tiny pigeon iPod.
How fabulous was Kate, with her hair bob, head bob, or any Bob?
D) They coo. Babies coo and most people go all gooey.* Let a pigeon do it, it's evil.
Multiple similarities... just sayin'...
E) They support our troops by delivering messages.**
So, pigeons are patriotic!
F) They poop wherever they want.
If that isn't modeling the pursuit of freedom and happiness that makes America great, I don't know what is.***
G) They're cuddly:
This guy is grimacing with cuddly joy.
And finally...
H) They're tasty with the right glaze.
At this point they are less about "bob" and more about "squab".
Note: Because I am so in touch with the plight of the pigeon and I am tapped into the global interconnectivity****, after I had drafted the bulk of this post, I was presented with this image on my morning commute:
(Click on the photo to enlarge it.) This appears to be a traveling pigeon coop with illustrations of two "Hall of Famers" and the years they were winners. Or dinners. Or both.
This must certainly be a sign of some sort from the cosmos.
In summation...
I know not what course others may take but, as for me...
Give me pigeonry! ...and I'll attest.*****
* Not me, I said "most people".
** I hope I haven't given away a key Surge strategy here.
*** You know you would do it if you could. Especially when you are at the grocery store and the cashier looks you right in the eye as she closes her lane. You so would poop if it was socially acceptable.
**** You pay extra for it but it's better than FIOS.
***** To excess, but I digress. Man, this post is a mess.
02 November 2008
"Tell me how I'm supposed to breathe with no air" --Jordin Sparks
We meet good friends on Sunday for lunch and hiking. Now I could wax on about how spectacular Sugarloaf Mountain is at this time of year--and it is-- and how lucky we are to have good friends to share fresh air and spectacular vistas with--and we are-- but why do that when I can grouse? Especially about plans that I didn't lift a finger to orchestrate.
We meet for lunch at a deli in Silver Spring: The Parkway Deli. This is apparently the Studio 54 of delis.* It is a mob scene. "Loud and crowded" do not begin to convey the feeling.**
We wait in line, squeezed in uncomfortably close, for half an hour. When we are finally signaled to come forward, we are shown to a "staging area", where there is a shorter, even more compressed line. That's right, a line for a line. What is this, Disney World?
While we are standing in this fresh hell, the hostess asks us to please not block the aisles adjacent to the area that she has put us in. The woman behind me, a total stranger, starts to spoon me. As I have nowhere to go, and I'm not going to be intimidated into moving the 1/4 inch forward I've selfishly kept to myself, I nuzzle back into her.
Another 10 minutes pass and we are directed to a booth. AHHH! We have arrived! Except that it is every bit as noisy as it was in line. This is not my idea of a relaxing lunch.
To their credit, the food is good, inexpensive, and brought quickly, but you'd think they were giving it away for free, the way people are jamming in there and shouting to be heard.*** I, for one, don't get it. I couldn't wait to get out of there and I will not be going back.
* If Studio 54 still existed and smelled of kosher dills.
** You know that feeling you get when you're at a concert and you've scored spectacularly close seats but you're right in front of the 200 foot speakers and the music is so loud the fillings in your teeth are vibrating and the crowd is nevertheless pressing in on you and you think, "If I don't get out of here RIGHT NOW I'll die"? That was quiet and spacious compared to this.
*** Chipotle was giving away free burritos on Friday to people dressed as burritos. I was in the city and saw the aluminum foil madness but cheerfully avoided it, having just recently had the full Chipotle experience.
"Hook me up" -- The Veronicas
I've lived in the DC metro area (either north or south of town) for *mumble* years and in all that time I've never gone to a high-fallutin', power-wielding political shindig. And if there was ever a time, this is it. I hate to jinx it, but I'm feeling "hopeful" about Tuesday and if my wish comes true, I'd love to go to one of the glittery inaugural bashes come January and celebrate in style.
Knowing what an "elite" group my readers are, I thought I would put my wishes out to the blogosphere: Who's got the hook up?
Sadly, I know how politics work. I have no political power or even influence to offer in exchange. So, let's get down to it... what do I have to do in exchange?*
Things I'm willing to do to get tickets to an inaugural ball:
- Bake for/deliver to you salty oatmeal, chocolate chip cookies
- Laugh at your jokes in front of your ex, your boss, your friends, etc.
- Promise never to tag you for a meme again
- Set you up with someone I know who has more than a "great personality"**
- Agree to never talk about any adorable thing done by any pet I've ever had
- Tell people I like your blog
* Yeah, I thought that might get your attention.
** My track record for fix-ups is almost as good as DateLab's.
