Cougar? I Didn't Even KISS Her!

Cougar—A Cougar is a female, usually between thirty and fifty years-old, who enjoys the sexual company of younger men. Cougars are only usually interested in men under the age of twenty-five.

Well, I guess I could possibly fall into that category if: 1) I was attracted to 20-year-old guys; and 2) I'd enjoy sexual company of them. As it stands I'm about as asexual as I am apolitical. (I know...line forms to the right, guys...what a catch, huh?)

Anyway...

...the male equivalent, I'm guessing , would be the "dirty old man" or "that creepy old dude".

Now, I know it's nothing new for older men to have younger girlfriends, but in my opinion:

1) If you are the guy - other than sex, what's the point? It's not like you can reminisce about the "good old days". But maybe that IS the thing. It's that age-old problem: "My husband/boyfriend never talks to me." Well, this is an excellent way around that, isn't it, guys? Hmmmmm...there might be some logic in this thinking after all.

2) Why would any hot, young chick want to see an old naked guy? I've seen one. Trust me, it's not that pretty...nor is it remotely comical enough to lend itself being seen on a routine basis. Face it, even the best joke gets stale if you hear it a couple times.

But, while I can't relate, personally, with a man's point of view, I can relate to a woman's. There's a couple things I'd like to get off my non-plastic chest (the last of which would be my bra) about this whole "Cougar" phenomenon.

No, seriously women. Think about it. We are vain creatures...you can fess up...it's true. The guys all know anyway. They're worse than us...but that's another blog.

As vain creatures we buy all sorts of things to make us look attractive. We endure 3 and 4-inch heels, that only a handful of people can actually gracefully walk in. C'mon, you know what I mean...and those of you who can't, you know who you are. If it weren't for the fabulous outfit you got at the mall and the impeccable nails you just had done, that hunched over bent-kneed walk you're sporting looks less than runway and more like "run away!" It's a pretty spot-on impersonation of that large striding Bigfoot sighting caught on film...and walking like that or a mountain goat coming down off the cliff side isn't that becoming. If you're doing that, you might want to rethink that heel size.

But I digress once again.

Lipsticks, hair dye, haircuts, manicures, tanning beds, facial creams, eyebrow and bikini waxes, palates, thongs, and push-up bras...are only a small sampling of the things we do to keep up our appearance...but it's inevitable, we WILL age. Gravity happens. "Perky" is not a word you will ever hear describing anything about you once you are on the "slide down side" of forty, unless you are Katie Couric - and even then it's said in a condescending tone.

Why then...WHY...would you subject yourself to the humiliation of some 20-year-old guy seeing you "sans" clothing?

You girls all know you play a certain game when you get in the bedroom and it's not the one the boys think. You've practiced it in countless mirrors...you got it down to a science...it is a science - the science of looking better than you do. You pose yourself in certain ways in certain lights...candles and darkness are your friends...and a couple well-timed Martinis don't hurt, either.

And when you're alone...you have another game you play: you lift your head and angle your face just so in order to take all those photos you take of yourself. You experiment until you get it right. You might even have collagen or Botox injections in all the right grooves...you might even have a boob job, but do you want to see something which will stop you right in your Jimmy Choo Cougar-tracks? If you don't have some surgical interventions...go grab a couple tissues.

Now go and grab a hand mirror outta the bathroom. If you have one with the regular mirror on one side and the magnifying one on the other side...all the better. Now hold it up to look at your face - you still look pretty hot, right? Now, holding that same exact mirror - bend forward at the waist so your face is now facing the floor.

Scary, huh?

Now, take that same mirror and lie, face-up, on the bed. Whoa! Instant face lift...a good 10 years shaved off without any surgery...maybe 20 comes off if you HAVE surgery.

But, unfortunately for all us ladies, there's not too many legitimate jobs which require you to lie flat on your back all day. So, this is why my next piece of advice is one I'm sticking to.

I don't know about you, but I certainly would rather be the better looking naked one out of the pair of us. Maybe that's why I was never attracted to those Chippendales guys...I don't want to compete with someone whose body looks better than mine. I already have a complete lack of self-esteem...give me the most out of shape guy (well, maybe not THE most out of shape guy) with a brain. Sixty? Fine. 40? Eh. 20? Hell, no! I'm not incredibly vain but I'd also like to keep those last three shreds of confidence that I do have.

So, me...a Cougar? Nah, more like a gray panther.

(Originally written, but not published, approximately three years ago.)

WSFA's Reporter - Eileen Jones

Eileen Jones interviewing Governor Bob Reily.

As there's no way to comment on the ongoing and unfolding story regarding WSFA's reporter, Eileen Jones (at least not through AOL's browser), I have decided to make a blog about her...or at least what I know about her.

I have been a big fan of Ms. Jones since I first noticed her on the news here in Montgomery many years ago. She's an incredible reporter and I have written to WSFA over the years voicing my opinion that I don't think they use her to her own and the station's utmost potential. I think she's one of the most underused and overlooked reporters they have on staff.

She's eloquent, classy, and always extremely professional in my opinion. I've read her biography years ago and I hold nothing but admiration for this woman...or should I say person -- as I would say the same about anyone, male or female, who impressed me as much as she's done...time and time again. She's an exemplary reporter and I hold her in such high regard I can't even begin to convey it.

I've run into her around town, repeatedly, typically in a grocery store and clothing store I won't divulge the names of...as I want to respect her privacy.

I've gone up to her...giddy with delight...she probably thought I was just bonkers and some crazed maniacal fan...and she was always extremely genial, remarkably gracious and tolerated my unending compliments. In fact I ran into her just last week again...and she, as usual, thanked me for my kind words...which were totally true. As far as reporters go in this town, if someone quizzed me about which one I put on a pedestal and nearly idolize...it's no secret -- I wouldn't have to think about it once, let alone twice -- it's Eileen Jones.

While I don't know the full circumstances which took place and I cannot comment on anything regarding her alleged "assault and escape"...I just wanted everyone to know what I've born witness to over the years...on television and in person.

I certainly hope and pray this doesn't hurt her career. I wish Montgomery, the whole state, and the country...had more reporters of the caliber of Ms. Jones.

Of Ripples of Butterfly Wings

I decided I would re-run this blog because someone told me earlier tonight they always liked this one...and over the years I've gotten many compliments about it. Perhaps the majority of you haven't read it (as my friend pointed out)...so here it is again - originally posted 30 March 2007. I hope you'll enjoy it.

Daily things that are within our ability to do...yet we don't do them...and wonder what would have happened had we gone out of the way, if but for a minute, to take the time to do them...

Things whiz by my car window as I drive my daughter to school, they whiz by when I go to Fresh Market to buy food, things whiz by everyone on their daily day-to-day doings. We must look as bewildering and complicated from above as an ant colony looks to us from our perspective as well. We all have our destinations...we are determined to get there, our aim is predetermined...we shouldn't waver from it...we must be good scout, soldier, and worker ants...don't deviate from our mission. "Git 'er done!"

But at what cost? Is there a cost...is there just a tiny little butterfly effect that we might cause if we alter our daily doings...just how far would those ripples be felt...and most of all, would it be worth it in the end?

I was driving my daughter to school this morning, down Congressman Dickinson Drive...and right before I passed the Montgomery Humane Shelter on the right side of the road, there was a dog sitting on the side of the road...a big dog...a brown mastiff-looking lug of a dog...the canine equivalent of those not-so-bright mugs that protect the corrupt bosses in those old 30s/40s black/white films. But he wasn't a mean-looking type...he's one of those lovable mugs - just out of his element. I could tell he was lost...but I had to get my daughter to her school...she couldn't be late and I can't look up the shelter's number and drive at the same time. I COULD...but I refuse to drive that way...everyone should refuse such things.

I made it to her school - just in time and exited out of the parking lot - I take a different route back, so I don't know what became of that dog. Had I made a call and let them know about the dog...had I flapped my wings a little...they would have flapped theirs...and a whole other outcome would have come about. But I don't know the outcome...not that I would have known the alternate outcome. It's unlikely I would have called back to check on his status at the shelter..."don't ask...you might not want them to tell". But...I won't ask here as well...I might not want to hear it either. My choice to remain out of it...to step off that mental platform that calls each of us to do more than we do...called to me stronger than the one which would have gotten me involved.

The dog is now a blur as I go past, continuing on to my journey...my journey which is set, in mental concrete...that shouldn't have cracks in it. There must be no cracks...continue looking...but don't touch...don't make waves with those wings. I turn left onto Coliseum Blvd...there's a man, looking sad, a white plastic grocery store bag in his hand...bending down picking up trash from his yard. You can tell this is a daily stop on his personal journey...his that is also probably set. No verbal exchanges I'm sure from any passersby...do any of the littering culprits ever drive by to catch him picking up THEIR stuff they threw in his yard because they didn't want to clutter up their own cars? Do they drive by and snicker? Do they repeatedly throw the stuff in his yard all the time? Perhaps they work at the same store his grocery bag, now used as a trash bag, is from. I thought of that all in that millisecond time-frame that seemed to freeze-frame and then speed up again, like it does in films. As with the dog...my first and final contact with him. I'm almost to my destination - I'll not be late after all...keep it all in the parameters of my initial plan...don't get sidetracked.

I drop my daughter off...a few kids are being let out of their parents cars and running toward the school...you aren't supposed to do that - they are supposed to be accompanied by a parent when they are in the parking lot...they aren't being good ants...they aren't helping their colony. The small children are oblivious to the fact that the majority of the cars dashing in and out of the parking lot can't see them over the top of their hoods...let alone a rear-view image...but they still scurry. The cars, seemingly having their own agendas, must get to the next destination...a series of stops...move along...next station...move along again...and nothing is supposed to slow them down. But there are tiny little delicate cogs that can throw that system totally out of whack...these children, who probably have heard that old proverb..."children should be seen and not heard"...don't realize they are neither seen nor heard in a parking lot among the massive metal giants. Giants that can squoosh a child like a bug. So, I've decided today...I will be their champion...I will come to their aid...I will notify the school about these goings on before I hear what we all don't want to hear. I will pick up my phone, I will get online and write an email, I will dare to be that ripple that happens when I start to flap my wings...I will alight on my mental platform...I will take the time and I WILL be heard. It's only just a whisper I know...but a whisper can stop an accident, save a dog, or the person's life who might end up swerving to avoid hitting it. Whispers have started and stopped wars...whispers are much stronger than you can imagine.

Just think if we all spoke up from a whisper once in a while and beat our little wings until they made ripples...and if you ever saw ripples in water when you toss in even the tiniest pebble, you know they just keep going out further and further. I believe even a seemingly inconsequential phone call, intervention, deviation from our set norm...can set things in motion we've never dreamt of...and perhaps a deed we do will soar...even without anyone even knowing it.

"Hey, let's talk about sex!"

Give me any woman and ten minutes...and it will lead to sex.

Well, not actual sex, mind you, but the conversation will eventually end up with us talking about some facet of sex. I'm almost convinced I've had more sex talks than Dr. Ruth and Dr. Laura Berman have...COMBINED.

There's something about complete anonymity which people seem comfortable enough about, to start spilling out their most private details right there at the card, produce or coffee section in the supermarket.

These are women of all ages - all ethnicities and all social statures. For some reason I must come across as a great sex therapist, as this has been going on with me for ages. Maybe it's my talkative nature, maybe it's my ease to listen and actually pay attention at the same time...maybe it's just that a whole lot of women like to talk about sex with complete strangers. Who knows?

All I know is that 98 percent of women out there (based on my "research in the field")...are not at all satisfied with their sex lives and/or their partners. Oh, they all go home and act like they are...or maybe they don't; but if it's any indication of the information I've been told, women clearly aren't in happy relationships...sexual or otherwise.

"Why do these anniversary cards have to say, 'You're the best thing that ever happened to me?' or 'You make my life complete.' or 'You're the best husband a wife could ever wish for!' ...why can't there just be generic 'Happy Anniversary' cards without any sentiment on them, whatsoever?"

Oh yes, I've been privy to that conversation a zillion times. Do you know how incredibly hard it is for these women to actually pick out a card? There's not many "un-sappy, un-gushing, un-laden with sexual innuendo" cards to choose from. And the ones that do fit that bill...look like "Here, Bob...you shoulda bought this yourself and saved me the trouble." Nothing in between. But I guess Hallmark wouldn't make too many sentimental brownie points if they had the "Andy Rooney Line of Anniversary Cards"...

"Whatever happened to our marriage? How come you don't do anything nice for me anymore? You don't think socks just pick themselves up DO you? Oh yes...all the waitresses in the best restaurants LOVE to be reminded that you could BUY the whole bottle for the price they charge for two glasses. Class like yours only comes with age...and we've been married HOW LONG, again??"

Those Hallmark gems aren't in the aisle you'll be looking thru. You'll be finding couples who look nothing like you holding hands, hiking; in a yacht, cuddling beneath a starlit sky, and for some reason - worshipping the game of golf.

Pay attention next time you go card shopping...on the surface it looks like it's only a sea of blank faces faced with the daunting task of choosing "just the right card". But...look closely...their apparent blank gazes twitch and grimace...and do that "eye roll" thing...and if you're very quiet, you can even hear a little whimper sounding like "yeah right" spoken under their breath. And these are the people I speak to because you can always spot them...they are there, and by the third or fourth card (like that third or fourth drink)...they're willing to open up to anyone who will listen.

It's really quite disconcerting when you come to think of it -- a whole slew of people so dissatisfied with their lives, secretly confiding in someone they know they'll never see again about a topic they probably rarely ever talk to anyone else about. It's sad that they're pouring their hearts out to someone who really doesn't matter to them...about something that...really does matter.

Apparently it also matters to over 50 percent of Americans...as they wind up divorced. Many get divorced, directly or indirectly, because of sex: the lack of it, the incompatibility over it, the infidelity because of it...the list is literally endless. And the stigma attached to talking to someone in a clinical setting about it...is most likely the key factor as to why so many women are tight-lipped about it.

Except, of course, when they run across a talkative perceptive stranger in some beauty salon, TJ Maxx, the doctor's office, Fresh Market, or any store with a card aisle.



(Originally written, but not published, about three years ago.)

Write On

A few of you might know that I passionately entertain the thought of one day being a "real" writer. That being said, I like to extol the virtues of writing...or at least using your imagination once in a while and writing something with it. I also believe there should be a lot more writing in school, especially in the elementary grade levels.

A few years back I talked my daughter's (name withheld because I'm like that) English teacher (also name withheld because I'm like that) into allowing me into her classroom to talk about my limited (but still very special to me) writing experiences. Some of the things I touched on were my methods of undertaking various aspects of writing...and how I hoped they'd embrace writing instead of being scared of the whole entire process.

This is that talk I gave to my daughter's 6th grade class...and, as such, you have to remember I tried to appeal to a year 2007 6th grade English class. Also, I ad-libbed a LOT as I tend to talk a LOT...and that's not in this basic outline of this "speech".

By the way, last year I was invited to speak at AUM (Auburn University at Montgomery) to a group of English students regarding my 2003 Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest win...and if you're interested, I'd be more than happy to share my limited "life-long" writing experiences in other settings (classrooms, auditoriums, etc.) as well. All you have to do is ask me.


Allow me to introduce myself - I am Mariann Simms...Mrs. Simms...but most of you know me as my daughter's mom.

The reason I'm here today is because I talked your teacher into letting me come here and tell you that you should all WRITE some more. LOTS more!

A little about me...when I was young, about your age, I wanted to be a writer...then I grew up not knowing what I wanted to be until I realized, not too long ago, that I still wanted to be a writer. Imagine my disappointment knowing how much further I might have actually gotten had I just listened to myself years ago.

I have an online interactive humour website that I've been doing since 2001 that you shouldn't go to and I've also won tons of prizes, including a TiVo, by entering "funny" and or "writing-type" contests online. But my biggest claim to fame to date was winning the prestigious Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest in 2003. For doing this, I was interviewed by CNN...American, Australian and Canadian radio and television programs, and had a front page write-up at the Montgomery Advertiser. I was on the front page of USA Today...and was literally (and I Googled myself, so I know for sure) mentioned in newspapers from Algeria to Zimbabwe. Yes, my name was mentioned in the Zimbabwe Times...or whatever they call their paper.

How many of you have ever heard of the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction contest? (Excluding my daughter.) How many of you are now somewhat impressed by the fact I won it? Professor Scott Rice, the man who came up with this contest back in 1982 and still judges it, asked all the previous winners the other month (for his upcoming Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest book) what, if anything, did we notice that changed or happened to us since our winning it.

I told him I found that people whom I've told about my winning this contest seem to look upon me with an amount of admiration and respect...ESPECIALLY those who hadn't a clue what it was. Who here ever heard of the saying "The pen is mightier than the sword?" Well, the man who wrote that saying was Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, who lived back in 1803-1873. He also wrote a novel entitled "Paul Clifford" which has the distinction of having, possibly in all of history, the worst opening sentence ever written and printed. How many of you have seen those "Peanuts" cartoons where Snoopy is typing and starts off..."It was a dark and stormy night..."? Well that was how Bulwer-Lytton started his novel...but then it went on and on and on and on...and really ended up getting worse by the word...only I'm sure he wasn't trying to do that intentionally. What I did was intentional. In 2003, I was judged to have come up with the "worst opening line to a fictional novel"...but keep in mind...I was the BEST at writing the WORST. It's not easy to write badly well...or is that badly good? Anyway, here's my winning entry:

They had but one last remaining night together, so they embraced each other as tightly as that two-flavor entwined string cheese that is orange and yellowish-white, the orange probably being a bland Cheddar and the white . . . Mozzarella, although it could possibly be Provolone or just plain American, as it really doesn't taste distinctly dissimilar from the orange, yet they would
have you believe it does by coloring it differently.

Seventy-one words...yep, 71 words...in one opening sentence; many different forms of punctuation, but only one period allowed. And I did this all on my first attempt ever at sending in an entry...and I only sent in the one entry. Yes, I had to throw that in for posterity.

This brings us to one of a writer's most annoying, perplexing, head-banging, paper-crumbling, pencil point breaking event: Coming up with that "stupid" first sentence to anything you write. Face it, after you get that part written, the rest usually comes a lot easier, right?

My advice to you...is to write the way you speak. How would you say it if you were just telling your friend? Just write the way you'd say it. Try it...it works.

Most of my favourite authors don't write to baffle and impress - sure, some do - but I find it most annoying to stop every 8th word to go look it up. Ray Bradbury, a science fiction writer who wrote such classics as "The Martian Chronicles", "Farenheit 451", "The Wonderful Ice Cream Suit", and countless other stories...writes extremely simplistic...but since it's told WELL, it captures you and draws you in. You WANT to keep reading to find out what's going to happen next and he hardly ever gets all "super intelligent" with you. Not that writing with big words and expanding your vocabulary isn't a good thing...I just don't think most people talk like a scientific journal reads...so, especially when you have characters in a story having a conversation...it's best they talk the way they would if they were real people.

My second piece of advice...get a good dictionary and thesaurus - a REAL one, not one of those online ones...and just keep it handy when reading or writing. How many times do you just skip a word that you read but you don't know its meaning? LOOK IT UP! When I was a kid or when I worked, during lunchbreaks, I would read the dictionary. No, seriously, I would. Sounds kinda spooky, huh? One of the most fun things to do with a dictionary is to just open it up on a random page and look at a word you don't know. You really can't do that kind of thing with an online one...so invest in a real one.

Now on to the "flow" of words...how they are strung together...how they sound. Are you redundant...using the same word over and over again? At the risk of sounding redundant here...get a thesaurus! Altho, sometimes redundancy is called for...as one of my favourite movie lines of all times from "The Shawshank Redemption" (which was a short story written by Stephen King...you know that scary guy?) shows. Bear in mind the word "hope" itself is used throughout the movie in many scenes...and it's used again toward the end of the film by the character Morgan Freeman plays, a man who's just been released from prison after serving about 40 years. As he's sitting on a bus that will ultimately take him to see his former-inmate friend, he thinks to himself:

I find I'm so excited, I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it's the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain. I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my friend, and shake his hand. I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope.

Anyone know a quote from a film or book? What would have happened if it were strung together differently...think about that when you write...does it flow...does it sound nice when you say it? Does it have the impact you want it to have? How about if you change it around? Would it lose or gain something?

Coming back to myself here...I also write a blog at the Montgomery Advertiser's online site...only if any of you have seen blogs, they are all like "Oh my cat jumped on my car today and I think I have to get it washed...bummer." In other words, I don't think they're very interesting. Well, I write a blog there, but I like to think of them as "blogumns", or better yet, very short stories. But I'm not talking about newspaper-type stories...let me explain...

When you read a news story in a paper, there's a format journalists are supposed to follow. How many of you read the paper or have ever read an article in the paper? How far down in that article do you usually get? Do you read the whole thing...or stop after the first couple paragraphs?

Now, how many of you read books...like the Harry Potter ones? Did you read the whole thing or stop after a few pages? You read the whole thing, right? Did you ever stop to wonder...WHY?

You see, in the paper they have this thing called the 5 W's. Who, What, Where, When, and Why? They typically put all the most interesting and important bits in the first two paragraphs. The rest is just incidental stuff, filler, and probably some back history, quotes, and biography work-ups.

What would happen, say, if JK Rowling would have said ALL her interesting ideas in the first couple pages...or even the first couple chapters and then just dwindled off into "filler" the rest of the story? Wouldn't be much of a story, would it?

And don't get discouraged if it doesn't come out right the first time...JK Rowling took six years to write her first book...and she was turned down nine times before someone signed her. And guess how many times Daniel Handler aka Lemony Snicket was turned down for his first book? Thirty-seven times!

My last piece of advice to you would be the next time you sit down to write a STORY, keep in mind you need to capture AND HOLD the reader's curiosity to get him to turn that next page. Remember not to cram ALL your good stuff in the first sentence...or else it just might end up being a worse sentence than even MINE was...but probably not intentionally.



"It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents--except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness." --Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, Paul Clifford (1830)

Never Forget

I am late doing this...but let us not forget those who gave their lives...or part of their lives to keep us free. Be it whichever war it was...remember, they did it so that people like you and me can breathe the air we breathe and live the life we lead. Let us honour them (and ourselves and our family and our family's family) by living good, honourable lives...worthy of their sacrifice.

Photos I took in Washingon, DC - 2009.

From top to bottom the photos are as follows:Washington Monument
Marine Corps War Memorial aka the Iwo Jima Memorial
Korean War Veterans Memorial
Changing of the Guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at Arlington National Cemetery
Arlington National Cemetery
Korean War Veterans Memorial

I've Got Mono

Here's a proposed Craig Ferguson (host of CBS's "Late Late Show") monologue I came up with long ago. Keep in mind this was written the first year he started hosting - so his "voice" has changed some...i.e., he doesn't say the same things like he used to. This was purely for my entertainment...it's not like Craig asked me to write his monologues or anything...it was just for fun. It also helps if you have seen Craig and know his mannerisms and vocal intonations...if not, you can always call me up and I'll read it to you in my best "Craig voice". :)

Please be aware I'm posting these blogs how I originially wrote them years ago. Consequently they aren't going to be timely and they aren't going to be like my regular blogs -- mainly a lot of these are just "comedy snippets" of sorts.

Jane Birkin and the Hermès bag named after her.

I was walking around the "ritzy shopping district" the other day, and I can't believe what these stores in Hollywood sell for kids.

"Oh yes, why my daughter just HAS to have a pair of $5000 Hermès earmuffs...ALL the kids in her class do"...like whatever happened to getting your kid a Barbie!?

When I was a wee lad growing up in Scotland...I got to name a sheep - and it wasn't even MY sheep - it was Mr. Flannagan's across town. THAT was MY lousy Christmas present - not some poofy $5000 earmuffs and a Birkin bag. What the hell's a Birkin bag, anyway - and why does it cost $30,000??!

What's even worse, is that you have to wait TWO years if you want to get one...unless you go to eBay and then it's anyone's guess. Would YOU know a fake Birkin bag if you bought one? I certainly wouldn't. "You know, Marge...your tag looks sooooo three-thousand dollar-ish."

I know what you're saying...here's another late nite talk show host talking about expensive 'to die for' purses. But this is true!

These Birkin bags were named after Jane Birkin...who was an English actress who did a lot of French films in the 60s. I Googled her, I did...and she was NAKED in EVERY SINGLE photo......with Brigitte Bardot, even!

Hey, when you have Brigitte Bardot telling you to "put some clothes on, girlfriend"...you know you have something.

So, I guess the Hermes designers were sitting around one day saying, "Well we have the Kelly bag named after Grace Kelly -- and that one has style, can we maybe...oh, I don't know...make a bag with a lot more slutty appeal? How about this Birkin one? Sure! And let's say you have to wait months to get one...that way it will be like an adult 'Tickle-Me-Elmo' doll..."

...and speaking of tickling...I think THAT'S the movie where Birkin was actually wearing those muffs.

Well, the photo WAS a little fuzzy.

C'mon..it's true!

(Originally written 9 December 2005)

What CAN I do?

The following was written by me as a silly comedy snippet (you know...if I ever tried to do a stand-up comedy routine...and if Montgomery, Alabama ever had a comedy venue to try my hand at it)...apparently serving no real purpose until now (and even now I question its purpose)...

So, anybody here have trouble sleeping?

I seriously have problems sleeping...that I've had since I can remember. Tried relaxing, warm milk, cold vodka...nothing works. So I figure I'll go and read a book...you know, you read some...you get tired...you fall asleep.

So, I go on down to the library because you can pick up used books there for like a quarter...and I picked up a few, including one big-ass one by Stephen King called "Insomnia".

Well, I'm no genius, but I figure the reason these books are for sale for less than a buck is because no one wants to read them...and who the HELL's going to want to read some horror book about not sleeping when they're trying to sleep?? Just what was he thinking??

But I've got to hand it to him...he thinks of an everyday happening and then makes a scary as hell story out of it. I just figure he's sitting there at home at the typewriter...going..."Dogs...yeah...really mean dog..."Cujo". Corn...people like corn...how about "Children of the Corn"? Ooh, what else do people like to do? Drive...yeah..."Christine"...okay...talk on their cell phones. I got it: "Cell"!"

Okay, so I can't have a dog, can't bury it behind my house if it would ever die...can't eat corn or talk on my cell phone...forget about talking on it IN my car...and I'll never sleep again. What's going to be next? A horror story about a toilet?

Oh gee, thanks, Mr. King.


Originally written 28 Jan 06.

Prelude To Some Blogs

My next series of blogs (don't get bent out of shape...I am not doing another three-parter on Sea Monkeys)...will be older ones. Not that I've posted them before...but they remain old, nonetheless.

A little back-story if I may...

A while back I took to carrying around this brown, faux-leather notebook in which I would write when I had to sit waiting in doctor's offices and whatnot. I even half-convinced myself that I would look massively impressive and "writer-ish" like Johnny Depp did in "Finding Neverland". And anyone who was fortunate enough to glance in my direction would automatically think of Depp's portrayal of J.M. Barrie...and be stricken with the worst case of awe he ever experienced (good thing they were at the doctor) in his entire life. Imagine me...a budding Oscar-winning, future Pulitzer Prize-winning, AND former Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest-winning (yes, that last one already happened - go read my side-bar) writer, sitting right there next to them and they'd not even know it! Oh, they'd sense it alright as I had, clutched in my hand, a highly elaborate "look at me...I'm someone important" pen...and no one need ever know I purchased quite a few of these for next to nothing when the Office Max store up on the bypass went out of business a couple years back.

Yes...while I basked in the glow of my pseudo-self importance - in the end I probably just came off looking like an aging buffoon who hadn't yet realized you could email people instead of write them. So much for instilling people with a sense of "awe". Awesome? No. Awe-kward? Yes.

Then I misplaced this notebook for a time and only found it the other day. While it is true that common sense dictated I could just pick up another one at TJ Maxx and start anew, which I did; the new ones, equally majestic as those "on sale" pens, just didn't hold the same kind of magic to me, so I decided I'd start bringing a book along to read instead. Yes, I traded writing for reading...but the arithmetic undoubtedly came out the same: I still probably looked like just another old ailing chick sitting in a doctor's office.

As far as these blogs (or very short stories, as I like to call them) go...I was thinking about just scrapping them all, but then I figured I'd use them and let everyone know why they might seem out-of-date...as "I do believe" they have some worth.

So, there -- I've said it...and with further delay, I present to you...some old blogs.

Sea Monkeys III: The Final Seaquel

Because you are all dying (faster than my cannibalistic Sea Monkeys) to have me wrap up my final installment of my three-part foray into Sea Monkey raising...I certainly won't prolong this agony any longer than is humanly tolerable.

As you are all aware (if you had been following along with Part 1 and 2), I found a treasure trove of endless fun - and something I've always wanted: Sea Monkeys.

While Sea Monkeys might not be all they're cracked up to be...and certainly not all they are hyped up to be, they did do something in my house which rarely ever happens.

No, they didn't make the kids clean their rooms and I didn't finish that book I was writing; but there was actual family interaction involved in spurts, and these little freeze-dried "time-travellers", mutant as they may be, caused it.

Oh, I'm not reporting there were any "Gee, Wally, will ya look at that!" moments - and sadly, despite years of comic book-inspired anticipation, they have yet to live up to the mystique these ads insinuated. In other words, they haven't built any underwater castles - a fact which I am still upset over...and probably will be for life.

But, true to their word, my "family" hatched in a mere 24-hour time frame. Apparently we kept the thermostat in the house set to "optimal Sea Monkey breeding temperature". We were careful to put them on a north-facing window (as instructed) and barricaded them ingeniously against the windowsill with rocks so we didn't, one day, wake up to the sound of tacky plastic containers falling due to overzealous curious cats.

We, so far, have never had to make some split-second decision of whether one would even be capable of extruding minute aquatic squiggles out of carpet pile - or whether a good stomping up and down on the poor misfortunate mutant life form would be a far, far, better thing to do. So...no such "Tale of Two Cities" moments...yet.

The following days were "filled" with such family entertainment as feeding them, replacing Sea Monkey water, which evaporates at an astronomically slow rate, and wondering how I was going to clean their aquarium. Face it, microscopic egg sacs could easily be mistaken for dirty water. Perhaps when I "strawed" some out to toss it...I threw away 75 whole families.

Oh, I am sure there are ways to ascertain your Sea Monkeys live for ages - because they sell enough extra Sea Monkey stuff to guilt any caring person, i.e., a mother of a six-year-old, into purchasing. And if they don't live after you plunk down $3.00 for "Sea Monkey Medicine" (yes, I kid you not) and another $3.00 for a "Sea Monkeys 'Million Bubble' Air Pump", etc., etc., - well, there's always that "Amazing 2 Year Warranty!" of theirs.

And then, for people like me...who never acquired their Sea Monkeys until much, much later in life...there's the "Executive Sea Monkeys For Grown Ups" kit for a mere $12.00.

Oh, yeah...these guys "Sea" you coming...but I'm not falling for any of it...

...but I am half-tempted to send away for an official "Sea Monkey Diploma" from the prestigious "Crustacean College" certifying me as a "Sea Monkey Scientist". It's only $16.00 with shipping and handling included, and just think how THAT would look on my resume...and how all prospective employers would look at ME for including it.

Sounds to me there's literally hours of fun to be had right there!



Now for some amazing Sea Monkey photos...

Small Hatchlings:

Sea Monkeys front and center..."Primordial Pool" in the background:
Sea Monkey - Up Close:

If I Can Have Your Attention, Please...A Toast to..."Young Boozer"

Niftiest name ever for a candidate?

I'm sorry - I'd vote for this guy regardless of which office he's running for. I don't even need to hear his platform - his name is AWESOME!

At least he seems to have a sense of humour as he's poking fun of his name as well at his website.

If they would ever allow me to come up with campaign slogans...I'd enlist a few of my players on my interactive comedy website ("yes, I have one" - and "why haven't you played already?")...and, in a few years, this guy would be President!

I challenge you all to come up with actual candidates over the years...with a name better than this.

Good luck.

Coming to a Mailbox Near You: Stamp Out Pesky Raccoons this Saturday!

(I know I owe everyone Part 3 of my Sea Monkey blog...I will get to it tomorrow or the next day...but for now, I had to promote and voice my concern over this food drive.)

I must commend the United States Postal Service...in conjunction with the National Association of Letter Carriers...for their thoughtful idea to try to "curb" hunger via asking people to donate "non-perishable" food items. They are asking that items be left by your mailbox this Saturday, 8 May 10, to be picked up by your mail carrier (yes, mail WILL be late this Saturday)...to be taken to a local food bank and distributed to the needy.

The thought is very nice. I don't have any problems with this - but I have problems with this whole idea and I'm never one to mince words...I'm one to say them, or in this case, to type them out.

Number One Problem: The notification in my mailbox today. Had I not noticed I had TWO of them...I wouldn't have paid any attention to either. I saw the word "stamp" on both - and automatically shuffled them to the back of my pile of bills and "To the Manor Born" Netflix dvds I had in my hand. It was only when I saw it on the newscast tonite that I paid any attention...and then I just balked at the fact I got TWO of these. Either it's easier to put two in every other mailbox than to put one in each...or they just made about a bazillion of these things...at some astronomical cost. These things don't print themselves. Granted, they've pretty much bypassed the "buying the stamps" thing - but I bet even the Post Office has to shell out X amount for some bulk mailing fee. So, yes, I have an issue with this.

Number Two Problem: "Non-perishable food items". I looked this up...it's basically food which doesn't decay as rapidly as other food...that doesn't decay as fast as the ones which decay faster. Yeah...I know...the little postcard...oops...correction "postcards" I received today stipulate that "non-perishable" food items include canned meats and fish, canned soup, juice, pasta, vegetables, cereal and rice. The two postcards go on to say that we shouldn't give expired items or those in glass containers. I don't know about you...but I've had to toss out stuff like they're asking for because it had bugs in it, was dented, tasted nasty, etc. And I can't shake the feeling that scores of people are going to be raiding their pantries and just tossing out the things they don't like...like that bulk pack of generic Ramen noodles your kid bought when he was going off to college...but forgot to take along when he moved out, the six-pack snack-sized blueberry applesauce cups (minus the one your kid ate and hated), that questionable box of spaghetti with an undecipherable "company code" instead of an expiration date, and so forth. Hey, you won't ever eat them - but that doesn't mean someone else might, right?

Number Three Problem: Critters. Let's say I take a nice grocery bag or two full to place next to my mailbox for pick-up whenever they deliver on Saturday. I live out here in the rural-ville area...and we have possums, raccoons, rats and mice, armadillos and various other miscellaneous creatures which prowl around looking for tasty bits of pasta, chips, and plastic containers of Jell-O pudding cups...in fact they probably can smell them from two blocks away. I'm not even taking in consideration dogs and cats that might come by. And even if they don't rip them open...there's always "marking" things up...and I'm not talking about prices. They like to "claim" things as their own and there's only one way they go about this...and I'm not sure the Postal person going to know whether or not that moisture's from humidity or from the big-headed feral cat that lives on my property. To borrow and change a phrase from "Look Who's Talking"..."Could be green beans...could be urine-soaked Pringles!" Yum!

Number Four Problem: Ants. See above reason...only modify it some.

Number Five Problem: Humans. Far be it from me to insinuate there are people out there who would...a) steal bags of food people have placed outside for this cause; b) vandalize bags of food people have left out for this cause; and c) do other things I failed to think of to said bags of food.

Now I'm no rocket scientist (insert incendiary blog comment here) - but I'm thinking perhaps this could have been thought out better before they acted. I'm also not stupid...I Googled and I'm positive they collected thousands of pounds of food which helped out enormously to people who are needy. I'm not saying this is a bad cause...I'm just figuring "leaving it at your mailbox" outside...which most people are putting out the nite before...isn't the safest and most sanitary way of going about donating food. And no one associated with this cause wants to make someone sick inadvertently I am sure...but I'm sure this is going to happen if there aren't better ways to police this.

And...if you haven't heard about this worthy cause...please go here for more info: www.usps.com/stampouthunger -- but I would stick to canned foods for your piece of mind...I know I am.

Monkey Sea Monkey Two

Okay, I've kept you all on the edge of your seats for a while now. And when I say "you all" it's not like the Southern "y'all"...it's more like the collective three of you who read my blog. But...the anticipation is going to be partly over soon...and soon you will know what I mean by "part"ly over.

The last blog I left you wondering about my Sea Monkey nurturing - will they hatch? Will they grow up and build a castle? Will they cling to the edge and die...or will they just sit on the windowsill totally forgotten as easily as I tend to forget about watering plants?

Well, first...yes, they did hatch. I had a bunch of those little squirmy things the size of microscopic lice in my Sea Monkey habitat. They really paled in comparison to the huge things my backyard pool grows in the off season...and speaking of comparisons...

...let's compare what the instructions for Sea Monkeys say vs what they really mean, shall we?

Sea Monkey instructions are a wonderful study of contradictions of sorts...as they rather are written with failsafe legal loopholes built in.

Apparently the Sea Monkey folks decided long ago that there's nothing more detrimental to the Sea Monkey business boom than a class action law suit filed by disgruntled Sea Monkey owner lawyers. Yes, when you stipulate that these things have an "Amazing 2 Year Warranty"...you have to, 1) Be able to stand behind it; and 2) Be certain that the majority of Sea Monkey owners are going to lose interest in these things in a fortnight.

Now I'm not claiming to be the brightest bulb in the chandelier nor the sharpest tool in the box, but I'm certainly not one fry short of a Happy Meal, neither.

If, for some reasons my little denizens of the sea fail to hatch or I fail to feed them or my cat drinks the water out of their bowl or whilst in the throes of wild monkey sex (not to be confused with Sea Monkey sex) knock the bowl on the floor and they all die...the fine folks at the Sea Monkey headquarters will send me a water purifier packet, a packet of Sea Monkey egg pouches (valued at the astronomical sum of $6.00) absolutely FREE! They will also send me the "Official" Sea Monkey Handbook (an additional $3.00 value)...also absolutely FREE! And all this will be sent to me FREE of charge if I send them a self-addressed stamped envelope and $3.00 for handling. Heck, that's a deal - as I incur absolutely NO SHIPPING CHARGES! How great is this??

But...even while I realize by doing the above I would have already paid the shipping charges...I have to wonder...so the instructions that came with MY Sea Monkeys were the...what?? UNofficial Sea Monkey Handbook? Certainly I must have been gypped with my original purchase not to have a genuine handbook. What I have is a measly 8 1/2 by 11 inch instruction sheet. Granted, it IS printed on both sides...but the more I look at it as I type this, the more I think it's not even a full 8 1/2 by 11. Seriously...what a letdown.

This flimsy excuse for a handbook goes on to try to convince me that I am to be congratulated on "becoming the owner of the most fantastic pets to ever live and breath!" Yes..."live and breath" is what it says...as apparently I can't hold any claim that they really aren't at all in the same league as my cats...as, well...my cats "breathe". Danged loophole again.

They further tell me that I'll have more fun with them than any sea creature I've ever owned. I don't know about you - but I've owned fish. Fish are pretty boring. They might be nice to look at, but it's not like you can pluck one out of the bowl and sit with it on the sofa. At least not without it smelling after a bit.

These little flecks of sea things will also reward me "with endless hours of pleasure and enjoyment" - and unlike make-believe toys, pet Sea Monkeys are really alive and ready and eager to put on a show. And unlike the insane lady who felt compelled to feed her Tamagotchi while driving...you probably won't kill a cyclist if you're too busy sitting at home, mesmerized, watching your Sea Monkeys.

I have to give the writers of the instructions some credit as they stopped short of saying they are the "Doctor Who of the millennia" - but they might have well said it with this ludicrous statement, "Sea Monkeys are real Time-Travellers asleep in biological time capsules for their strange journey into the future!" Hmmm...perhaps they can get Tom Baker to smile his toothy grin and hold up a packet of eggs and a TARDIS-like container to put them in. Hey...anything's possible - plus he probably hasn't been doing anything lately anyway.

But, wait...I gotta ask...aren't these things just brine shrimp? Once and for all...they aren't brine shrimp! Stop already! They are a "species" of brine shrimp...but they are unique. Not only do they claim to have unlocked the secrets of their life cycles - they've also hinted at creating some mutant sea thing: A hybrid they've crossbred (not unlike England's "Royal Family") but now they will grow larger and live longer than any "natural" variety of brine shrimp. Oh, yeah, they're royal for sure. In fact they mention something about Egyptian Kings in the literature they provided. So, chances are good my Sea Monkeys are blue-bloods -- you know...if they had blood.

My amazing two year warranty eludes to the assumption that my Sea Monkeys live at least two years...but just how long DO these things live? Well, according to my UNofficial 7 3/4" x 11" paper (yes, I just measured it), due to "new computer-driven processing technologies and ultra-pure, non-toxic chemicals, twice as many Sea Monkeys instantly hatch, grow larger and live longer than ever before". Wow! That's a mouthful...and impressive. But wait...just how long DO these things live? Apparently my instructions were not only written by Sea Monkey biologists but political biologists as well!

Now I know everyone is going green...and so's my Sea Monkey water...but that's for the next blog (yes...it's going to be a three-parter, folks). Some of you out there might be wondering..."Mutant royal brine shrimp? Just because they're hybrids...doesn't make them ecologically-friendly, ya know." But, let the fine folks at the Department of Sea Monkeys in Maryland assure you these things are really safe. So safe they can make this disclaimer: "Sea Monkeys are in no way harmful to humans or the environment. If they somehow find their way into natural water ways or sewer lines, they simply will not be able to survive."

So relax, everyone...if I "somehow" FLUSH THEM DOWN THE TOILET, they won't come out as giant alligators on the other end.



(Speaking of ends...stay tuned for Part 3 of my fantastic foray into the fascinating...oh, forget it...just stick around and read my last part when I write it, later on this week.)

Monkey Sea...Monkey Due

I don't know about you, but when I was a kid I got two presents a year if I was lucky. And most times I wasn't lucky and I got one combined "Birthday and Christmas Present"...the "luck" of being born ten days before Christmas. Sure, I saw my sisters and brother get TWO presents a year, but I would just sometimes get one. Sometimes it was a really nice present...like the year I got my purple Schwinn bike with the silver glitter banana seat with the purple and silver handlebar streamers...but mostly it was crap.

And speaking of crap...there are things we (people my age) always wanted but never could afford to get.

I remember wanting a Gumby and Pokey set in the worst way. Did I get one? No. Did I get something else I seriously didn't want? Yes.

That was the way things happened in those days...we didn't have Happy Meals, Gameboys, and unlimited parental funding every...single...time we went into some store. Nowadays kids don't look forward so much to Christmas, sad to say; as Christmas pretty much happens throughout the year for most kids in some shape or form.

And when I was a little kid I remember reading comic books. They weren't MY comic books as I never had comic books...I did, however have a "French-English Dr. Seuss Dictionary" book and a Barbie wedding set that's worth nearly millions now if only I kept them IN the box and never played with them.

But, again, as usual, I'm digressing.

In the very back of most comic books you'd see these marvelous things you could order for a few bucks...and a few bucks more for shipping and handling. You remember the things...if you are as old as me..."X-ray Specs"...guaranteed to allow you the superhuman ability to see thru clothing...but, for some reason, stopped at underwear. I don't know about you, but I never wore any lead-lined undies - but as the glasses were cheap, perhaps they only allowed you one layer of fabric before their power waned a bit.

So, when I ran across something I always wanted, in, of all places, TJ Maxx...well, I just had to get it.

Then I promptly rang up my friend and proclaimed, "I got something at TJ Maxx I always wanted as a kid! Three guesses what it is!"

"Uh...a bra."

"No...I have bras. C'mon, think um...something you wanted as a kid but you never bought it...they'd have them advertised in the back of comic books."

"Um...a Weenie Whistle?"

"No...but I watched 'The Santa Clause', too. I never wanted a Weenie Whistle ever. C'mon...you always knew someone who had a friend who had them...and they said they were bogus..."

"Seahorses."

"NO! You almost got it - SEA...???..."

"I said seahorses already."

"No! Sea Monkeys!"

(My son, by the way, guessed "Weenie Whistle, too - but did manage to get it right after the 2nd clue. Naturally, I had to call him up, risking life and limb talking on my cell phone in my car, as a monumental thing like Sea Monkeys...well, can't wait until you get home.)

Yes, I, a grown woman of - um - a certain age...plunked down $8.99 plus tax to finally get my dream present.

But, remember...in the ad they had a castle and a whole family and you could watch them grow and prosper and colonize a whole microcosm...right there in your own home! (You didn't need a whole pool. Oh...go read my second-to-last blog.) This wasn't just your run of the mill brine shrimp. No sirree..these were specialized "Sea Monkey" spawn, for cripes' sake. The ads...the ads wouldn't show little faces and tails and stuff if it wasn't so. I mean, this was one of those "money back if you're not satisfied" deals that guarantees this is the real McCoy. And, honestly, how would you even mail back a bunch of living, growing sea creatures, anyway?

Aha!

See???

So...I carefully laid out my instructions and three foil packets...and removed the paper which surrounded my Sea Monkey habitat...and laid that out as well. Sure, it read like a car or stereo manual...with pictographs and hieroglyphics and arrows and such...but since I have only one shot, I want to make sure I don't do anything wrong. There is, after all, freeze-dried life at stake here.

So, there I was, with my Sea Monkey paraphernalia strewn in front of me like Indiana Jones and a temple map...my eyes darting from one instruction bit to the next...making sure I wasn't going to screw up a crucial step and somehow upset the delicate balance of Sea Monkey-ness.

Everything I did would have to be carefully planned and carried out...plus double checked and rechecked...and rechecked again before I even started. Once I got that ball in motion, as in "Indiana Jones"...there's no stopping it and no turning back.

Day 1: Pour water into Sea Monkey container...let sit for 24 hours.

Damn, damn, damn, damn.

But I've waited for 40 years...another day won't make THAT big a difference.

Sure, that's what grown-ups tell you when you get all antsy and can't wait another minute...and, true to form...I felt like I couldn't wait an entire day. A whole day was light years away...and I was that little kid on Christmas Eve again.


("Monkey Sea...Monkey Blog Two" next time.)

Of Haggis and Owl...and Other Things Foul

I've recently been called out by a fellow blogger to participate in writing a poem. For those who don't exactly keep up here (at the Montgomery Advertiser blog section), mgb12345, who is very fond of writing poems, suggested I write one. Now, truth be told...I am not at all poem-y.

And I don't really like the ones which don't rhyme.

To me, if there's no rhyme...there's no reason. A poem without rhyme seems like a very short story with random line breaks. And I seriously don't get it.

But I wrote a silly poem the other day and I wrote to mgb12345 and told her about it. She wanted me to share...and I haven't, until now.

But, first I must confess that this is not my first foray into the poem realm. Long, long time ago, one of my online friends recruited the efforts of her group of online friends to attempt to win a radio contest in Scottsdale, Arizona. The gist of this contest was this: write a "funny" poem about haggis and win. Oh, wait, there's more...this was for the Arizona Renaissance Festival and the prize would be 10 free tickets (a small fortune, let me tell you - even in those days) and the "honour" of being crowned King (or Queen) of the Festival and all sorts of miscellaneous things being bestowed upon them.

So, I...a sucker for nearly any contest and downright pathetic whenever anything remotely challenging or competitive is put into the mix...set about writing a poem. Then I sent it to my friend. She culled all the ones sent to her (yeah, try to get the money back from her now, Renaissance Faire people) and submitted the one she considered her best bet.

As luck would have it, it was mine. And as further luck would have it...we (and when I say "we" I mean "I") won. Without further ado...I present my winning poem...from about 10-15 years ago:


The Minstrel's Ode to Haggis

Now gather ye maidens for a tale from our land...
Of the Scottish fare we eat that has gotten out of hand.
It's bits of the sheep innards that no one would eat...
Then boiled it its own stomach and WE call it a "treat".

So drink up and be merry for soon we will dine...
On a boiled tummy bag...ugh wench, fast, more wine.
If you think living now seems sometimes too dismal...
Just think of the Renaissance with no Pepto-Bismol.

Even Shakespeare wrote of haggis in a play called MacBeth...
With three witches a-cooking, a fate worse than death.
Listen close, heed my words, 'tis true in Scotland we tell...
That the something "rotten in Denmark" was the haggis smell.


So, as previously stated, she won all sorts of things...one of which was a real live (er...dead) haggis which she, in undoubtedly a grog-like induced state, decided a keen idea would be to ship this thing to me in the middle of summer, in a box surrounded by dry ice.

Dry ice, it seems, isn't necessarily "dry" when the bag it is encased in ruptures. And it isn't so much "icy" then, either. So, when I got this soggy box in the blistering heat of an Alabama summer...the first thing I did was say, "Ooooh a box." The second thing I said was, "Okay, the FBI will surely be coming to my door as whatever is inside this head-sized box...smells like...a severed head."

Okay, I've never actually smelled a severed head sent UPS, but chances are it's not too far off the mark from what I received. I, being the inquisitive sort...and not knowing what was inside the box...but really, really curious at this point, opened it.

All I can say is that the smell a sealed box of rotting, spoiled, decaying haggis emits pales in comparison with an opened box of rotting, spoiled, decaying haggis. Words like "vile" and (puntastically apropos) "gut-wrenching" come to mind. Also every single mob movie I've ever seen came to mind...and the "ear scene" from David Lynch's "Blue Velvet" as well...but mainly because I had recently watched it just prior to opening the box.

Yes, smell and memory are closely related because of the brain's limbic system. "Limbic" looks and sounds remarkably similar to the word "iambic", which, ironically is poem-related. In a strange way it's all very poetic really, right?

And that brings us to present day.

The other day I stumbled somehow upon a site which makes and sells "Hello Kitty" wine.

My online friend loves all things "Hello Kitty" so I forwarded the URL on to her. After she asked me which wine I would recommend, I perused their write-ups and came across this "tasty tidbit" for their Pinot Nero: "Best served with red meat, rabbit, lamb, roast beef, 'Zampone and Cotechino', wild owl and hard cheese."

Now, I don't know about you...but it's been virtually years since I've had any "wild owl" and frankly, if I can't get my hands on some prime grade "Spotted Owl"...I'm just going to say a resounding "No" to the whole owl species.

In the wee hours of the morning (all things are much funnier in the wee hours of the morning...hence my timely posting of this blog) my friend then asked her friends (on her forum) if people routinely eat "wild owl" in Britain. I figured it was probably just a typo and they indeed meant "wild fowl"...but, you have to admit..."wild owl" just reeks of the things a parody poem is made of.

So, I made one.

For further clarification of this poem's impetus - I must relay that someone from England replied at the forum saying they knew "gypsies who would cook up roadkill hedgehogs". Again...the things "memorable" poems are made of.

Please keep in mind my poem is in many different meters (at least I'm consistent in my inconsistency)...and I vehemently try to offend everyone equally across the board. :) Also, in my dealings and dabbling into the "world of poems" I've found out that I'm apparently very fond of the word "Ode"...and have used it in the title in all those I've penned. (Yes, all two of them.)


An Ode to All Things Eaten

Wild owls and guinea fowls and hedgehogs found as roadkill

These are the things that Brits do eat...as tasty as a duckbill.

When Americans eat...we like fresh meat...

We hunt it then it's skinless.

But in the UK they're drunk all day...On cheap rosé and Guinness.

Here in the South they like their deer, turkeys and some gator...

They boil them up in a big ole pot with carrots and po-tater.

I'm from New Jersey...we don't kill there, we just go to the market...

We point at things behind the case -- then pay from out the pocket.

Now I won't grab a gun to kill some meal...or a shovel for on-road scraping...

I don't have a pig, or a chicken or a cow...and no sheep here for raping.

So while I sit down with a store-bought snack and log on my computer...

...at some given point I will be drunk...but not with a guy named "Cooter".

You all have mgb12345 to thank for this...please feel free to direct all complaints directly to her. ;)

Ah...the Sweet Smell of Spring...on Venus!

In keeping with my monthly suggestion of a Montgomery Advertiser online theme (last month was "...Nature's Little...") - I read Liberty4USA's blog and she suggested others post their Spring memories...so I decided to go for it and do a Spring blog myself.

While Liberty let slide she's a closet pyromaniac...and heaven knows I've done my fair share of "setting things on fire for the 'sake' of science"...I won't divulge what horrors befell the unlucky specimens who got the hot end of the deal. Plus...I really don't want PETA putting my childhood photo on signs with a circle and red line through it. So, I'll just confess she's not the only one who found out that you can indeed set things on fire with a magnifying glass...altho I'll admit my infatuation with it stopped LONG ago. ;)



But...back to Spring.

Spring always conjures up imagery in my head of getting a brand spanking new matching pastel outfit to wear to church on Easter Sunday. This included "the works": hat, dress, a flimsy coat, and "shiny as a just minted penny" shoes. Photos were obligatory; gloves were optional...but as I grew up in the 1960s, they were still in vogue and I had to have them. I don't remember ever wearing the outfit more than once...but it was always an event - and fond memories are made of such events.

Spring, growing up in New Jersey...was a transitional thing. My son even remarked to me the other day, upon seeing the outside temperature while in the climate controlled atmosphere of my car, that Spring lasted about one day...and what was up with it going from freezing cold to blazing hot literally overnight.

It is true...I remember in Jersey how the flowers would herald the changing seasons. First the crocus would poke its clever blooms up and out thru the snow...then the narcissus and daffodils...giving way to the luxurious scent of lilac. If you've never smelled a real live, honest-to-goodness lilac bush...you really don't know what you're missing. Forget those Glade air fresheners...even Yankee Candle can't come close. A real Yankee knows lilacs don't reek of things like patchouli and cotton...or whatever combo they use to try to recreate the "lilac" experience. Real lilac hangs on the air as delicately as those lace-like structures etched on a dragonfly's wings...and darts off in the wind as effortlessly and quickly as well. It's there for a moment...and when you think you can hone in on it...it eludes you yet again.

Grabbing handfuls of the lovely blossoms and deeply burying my nose in them...ah...the thing that Spring memories again are made of - but are probably only as sweet as the remembrances of youth. I'm sure the flowers don't emit the same odour they once had. Time has a way of altering the senses and perceptions...and turning the most lovely memories into the mundane when you stray down that road again in another time. Some things are best left to memories...so perhaps it's a good thing I've never seen a lilac bush here in Alabama...and those waxy "effigies" the companies make - well, can't hold a candle to them.

But I'm waxing nostalgic (yes, that clearly was intentional)...

Spring in Alabama - what does it mean to me now?

Mosquitoes? Yeah, okay but they seem to find me year-round...so not that "Spring-like" really. Think, think, think...what do I remember most about this place in the Spring?

I know!

Primordial soup.

We have a swimming pool...or as they call it here in the South, a "cement pond". (Oh, c'mon...that was a joke.) Each year, instead of letting it run (via the pump)...we just let nature run its course...and then just drain it in the Spring, clean out the sludge which accumulated...and fill it back up again. Voila! Yankee ingenuity at its best. (Again...I'm jesting.)

But...in between the time we stop swimming and the time we start swimming...there is this interim period...a "Spring" of sorts if you will...which happens, coincidentally, between Winter and Summer. And in that time period - all kinds of things take up residence in my pool.

There are bugs...water bugs. I don't know how they find my pool...but they do. It's not like there's a little river which leads into my pool...but the water bugs find it anyway. Then the frogs and toads come. This is about the same time that the algae decides to go into hyperdrive. It begins to look like the scum on top of a soup...the stuff that you scoop off when it's simmering. Seriously...this stuff looks like it's just about to boil. There's some anaerobic activity going on I'm certain. Then...that's when "it" happens. Out of this bubbling cold cauldron - "things" begin to grow in this massive soup mixture.

Primordial things.

Primordial things begin to grow...and grow and grow. It's like a full-scale science experiment - my own little planet of life brewing...right in my backyard. We had these one-celled creatures you could SEE with the naked eye. You aren't supposed to SEE one-celled creatures like amoebas. But these were giant amoebas! I kid you not. I had giant microbial mutant life in my pool...and I will probably have it again. The abject lack of a transitional Springtime is probably to blame...certainly not due in any part with our lackadaisical approach to proper pool maintenance.

So while SETI and NASA are out there with their mass spectrometers, telescopes and space stations...searching the far distant skies for extraterrestrial life on other planets, I have intraterrestrial life in my pool each year. Life that I let slip down some drain.

On some grand cosmic scale this is probably terribly sad or terribly ironic...which it is I'm not really sure.

But it sure wouldn't be Spring in Alabama to me...without it.

Kudzu: Nature's Little Murderer

(This blog will make a lot more sense if you read this blog of mine first: Monthly Blog Theme Proposal)

Also known as "The Vine that Ate the South"...this horrendous horrible life-sucking force of nature does not exist outside a particular area.

I was from that area.

I am originally from kudzu-free New Jersey and when we moved to Alabama twenty years ago, we came from Springfield, Virginia...a place which also doesn't have the viral vine.

On the trip down from DC, once we hit a certain zone, these strange miraculous shapes were growing up telephone poles...they looked like abstract elephants...with their long trunks dangling and swaying in the breeze. They looked...utterly awesome.

I had never seen these things and really didn't pay them any mind...and when we bought the house I live in, I didn't know what those things looked like up close. As such, I was also totally oblivious to their cannibalistic ways.

Had I known...well, I would have turned tail and ran.

You here in the South know all about kudzu...you can stand outside (if you are prone to doing that kind of thing) and watch that vine grow. And it pulls down everything in its path, chokes the ever-loving life out of every living thing it grows over; it's like a chlorophyll Superman...but has no known kryptonite. Once it takes root you can't kill it short of arming yourself with an arsenal of pesticide and a lifetime of devotion.

Word has it someone brought it over from Japan, where it is controllable, as the plant dies down in winter all the way to the root system. But here in the South...well, it's much warmer than Japan and altho it will die back...the root system is alive, taking hold and spreading like a cancerous lesion. Yes, it doesn't die all the way back - and the powers that be decided it would be great at erosion control. Not only does kudzu not control erosion, I'm sure the South is paying millions every single year unsuccessfully "eradicating" this menace from the sides of highways where it was originally planted.

Elephantine it is...and it has grown to mammoth proportions.

Unfortunately, you guessed it -- it is also in my yard and barring someone making a better mousetrap or a way to economically desalinize water -- like a cure for that cancer...nothing has really been invented to literally nip this thing in the bud.

While it has been grown to make a concoction to curtail alcoholism (it has properties which will make you extremely sick if you drink alcohol after ingesting it)...and you can use it for other things, I see no one beating down my door to pay me good money to grow it.

Consequently, I have to pay good money to try to get rid of it...and it's a bear of a problem and nothing seems to put it in permanent hibernation.

Yes, I'm afraid "Nature's Little Murderer" is here to stay in the South and everyone who has run across this killer...can't stop grizzling about it.

A Different Type of Olympics

On the way home today I jokingly said to my daughter, "Well, you and Apolo Ohno have something in common." She replied, "What?" and I said, "Well, you both really screwed up in the Olympics."

It's no secret I adore Ohno...and, altho he did touch the one guy...eh, maybe a gentle nudge...but the Canadian guy did the same and he medalled - Apolo should have as well. Or, at the very least, they both should have been disqualified.

But I digress.

Today (Saturday) my daughter also was in an Olympiad competition: the Alabama Science Olympiad. If you don't know what that is, no problem...I'll enlighten you.

Kids from various schools study their butts off to take tests and build contraptions on their "off time" and trudge on up to venues in the wee hours of the morning; this time at the University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa, and compete for gold, silver and bronze...and the added glory of having their school place 1st, 2nd or 3rd overall.

All in all, it's an epic event and any child who participates, regardless of whether they win a medal or not...should be very, very proud indeed.

Oh, did I mention that their teachers expend countless hours of their own time and so do coaches? And parents quizzing their kids and helping their kids in between homework and regular tests and quizzes? Well, that, too.

The determination and the stamina of these kids really should be applauded. I went to the sprawling campus and watched as children (mostly of the high school variety) ran clear across campus in order to make it to the next event. Cell phones were employed to shuttle alternates to buildings which housed competitions which shut their doors to competitors who showed up after the designated hour. Scurrying around to get the proper paperwork (you can't get in to participate without your form) from students who were still shut in - in a prior event...because it was running late...knowing they were, in essence, forfeiting their own chance of medalling...all in the aspiration of teamwork and the overall good of their school.

No one wants to go home empty-handed...but everyone can't win. Even with 20-plus events, and three medals each...there's many more participants than places on the podium.

And I have to think back to the "real" Olympics. There are literally dozens upon dozens...I have no clue how many...countries which participate...and most walk away...empty-handed; but that doesn't stop them. I don't think I've seen anyone from Syria ever win anything (not saying they haven't)...or Vietnam...or Portugal. The top medal count always seems to have USA and Russia in it...but then again, they send like 200 athletes each - poor little Trinidad & Tobago probably have three.

Just like at the competition today...some schools had dozens and some had a couple...but that didn't deter their spirit. The cheers were just as loud...the glory just as great...and the defeat just as heart-breaking - and the perseverance just as prevalent.

And, no, in case you were wondering...my daughter didn't medal in her two events (she has, in the past, walked away with at least one in all the previous years she'd competed) - but I'm just as proud of her.

Sure, I would have been beaming from ear-to-ear had she whooped Montgomery's LAMP School Team 1 and Team 2 (geez...those kids were awesome...seriously awesome) - but, you know what...she shone, in my eyes, just as bright as any gold medal would have.

All the students did.

Apolo's got nothing on these kids. Ohno...yep...I said it. ;)

The Beauty of the Olympics

Okay, is it just me - or are a lot of these women in the Winter Olympics this year just drop dead gorgeous?

I've watched Olympics for years, and sure, there was the occasional pretty woman...like ice skating's Katarina Witt from Germany...but this year...wow!

USA's skiier, Lindsey Vonn, is just stunning:

Torah Bright looks more like Elle MacPherson's younger sister than an Australian snowboarder:



And Pre-Raphaelite beauty, Lindsey Jacobellis, also a snowboarder (from the USA)...is downright captivating:

I tell you, these women are SO hot...I don't know how the snow doesn't melt beneath their feet.

I'll be on the lookout for more "ice princesses" in the days and events to come. It's just too bad there's no real eye candy for the girls -- except for Apolo Ohno (who is still darned cute as a button) and Russian silver medalist ice skater, Evgeni Plushenko. Yeah...I've always been partial to Russian gymnasts and skaters in the Olympics...I don't know what that is about...but oooh - they could melt my little cold heart any day. ;)

All I'm saying is - if there isn't already a 2010 "Winter Olympics Women's Calendar"...there sure should have been. And, if I were a guy...I'd be buying me a snowboard right about now.