What Made Me Cry Today

It's been 13 years to the day and I still can't do it.

I can't watch any show about Princess Diana without crying. And I've watched a ton of them...and another one just now (some 2007 rerun on The Biography Channel). If you weren't aware, she died 13 years ago, today, in Paris...after what is still considered by many people, very suspicious circumstances. But I don't think I'll go into that here...instead I'll try to tell you why I cry.

I don't really know how, living in New Jersey, and way before 200 channels on my television set...I somehow was mesmerized by a lithe shy creature all the way over in England by the name of Diana Spencer. Now I never bought People magazine or tabloids or watched "Entertainment Tonight" all that often, but somehow the whole fairytale princess thing captured me and held me fast.

I've always had a thing for England...I don't know why but I do. All the rock groups I loved were British groups, all the accents I could do were English (okay, I could do only one and probably not the greatest...but that didn't stop me), all the shows I loved..."Monty Python's Flying Circus", "To the Manor Born", "'Allo 'Allo!", "Doctor in the House", and countless others, were English. So, to love a real-live royal romance...in England...by a girl who was only a half a year younger than me -- well, was pretty much a given.

And it wasn't only me who found this whole dream-come-true fantasy fascinating...the whole world was transfixed and caught up in it, too. One can only speculate that Diana, with her cocked head and down-glancing ways, was just a glimmer of something magical yet to come. Hollywood way back when had a name for it: "It". Clara Bow was coined "The It Girl" back in the 1920s. And after that - you either had "It"...or you didn't.

I think Diana had "It" right from the start...and everyone knew it.

In the very wee hours of Wednesday morning on the 29th of July 1981, me...and a "few friends" - estimated at over 750,000,000 of us, sat enthralled, anxiously awaiting a ceremony the likes of which most of us had never bore witness to before. The only thing remotely in that realm was the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II in 1953...and I wasn't around back then. This was, by far, the grandest spectacle I had ever seen in my life: a mere girl was going to be wed...a mere girl who would be Queen one day. Wow! All right before my eyes.

Now, I don't know about you...times have changed...but when I was little I wanted to grow up to be a princess one day. Princess and ballerina came first...writer came later. I would dream of having my Prince Charming sweeping me off my feet and then living happily in the lap of luxury forever after. We didn't have a lot of money growing up...so becoming a princess seemed one way to strike it rich (this was way before the lottery, too). But it wasn't just about the money...it was about the dresses and the balls, the kissing and the "grown-up" stuff grown-ups didn't talk about back then...and knowing which fork out a seemingly endless array of forks...was which. This was what being a princess meant to me when I was very, very young.

Then I grew up and realized I could never be a princess...but here was Diana...MY Diana...stepping up to bat for me...and millions of other long disillusioned "once upon a time" little girls...who were now, like me, expected to have grown up and out of all that fairy-tale nonsense.

But as we are all too aware, her dreams of being a ruling figurehead monarch of the British Empire never came to be...but the unimposing princess, like that ugly duckling in that other fairytale, transformed into a glorious swan instead. And she was adored by millions along the way. Her journey could have ended with just being content to be waited upon hand and foot and rolling her eyes at every daily function she had to partake in to appease the "little people" she would someday rule so she could keep taking those month-long vacations at Balmoral. But...she didn't. She made friends with all the "little people" instead, graciously shaking their hands in the endless lines they queued up in -- and made each of them think they were just as important as she was. Her humanitarian causes were legendary. Who could forget her walking through the minefield in Angola or touching AIDS victims who, at the time, were still shunned and ridiculed by a great deal of the population? Those images ended up being much more synonymous with Diana than that 25-foot train of her bridal gown ever could.

And, on that tragic night in that fateful Paris tunnel...it all came to a screeching halt.

Literally.

The "People's Princess" was no more.

Tears are welling up in my eyes as I'm typing this. Tears shed for a person I've never met. Tears shed for a person who was chose to step out from the self-indulgent, grand facade opulence of her world...and step into the real world and lives of those less fortunate...and into the hearts of people...just like me.

Happy Cataclysmic Earth Day!

Only 844 days, 3 hours, 23 minutes, and some seconds left.

I'm watching a program on The Discovery Channel right now titled "Bad Universe". The name of this specific episode is "Asteroid Apocolypse" and the guy just said "The cosmic clock is ticking!" (I won't even bring up the disturbing fact he had a smile on his face when he said it.)

Five minutes before starting this blog I was watching the movie, "Speed". I then said to my daughter, "I wonder if something's on television dealing with some type of cataclysmic Earth thing...it IS Sunday after all." So I scrolled around and found this show. It's a new show...2010; it might be a rerun, but I never saw it before...or should I say I've never seen this one before...as I've seen plenty of the same shows dealing with the same scenarios.

Same doom, different channel.

And it's only going to get worse. See that opening line up there starting off this blog? You know what that is?

No...not days left before the Olympics come to London.

No...not days until the Super Bowl.

No...not days left until the last soldier comes home from Afghanistan.

Not even how many shopping days are left until Christmas. In fact, we won't even have to WORRY about how many days left until Christmas...in 2012. Yep, you guessed right...it's the "Mayan Calendar Clock of Doom!"

Oh, they might have given it a more fancy name - but that's what it is alright. It's a countdown clock to human demise. Our collective demise. Nice handy gadget there - I wonder how many people have input "21 December 2012" into their cell phones to remind themselves to cancel all their appointments for the rest of eternity.

Do you have any clue how many "End of Days" parties are probably booked in swanky hotels all over the world? I wonder if credit cards are charged before or after? I don't know about you -- but that little tidbit of information would significantly effect MY party for sure.

I also wonder what these dedicated Doomsday "propheteers" have up their collective sleeves for us as far as television programming goes. Did you ever stop to envision how December 2012's line-up will look? I have. Seriously...I have. I already know what it looks like NOW...geez...I can just see our happy pre-holiday shows being replaced by the "Twelve Days of Armageddon" or something. Hmmm...just think with me...

"Frosty the Snow, Man, Is About Fifty Feet Deep and This Is Florida!"

"Rudolph's Shiny New Year that He Better Have Celebrated on the 20th of December 'Cause He Won't Be Celebrating it AFTER!"

"A Charlie Brown Impact Crater Christmas"

"How the Grimch Reaper Stole Christmas"

"The Year Without a Santa Claus"

Well, okay, that last one's title was already sad and pathetic enough as it was, so it needed no changing. The rest of them I mentioned...eh...not so funny...but neither is being bombarded every waking moment by some show or another that my life -- and the life of everyone else on the planet, is in some cosmic collision course with Mr. Death.

Sure, we're all going to die someday, but the morbid factor these shows take is just a bit...too icky. Planets lining up - we're all gonna die. Asteroids - we're all gonna die. Giant solar flares - we're all gonna die. The Mayan Calendar, Nostradamus, and Edgar Cayce all said, "You're all gonna die!"

While this is all fun and games and serious hyped-up laugh riots the way it is, millions of kids are toddling off to bed being constantly reminded there won't be any goodies under the tree two years from now. "You just go off to bed now, Timmy, mommy's watching another 'Doom and Gloom' show...I'll be right there to tuck you in during the commercial."

My daughter, who is in the graduating class of 2013, doesn't know what she wants to major in when she goes to college...because, according to the History, National Geographic, Discovery and A&E channels, she won't even make it to high school graduation! Why bother thinking four years out when you're not going to be thinking anything after two?

Anyway, all you television programmers out there...just something to think about...

CSI: Cereal Sofa Investigation

Cue some "Who" music here...

"I woke up in a Soho doorway...a policeman knew my name..."

Only let's change the lyrics up a tad, shall we?

"I woke up on the couch this morning...a box of Krispies in my arms..."

Now some explanation, which, again, like another "Who" song..."I can't explain".

Many of you know I am a chronic insomniac. Many of you also know I take Ambien. But the thing that many of you don't know is what Ambien does.

Ambien is in a class of drugs called "hypnotics" - what they do is basically make you forget everything you did while under their influence...in varying degrees. It's like short-term amnesia...and you literally walk around in a haze if you get up in the middle of the night or, like I do, wait for them to "kick in" instead of taking them and heading for the bed. Then you do things you have a vague recollection of -- or no recollection of doing. I've written emails, blogs and typed comments to news stories all over the Internet...all virtually without my knowledge.

Hemingway had his alcohol...I have my Ambien. Unfortunately, Hemingway also had something I didn't have: Much more writing talent. But that doesn't stop me from trying. I'm always hoping for that exceptionally great book idea to pop into my head before I forget it and be crowned the next great American writer of "my generation".

Last night was no exception. Or should I say "this morning". My nights I spend writing, watching television and waiting for the Ambien to kick in.

Now, back to the Ambien. Ambien has been implicated in a lot of strange behaviour people do. People have raided their refrigerators, had sex, cleaned their whole house, weeded their gardens, driven to the store, attempted to drive out of their driveways in their SUVs but been clubbed by their now ex-wives in high profile sport careers (if you can really call golf "a sport"), and I'm sure people have even tried to use it as a defense for murder.

As far as I know I've never driven around, I've never killed someone...and I know for certain I haven't had any sex after taking it. The eating, cleaning, and weeding...I've done.

While I don't mind the "magical elves" effect with the cleaning and the weeding...the eating thing I've never really had a problem with...until yesterday.

I woke up and a box of Rice Krispies was on the sofa next to me. I looked at it all perplexed and wondered, "Damn, that's strange...WHY is there a box of Rice Krispies next to me on the sofa?" In fact...I don't even remember waking up (or going to sleep for that matter)...but there it was...right next to me.

There's only two reasonable explanations for this:

Number 1: I got the box of Rice Krispies out of the cabinet and took them back with me to the sofa...for whatever reason I don't know. It's not like I was covered with tell-tale "Krispies dust" all over the place. No bowl and the package wasn't open (unless I ate a handful of dry cereal, neatly rolled the waxy-inner baggie liner and closed the box back up).

Number 2: My son thought it would be fun to play a practical joke on me and put the Rice Krispies package next to me on the sofa while I was semi-comatose. But I don't remember him coming out nor draping my arms lovingly around the box. Certainly he wouldn't have risked doing this as I could have "regained consciousness" at any point and asked him what the heck he was doing.

Number 3: Elves. C'mon...there's three of them on the friggen package...it coulda happened!

Yes, I know I said there were "two"...but I also stated they were "reasonable". The third one, while not totally impossible...is highly implausible.

I really wouldn't have thought too much more about it until I came home after picking my daughter up from school and my son, with total dead-pan delivery, asked me why I was arm and arm with "Snap, Crackle and Pop" this morning.

While I'm quite good at coming up with far-fetched excuses as to why the check wasn't received by the cable and electric companies...I'm apparently not that creative and drew a total blank.

The only thing I could possibly consider is that I wondered how nourishing the ingredients were or that I somehow found myself plagued by a comment at the paper which might have remotely referenced Rice Krispies...and in my altered state decided I would respond with complete and irrefutable information by getting the box out.

While I haven't checked online...that's the one I'm sticking with; I also haven't checked online for any photos of me on YouTube...and I don't intend to.

So let's cue that Who music again, shall we? The opening line from "Eminence Front" sums all of this up nicely I think...

"The sun shines...
People forget..."

Unemployment Figures...It Shouldn't Be This Way

I've been sitting here the past few months wondering something: If there's so many people needing jobs in Montgomery (and across the country), why haven't the people who do a bad job...at their job...been let go and replaced by someone who would do a much better job?

In fact, the other day, on WSFA's news, I saw a report about a pizza shop owner talking about how he had to fill 50 slots and had 200 applicants (or some numbers similar), so he could pick and choose only the best and friendliest people to fill those slots.

Well, this got me thinking about the original thought I was thinking...you know, the one in the first paragraph. Why aren't more discourteous and incompetent people being fired and more capable and willing people being hired?

Now, here's something I've addressed a few times - in my blog and elsewhere: The workers at "Chick-Fil-A" are always super nice. I can go through that drive-thru at any time of day and they will be super nice..I could go loop around and drive through it 17 times in a row...and you know what? They'd be nice every single time. Down the street a ways the people at "McDonald's" and "KFC" made me so annoyed by their abject lack of anything resembling manners or people-skills, I long ago stopped going. I have heard it hasn't changed.

I go into stores...just random stores - I won't mention any names this time...but the niceness is spotty at best. Some places...I swear the workers see you approaching them and they dodge away from you as fast as their little feet can carry them without breaking into an all-out sprint. These stores are typically called "home improvement stores" and "stores with initials in the beginning of their name followed with a double consonant at the end of their name". I'm not even counting Walmart here...because they already have a reputation for "having a reputation".

And I'm sure there are countless other stores I don't go into which do the same.

I also see this at doctors' offices. Many times I'll get a receptionist who won't even say "Good morning" or "How are you today?" How hard IS it to do this? It takes about three seconds tops. No, what I get out of them is "Your co-pay is $12.00". Not even a "Thank you for coming here so I can actually have a job." (Yes, that line was an exaggeration, but I think you know what I mean.)

Nothing.

I also have been waited on, in line, by a cashiers (yes, several different ones - at several different stores) who made me wait while they clearly conducted a conversation with their boyfriends - and they weren't getting off for me until they were done with that conversation. I've been looked at by workers who were too busy talking to each other, usually in groups of three for some reason, to see that I needed help. When I dared interrupt them to ask for help, they only stopped long enough to say "It's not my department" and went right back to talking. Not, "I'll find someone to help you." or "Let me see if I can help."

I've rarely reported these people to management - and when I have, the management seems to have more issues than the workers themselves. Calling up "corporate" makes me feel like I at least talked to someone who cares, but the same issues never seem to get resolved.

I read forums devoted to why people can't be nice in these instances...and always the same line gets uttered, "Well, what do you expect when they're getting paid minimum wage?"

I worked YEARS for minimum wage, after school at the high school's office. I worked for years for minimum wage (or very close to it) at McGuire Air Force Base in admin offices. Granted, I never worked at a store or fast-food restaurant...or even a doctor's office for that matter, but it mattered to me to be courteous and do a good job. The thing is...I took PRIDE in my work, regardless of what I was paid for it. It was a reflection upon my own self and I didn't want to compromise my integrity as a good worker by doing a lackluster job.

So, what I want to really know, is...if these places can get 200 applicants and hire only a handful, why do some stores, restaurants, and doctors' offices hire, what seems to be, the worst 50?

And, how come I still can't get a job in this town? Is it because I'm too old? My lack of a college degree? I think I'm a nice person - I still look (somewhat) pretty when I put on make-up and I have a fabulous wardrobe. I'm definitely a quick learner (except for politics...yeah, political bloggers, I put that one in to see if you are reading)...and other than cleaning restrooms and changing light bulbs in their 50-foot high signs outside, I'm willing to do most things; the more challenging, the better.

Seriously, do I have to just come in with an "I don't give a flying fig" attitude in order to land that elusive job? I'm beginning to really think so.

Lastly, taking me totally out the equation, when ARE things around here going to change for the "better"? If there's such a glut of people looking for jobs, you'd figure it would be a hiring market...you'd figure they would hire the best people, right? Or are they hiring the most inept people to camouflage their OWN inadequacies and incompetence?

Face it -- next to the worst person in the room, everyone else looks so much better in comparison, right?

The Dead Sea Monkeys

(That fuzzy brownish-green stuff growing on the bottom and the green floating stuff growing on top...um...aren't stalagmites and stalactites; and I highly doubt either is supposed to be there.)

Well, it was destined to happen, but considering I got them last April, it probably wasn't the shortest longevity record ever set, but nonetheless, it was pretty devastating...

...my last Sea Monkey died the other day.

Now, I don't know if you kept up with my Sea Monkey blogs I did a few months back - if you didn't, you could always go here...then here...and finally here if you're interested.

I also don't know exactly what went wrong, but I'm willing to take a few half-educated guesses, and, as usual, I'm willing to share them with you.

First off, let me tell everyone that I didn't buy any of the gimmicky things they had for sale, like water purifiers, pumps and "executive-sized desk aquariums", so perhaps, by my frugalness, they were doomed from the get-go.

I did do some things, however, which might have, oh, speeded up their demise a tad slower than just chucking them down the toilet.

First off, the Sea Monkey people don't give you any instructions on how to scoop out the "dead Sea Monkey sludge" from off the bottom of the Sea Monkey container. Now, granted, it might have been addressed in the "Deluxe Sea Monkey Booklet" I could have paid extra for, but I didn't because I thought I'd be able to accomplish this menial task without spending $3.99 and another $3.00 for postage (or whatever it cost...I'm too distraught to actually check).

Sad to say, I couldn't.

I figured the easiest way might be to pour off the alive Monkeys into another container, but since the Sea Monkey container itself doesn't have the pointed/angled pouring spout like a Pyrex measuring cup...I probably spilled about 329 Sea Monkeys all over my counter before I figured out it wasn't going to work. They just dribbled out over the side of their home and, I, filled with horror at the thought of them being maimed in some way if I tried to slide them off the countertop and back into their happy habitat, decided "death by paper towel" would be much more humane.

It was, however, a noble try.

A less nobler try was the "suck them up with a straw" procedure.

Let me elaborate a little.

It seemed like, in theory, this would work. You get a straw, insert it down to the bottom of the container...which, by the way, has the plastic terrain equivalent of the Mariana Trench, i.e., it's not smooth and suck-uppable...and then put your finger on the top of the straw, and then draw their remains out, siphon-style.

Yeah, right. Again, this works ONLY in theory.

In reality, what happens is that you only manage to stir up the debris on the bottom and each time you try to pull the straw up out of the water, most of the water just manages to dribble back out of the straw. Then you are left with the agonizing decision of what to do with the mucky "yuk" you just removed and put into that Pyrex measuring cup (hey, give me some points for thinking ahead here). Do you then wait two hours for the sediment to settle to ascertain which specks are alive and which are dead...or do you just toss it down your sink...or do you do the moral thing and just pour it all back into the original container?

Yep...my morals won out and I ended up pouring it all back into the original container, thereby stirring up more dead bodies which probably really freaked out all the live Monkeys. In fact, this agitation action of the water alone probably killed another 128 of them.

But I tried. Oh, and remember the forethought of the Pyrex cup, too.

The last way to do it proved as futile as the other two...

...I found out that you cannot logically scoop out enough water, one tablespoon at a time, to catch all the live ones...what you can do is scoop out about 1/8th of a cup of Sea Monkey-laden water before you say "Screw this, it's going to take an eternity". I then tried my utmost best to at least separate the old water from the Sea Monkeys and, in that process, lost at least another 72 of them doing this.

At that point I'd pretty much determined it was best to just give up thinking of new and innovative ways to kill my Monkeys by trying to save them. I would just let nature take its course.

Well, at least tell us, Mariann, what exactly happens to Sea Monkey water that's been virtually left to evaporate over the course of four months?

The answer to that is: It gets very cloudy and the bottom of the aquarium, which has now become a Sea Monkey burial ground, starts to resemble some primordial Chia Pet.

Now, I'm not terrible, I was adding more water to keep it at the optimum Sea Monkey level and all...but after a while, it just seemed like all I was doing was probably creating a super-concentrated inevitable death lab of sorts, where, had I managed to keep them alive for a month or two more, might have had the chance to see some Frankensteinian/Re-animator thing happening.

As it just so happened, it didn't happen, and the last Monkey is now among the "rotting dead".

I'm not getting any ideas they will start hatching out of eggs again...but just in case there ARE such things as Sea Monkey Zombies...I think I'll let the water sit around for another month...or two.


You know...just in case.

It's Not What You Say...It's How You Say It

(As you can plainly see, my copy has long since lost it's bright yellow cover; the colourful words inside, however, remain intact.)

"We lost our empire, we suck at tennis, our food is lousy, but our television sure kicks ass!" - BBC America's new slogan of sorts they just started airing.

On BBC America's "Being Human" tonight, the werewolf guy was dealing with some anger issues...and kept cussing throughout the show. I think he was not only pissed...but pissed as well. (Oh, go look it up - it's British slang interspersed with American slang...a two-fer, if you will. Mind out of the gutter!)

"Fluffernutter". Just wrong on so many levels. Seriously. I'm surprised no one's complained or that the Marshmallow Fluff people don't have a very crude commercial on the air. Heck, I would if I were them.

And even more shocking, is William Shatner, starring in CBS's "$#*! My Dad Says". Personally I think it should have starred Clayton Moore (The Lone Ranger) years ago. The whole "Who was that masked man?" would have been really funny in my opinion.

In 1972, George Carlin came out with one of the most recognized and repeated bits in history (that was "bits" with a "B"...not a "T"...which, had it been a "T", it would have been number seven on his list): "Seven words you can never say on television." It's been nearly forty years; some of them have crossed over and some have not.

As a Jersey chick, I am well-versed in the art of vulgarity. When I was the tender age of twelve, me and my friend from across the street, Robin Howard, (if you're still out there Robin, say "Hi!") took my often used Monopoly game, pretty much worn out to the point where, had it been real money, would have long since met the incinerator...and decided we'd give it the "naughty treatment".

On the back of each of the bills (and there are 240 of them in a brand-spanking new game) we put "naughty phrases". Taking into consideration we were naive pre-teen girls and there might have been some bills missing, we still had to come up with at least 200 semi-offensive phrases. Offensive enough to make us giggle like pre-pubescent idiots, yet not offensive enough to make a parent within earshot suspect we had put 200 "Beavis and Butthead"-like utterances on the backs of "not so legal" tender.

And we were determined not to repeat ourselves. Granted, some of the bills mentioned boys in town we had crushes on...like Kenny Lear and all three of the Cook brothers, but most were just scrawled with the rudest words we could think of. Some words we really had absolutely no clear knowledge of what they meant, and most words we didn't even have a vague notion. Remember, this was pre-Internet days and Webster's didn't list "vulgarities". "Slang and its Analogues" did, however, and I was never quite sure if my mother knew exactly what she gave me when she presented her flea market find to me when I was about eleven.

This book, besides being a huge book of slang originally published in seven volumes from 1890-1904, is a treasure trove of "all things naughty". I think the guy who wrote "Mrs. Doubtfire" did exactly what I did (the one scene where Robin Williams, as "Mrs. Doubtfire", is talking to Pierce Brosnan about his intentions towards Sally Field, is pretty much a straight read from this book) when I first got my hands on it -- which is, turned to three select locations: "Male Genitalia", "Female Genitalia", and "The Act Itself". As they always say, "Location, Location, Location!", right?

So...when we finally completed our Monopoly money mission, we were downright proud of ourselves. We had the "usuals" in there...and also some others, like...the defunct "Trans World Airlines" acronym with an "extra" initial after it, oh, perhaps initials of Bon Jovi (they were, after all, from Jersey) before they made it famous (it, not IT, famous), and possibly Bruce Springsteen's as well (hey, he's from Jersey, too) and I'm pretty sure we mentioned the illustrious "C" word.

Way back in my day, back in Jersey, the "C" word wasn't primarily used as a euphemism for the "P" word, or for the even more naughty sounding and clinical "V" word. The "C" word was something we used for descriptive purposes...kinda like using the "B" word today. Like "Oh, stop being such a 'C'" - unterstand me now? Ooops, sorry, typo..."understand". And, again, how some words managed to get "letter recognition" status and some are still okay to say...in a way, is beyond me. I never got any of the memos.

Of course, the "mother" of them all...is the "F" word. That's my personal favourite. It's so handy. It can be a verb, an adjective, a noun, and I probably have used it in the past imperfect tense and didn't even know I was being so incredibly correct when I did so. Grammatically correct - not politically.

But, as the Bee Gees sang way back in 1968, "It's only words...and words are all I have...to take your heart away." Granted they probably weren't thinking about naughty words, but I'd like to get a feel for which words, be they on Carlin's list or not, take your heart away, or at least raise your blood pressure some.

So, which "bad" words are you okay with...and which would never touch your lips? Are there exceptions to the rule? Are there any films or TV shows you'd say called for their usage...or would you rather see them cleansed entirely from the screen and you totally wash your hands (and mouth) of them?



For the longevity of this post, please be a "good ranger" and mask your words as well.


(The above statement was for the Montgomery Advertiser's online site commenters. I left it stand because I thought it was witty.)


(For those who are wondering, I still actually have that Monopoly game. It's fun to get it out now and again and read about the good old days. ;) )



A blog forethought on this subject matter as an afterthought: I'm more of the mind-set that it's really not the words you use...but the intention behind them. Unfortunately, in my life I've been called many certain words. These certain words were not naughty, dirty, vulgar words said in jest...but common, everyday words which hurt much more. When someone does that...it doesn't matter what they say...it's how they say it and the meanness put behind it. People don't need to resort to cuss words to be cruel and put you down...regular words do just fine.

Words, are, after all, only words.

"Slater"ed for Fame

By now everyone has heard the story of Steven Slater, JetBlue Airways' flight attendant, who, fed up with the non-compliance of a passenger, and after getting bonked on the head with her overhead baggage, threw a hissy fit, cussed at the passengers through the plane's intercom system, grabbed a beer (or two - depending on who you're listening to), told everyone where they could put his job, opened the emergency hatch and slid his way into relative fame online.

He somehow managed to drive back home where he was then later arrested and taken into custody.

Well, this whole thing spread like wildfire and everyone and their mother is sticking up for this guy.

His mother, by the way, unfortunately, has been diagnosed with lung cancer and is dying. Some attributed his strange behaviour to this, which, of course, is never easy to deal with. I never had to deal with my mother dying while I tried to maintain composure on a plane-full of people who listen about as good as a pit bull on steroids.

I tend to be one of maybe 18 people who think this guy did the wrong thing.

And I think the media attention he's getting for flying off the handle and quitting in this way is only opening another door for much more deranged workers to emulate.

Think about being the person standing downwind of the cashier at Walmart when she has had it with the guy trying to pass off an extra item in the "15 or less" line. She grabs his can of hominy grits and throws it at his head, but being that she has carpal tunnel syndrome from doing the repetitive scan "bip bip...bip bip...bip bip" plus coupled with the fact her hearing is shot because you can hear the scanning dinger bell in aisle 12, it whizzes past his head and hits yours instead. She claims it was all due to a nervous tic she developed over the years from being hit on by the octogenarian greeter who also claims he's gone deaf from the incessant "bip bip" noise and mistakenly took her "tic-wink" as a come on.

Your last vision before you depart this life is seeing everyone applauding her as they always thought a case of Coke should be counted as 24 items, too.

Or, there you are, waiting in line for two hours for your six-year-old kid to get a photo op with the drunken Santa they just fired but can't replace as it's nearly closing time so they let him stay on to finish the night. You and your child, totally oblivious to this fact, gleefully await your turn when he suddenly stands up to leave...gets an alcohol head rush and has to sit back down (those of you who've had this happen know what I mean...those who don't - ask someone who does). After grabbing your kid "Ralphie-style", he gets some whack epiphany and starts off on a tirade that would make Mel Gibson blush and your kid is now scarred for life and lashes out worse than a bull each time he sees red.

The people in line who didn't get to see Santa start some rant about commercialism and how Santa has about as much place in Christmas as a bunny does during Easter. Someone captures the whole event on their cell phone and posts it up online. It goes viral overnight and your kid's picture ends up on about 57 comedy website photo caption contests and is further taunted after school starts back up in January.

Then there's the Post Office. But I won't go there as it's really not funny.

And I don't think this is, either.

Luckily this guy wasn't the pilot.

Chasing Dummies aka "The History Channel Jumps the Shark"

(Bear in mind I was going to submit this last week only I didn't get around to it, i.e., didn't write anything other than the opening four paragraphs.)


How appropriate is it that I'm writing a blogumn about The History Channel "Jumping the Shark" right smack in the middle of "Shark Week"??

Okay, granted "Shark Week" is on another channel, but still.

What can I say about The History Channel that hasn't been said by me before? I love this channel...or should I say, I "loved" it.

The other day, I'm going through the "scrolly guide" as I call it, trying to find out what's on. It's a fairly simple task as there are less and less channels I seem to watch.

A typical night on the sofa for me goes as follows...

Computer on, various stages of dinner preparation, some wine or a Martini on the table next to me and both my television and TiVo remotes located and within reach.

Yep...check, check, and more check.

Now it's time for me to check what's on...and this is how I systematically do it:

Step 1: Channel 65 - TCM. Any old films I care to watch? No? Proceed to "Step 2".

Step 2: Channel 58 - The History Channel. Some interesting show or documentary on? Something besides gangbangers in jails or trucks on ice would be nice. Nope.

Step 3: Channel 51 - National Geographic Channel (I refuse to call it "NatGeo" - nope, that's almost as silly as changing "SciFi" to "Syfy"). Eh...saw everything already...twice.

Step 4: Channels 401 and up - aka "All the Movie Channels I Pay for and Only Watch 'Kate & Leopold'...93 Times as Everything Else on Sucks". Nope. I'm not going to watch "Thinner" for the eighth time and I can't watch "Busty Cops and the Jewel of De" because: 1) I have kids, and; 2) I think I already know the plotline. Noticing that "Spanking the Monkey" is on yet again, I snicker for the umpteenth time about it and keep on scrolling.

Step 5: Channel 140 - BBC America. Nothing on and I'm not too keen on watching "Top Gear" and "Doctor Who" isn't on until the series starts up again in the fall. I'd watch "Being Human" just for the eye candy factor of the vampire guy, but you see one episode and you've seen them all - at least for me, as I'd still only be staring at the vampire guy and not paying any attention to the show. Move on.

Step 6: Repeat Steps 1-5. Over and over and over again all night long.

So, the other day I notice a new show on The History Channel: "Chasing Mummies". First off, I LOVE Egyptology...if there's a documentary with a pyramid, Pharaoh, or mummy...oh yeah, I'm there.

And joy upon joy, the guy who's hosting is foremost Egyptologist, Dr. Zahi Hawass! Oh, this will be great! He did for Egyptology what Carl Sagan did for astronomy.

"It's about time they put something interesting on" I think to myself, and I actually gaze upward and away from the computer directly in front of me. I mean, c'mon, there's only so many times I can check my email in one day and I've way since surpassed that number.

Granted, only a true Egyptological connoisseur would probably know this guy - but I've seen him on numerous documentaries over the years and I happen to know this guy is brilliant. He didn't become world-renown for nothing and now he'll become a staple every single week in my very own living room! I am, honestly, in my glory.

I catch on to the premise of this show quite quickly and it seems hokey but, what the heck, it's MUMMIES! Basically, a camera crew tags along with Dr. Hawass and a couple of archeological students as he goes around showing them stuff and quizzing them about what they're seeing.

Now, I never studied Egyptology. I did, however, Google what credentials you have to be in order to be an Egyptologist as I was hoping I could still be one. But, it's really quite an undertaking and one should probably not start whilst in their mid-forties (okay, smarty pants, I know...but I Googled this a few years ago). You can check out the daunting mass of stuff you have to study here (I'll wait while you go read it): Egyptologist

Done?

Okay, I'll continue. So, after studying all the studies you have to learn and gathering all the expertise you have to possess when you come into (and onto) the field, you'd figure someone would at least have a small practical grasp on Egypt-like stuff -- or at least be able to pronounce a two-syllable word, right?

Wrong.

Someone who runs things over at The History Channel must have figured for "comedic affect" they should throw in a totally inept female student and for even more "comedic effect" the camera crew should also participate in the show and talk a lot ON camera. There's the camera director guy, an affable fellow by all outwardly appearances, but I was under the impression this show might be about a guy who holds a doctorate in Egyptology showing me interesting things on camera whilst the camera crew remains BEHIND camera.

Silly me.

So, what we have here is a very skilled Egyptologist, a bumbling airhead (think Suzanne Somers from "Three's Company") and a camera director and his crew getting in on the antics, kinda like "The Keystone Cops".

While this alone was quite enough for me to make the "WTF?" face, they decided a bit of Jerry Springer was what this show really needed.

And when I say "bit" I mean a "big dollop of".

Dr. Hawass, whom I have always respected before, either had been in the sun too long or he's been sniffing way too much mummy dust lately. This guy has taken "insane God complex" to the nth degree and added a bit of annoying on top of it. Oh, did I just say "bit" again? Sorry. See above statement.

He is yelling at the students, yelling at the camera guys, demeaning the students, demeaning the camera guys, yelling some more and then saying how much he knows and then demeans everyone some more. All the while he's doing this the cameras are rolling and we never really get to find out just how much he knows as he only spends about two minutes showing anything of interest.

One episode I saw had him yelling at the airhead student (sorry, not to demean her some more, but seriously, my cat knows more about Egypt than she does) because she couldn't hold her bladder on what turned out to be a much longer than "five-hour pyramid crawl-thru" to view five burial chambers. Not only was this girl terribly afraid of going further up, she did after all, have Dr. Hawass constantly yelling at her and reminding her of the plain fact that "every single expedition he'd been on...he never knew if he was GONNA DIE or not!" And if she wasn't going to risk her life that day she had no business choosing this field and she certainly wasn't going to be on any future "chamber of secrets" missions with him.

She had a mini-panic attack (understandably) and then she mysteriously (but predictably) showed up after the others crawled on further. Then, Dr. Hawass spent pretty much the next half hour chastising the poor girl for peeing her pants. "How dare you desecrate this sacred place!" he bellowed relentlessly at her. Then the camera director guy had his own panic attack and the next thing I knew - the credits were rolling.

Now I've never been on an archeological expedition, but if I'm going to go hang out in 120 degree heat in tiny little confines of burial chambers for five-plus hours I'd figure one would have to hydrate constantly. And when you hydrate constantly your kidneys do this thing...and then your bladder does this thing...and they don't exactly have public restrooms on "Burial Chamber #3" level, so I'd figure perhaps wearing a Depends-type undergarment would be of common, or at least practical, knowledge.

I tried watching a second episode the following week, but I had to turn it off. Dr. Hawass had them all sitting around in his hotel room or somewhere on big comfy chairs, which didn't seem remotely Egyptian to me, screaming at them some more in another of his previous episode-like egotistical rages.

Sigh.

Seriously, "History Channel" people, it's time to change the catch phrase from "History Made Every Day" to "History Made Unwatchable Every Day".

And, unfortunately, in my opinion, with this series debut, they officially "Jumped the Shark".

A Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On

"Bigfoot started it, dammit!"

"You mean sightings of paranormal things, Mariann?"

"No."

"The whole Sasquatch craze of the 70s, Mariann?"

"No."

"The idea for Chewbacca's costume, Mariann?"

"No."

"Then spit it out already...what??"

"The shaky camera technique."

Personally, I'm getting a bit more than miffed at the whole thing. It seems I can't watch a show which doesn't employ some of this annoying jumping thing. Films have it, television shows have it - in fact documentaries are using it to the extreme.

I've never been schooled in the cinematic arts, but you can bet I can qualify as a camera operator. I mean, think about it...how much knowledge of being able to jerk around a camera is there? Are there actually "Less Than Steady Camerawork" degrees being handed out? Can I get one online because it seems to me I already qualify...maybe I should add it to my resume - it's not like I couldn't do it, right?

And those paranormal shows with people looking for ghosts and Chupacabras have taken this "Blair Witch Project"-styled theme and ran with it.

In fact I don't think there's anything filmed IN those shows which isn't taking you on a nauseating roller coaster ride...it's annoying and I can't stand it. It hurts my eyes and gives me migraines...I also keep thinking I'm going to go into seizure mode worse than listening to Mary Hart's voice.

And, if that wasn't bad enough, who's the idiot who decided each of these shows would also have the "night camera" going? I'm tired of seeing things in shades of blue. I'm tired of seeing their eyeballs glowing. I'm tired of seeing people toting flashlights wherever they go...if I want to do that, I'll watch an episode of "The X-Files". At least they were able to shoot it with a guy who knew how to operate a damn camera.

I mean, heck I'd be able to scare up the whole viewing public of my ghost show if all I did was jump up and down in the dark going, "Oh my God...did you SEE that???"

"NO! I can't! You're filming in the dark, you hop-scotching moron!"

Every single episode I see advertised looks like every single previous episode I've seen advertised. Do they ever catch a ghost? Do they ever find the "Jersey Devil"? Has anyone ever filmed one of these episodes without a camera falling over and someone screaming in traumatized fashion about it? It's on a tri-pod and you set it up on the side of a mountain...ya think perhaps maybe it MIGHT possibly fall over???

Consequently, I refuse to be lured into watching any more shows with the words "Ghost Hunters" or "MonsterQuest" in the title.

But, while these may get my goat...and not in the "Goat Sucker" kind of way, what takes the cake is on my favourite and unfortunately rapidly "Jumping the Shark" network: "The History Channel".

Stay tuned for it...in my next blog.




I didn't mean to insult anyone's intelligence, but I linked a couple phrases...just in case.

Blind Ambition

I'm in Walmart the other day and we needed to get new band-aids. We pick up this one box and it has Braille on it. Now, I realize there are blind people out there and this is probably a good thing to do - they have menus in Braille and such...but, picture this scenario if you will:

A blind person walking around in Walmart trying to find the band-aids fumbling around with 20 million other products on the shelves that don't have the Braille "band-aids" raised dots on them...knocking things over left and right.

First off, I think the blind person would probably have had someone "not blind" drive them to Walmart, right? Most likely - unless they came on a bus - but since there's no buses where I live to go to Walmart...I totally discounted that idea.

Anyway, if they had a "not blind" friend, wouldn't they just ask them for the band-aids? A "not blind" person doesn't need to have the little Braille dots on the package in order to find them. Or perhaps, in a perfect world, a Walmart worker would see the person needed aid of some sort and offer to help them out...but since this has probably never, ever happened in recorded history...it probably wouldn't then, either.

So, okay, the blind person goes to buy the band-aids and pulls a $20 bill out of his wallet. It has no little raised dots and the cashier gives him change back for a $5. Then the blind person takes the band-aids back home and puts them in the top right drawer in their bathroom.

I'm not blind - but if I put them in the top right drawer of my bathroom - they'd probably still be in it when I go to look for them later (no pun intended). And, if I closed my eyes and went into my bathroom right now, I'm sure I could deduce which box in the top right-hand drawer is band-aids - c'mon it's not shaped like a tube of toothpaste or the jar of Vaseline. Even if I had eight boxes of other stuff in there shaped just like a band-aid box, I could always open one box, stick my fingers inside and go "Nope, not band-aids...nope again...yep, band-aids".

So what is the friggen REAL reason Braille is ON the band-aid box???

I figure the band-aid people were gathered around their conference room one meeting-day thinking of new and innovative band-aid technology and couldn't really think of anything new in the adhesive, print, or bendy realm...so one guy in the back who was filling in for his boss who was enjoying his "Three Martini Lunch" piped up, "Uh...how about Braille?"

Three of the people sitting there laughed - but the guy in charge, in typical board-room executive decision-making fashion, fired them and appointed "George the accounting dweeb" head of "Box Design" and the others learned an important lesson about stifling all laughter until you get back to your cubicle.

The executive-in-charge then told some other dweeb guy to gather up demographics costing in the hundreds-of-thousands of dollars to ascertain if the mere presence of Braille made the company look more sympathetic than their competition - and, face it, who really needs to look more sympathetic than a maker of things like "ouchless" band-aids?

No one.

So, naturally, I bought the other brand of band-aids.

That'll teach them to let three people go in this economy...the unsympathetic bastards.

It's Just a Matter of Time

Well, it happened yet again to me last night.

I call my on-call doctor at 2:00 a.m. to let her know I have increasing right-side abdominal pain. Pain, by the way, which I mentioned when I saw a physician on Monday. Pain, which I mentioned when I saw another one on Tuesday, and pain, which I mentioned to yet another one, on Wednesday.

But, I guess I broke some unwritten on-call doctor rule: I woke her up.

I didn't mean to wake her up - I don't know what time she goes to bed - if she would have called me at 2:00 a.m., I wouldn't have had any problem with it. And, silly me for not timing the severity of my abdominal pain at a "more convenient" time for her.

I got the requisite "Are you vomiting, diarrhea, fever, etc.?" questions - and I answer, "No, no, no, well, yes...but I'm on a drug that does that anyway." The rest of the conversation (and my fleeting ongoing phone-call thoughts) goes a bit like this...

"My pain? Right lower side - it started getting really severe about 30 minutes ago...altho it seems a bit better now. I was just concerned it was appendicitis."

Well, I'm 48 - apparently not the "ideal" age for appendix problems. Silly me, again...I should have checked online first before I called...altho I've been chastised by nearly every single doctor about online self-diagnosis, even if that diagnosis was via WebMD or MayoClinic.com.

"Can you wait until tomorrow to go to Pri-Med?"

"I hope so...what do YOU think? I called you to make sure it didn't sound like appendicitis or something else to really worry about."

"Well, only YOU know if it's bad enough to go to the ER or wait. Apparently it was bad enough for you to wake ME up at 2:00 a.m. to tell me about it."

Well, so sorry to have bothered you - next time I'll try to time my increasing pain better - in fact I'll just set up on appointment next week to have it. (No, I didn't say this...but I was thinking it the whole time.)

Bear in mind I was once verbally scolded by a doctor who said I shouldn't eat apples at night. It felt like a big chunk was lodged in my throat...and, after waiting about five hours for it to dissolve or slide down, I finally gave up and called. I remember the exact exchange like it was yesterday...

"You should be in bed at 4:00 a.m., SLEEPING, like I'm going to get back to doing once I hang up the phone. If you can still breathe...YOU'RE NOT CHOKING!"

"Well, I didn't say I was choking, it just feels like it's stuck in my throat like right where..."

Click.

Yes, he hung up on me in mid-sentence. This happened about eight months ago.

So, after I hung up the phone last night...I cried and cried.

I don't want to be a pain in the butt - I don't want to call doctors on weekends - I don't want to call them at 2:00 a.m. - but, isn't it also a fact that an "on-call" doctor...IS on-call?

I didn't call because I had an eyelash in my eye. I didn't call because my cat scratched me. I called because I honestly was worried I was having something which could lead to a even worsening situation and/or death.

But, after I cried, I cried and cried some more -- feeling like I'm just a waste of skin and promising myself the next time, if something happens off-hours or on weekends, I'll just ignore it - preferring death to their guilt-trip-laden third-degree "How dare you bother ME!" treatment.

Seriously, I felt worse AFTER I hung up than before I called...each of these times...and just ended up taking my Ambien and hoping I'd wake up the next day.

But after several nonchalant dismissals of this nature (for both myself and my children), I'm wondering how many people actually get treated this way - or is it just that I've gotten the "red-flagged...oh it's that whiner again" reputation? Did I do anything I oughtn't to have done? How should I handle things like this in the future?

I don't sit around my house thinking of ways I can piss off yet another doctor. I don't like going to the Emergency Room to waste six hours of my life. But I don't want to be another one of those "Oh, she shouldn't have waited to call" death statistic, either.

I fear if I call to complain or to report them (it's happened with base doctors several times)...I'm sure to get treated worse in the future...and it's not like I can change doctors like I do underwear. So, have any of you been where I've been with this? And if you have...or even if you haven't, what is your suggestion to me?


Truth be told, I've had some very nice responses from on-call doctors...especially the ones in Birmingham. In fact, I've never been treated badly by any doctors in Birmingham...why, I haven't a clue.

(Written, but not published, about a year ago...on a Friday.)

Hollywood Lights

So I'm sitting here watching the "X-Men Wolverine: Origins" movie and I'm perplexed as to which super powers this "Gambit" guy has...so I Google it up.

Apparently, according to Wiki, Gambit (and I always thought he was a girl in the comic books) "Possesses the power to manipulate kinetic energy, as well as hypnotic charm. He's also skilled in card-throwing, hand-to-hand combat, and the use of a staff". He also used to be a smoker in the comic books and so was Wolverine...but, of course, as no one can be seen smoking anymore, they made them both quit. Wolverine still chomps away at cigars in the films...but, hey, he can't get hurt...so no harm done, right?

So, I'm thinking...hmmmm...if I'm a kid trying to emulate Gambit - I can see this line of reasoning unfold:

Geez, I'm no good at card throwing...can't get a single one of them to go inside that hat on the floor. I have absolutely no clue what kinetic energy is, so I probably don't have that. I never win any arm-wrestling contests, so that's right out...and I've failed to hypnotize my three-year-old sister altho I did manage to get her to throw up once...but that's only because I told her the spaghetti she just ate was actually worms. As far as that staff thing goes...well, I can't even hit a friggen baseball. But...

...I can take up smoking and be just like Gambit!

I'm always amazed at reasoning.

There's people...correction, mutants...with giant blade claws and teeth and some with powers of invisibility and others that can shove their bare hand up the business end of a tank's grenade launcher barrel...causing it to blow up from the inside out, and of course, walk away totally unscathed. There's a guy with laser eyes and people...er mutants...who basically can't die no matter how many times you stab, throw them into things, or shoot them with your guns...but heaven forbid one of them is also SMOKING when he's tossing back a few brewskies or whiskeys at the end of the day down at some sleazy logging bar that caters to low-lifes and mutants.

So the thing that gets the ax...is smoking? The body count is about 497 and that's just fine and dandy; hell, even Wolverine just had some wild sex with the "powers of persuasion" chick. That's all okie dokie...just as long as there's no post-coital light-ups.

It used to be common knowledge that the code in much older films for "we just had sex" was the "fade to black" gradually panning back to some dual smoking scene. The sex wasn't shown but the deep cigarette inhalations were. Nowadays, the sex is shown but the cigarettes aren't. Go figure.

Oh, well...let your kids turn into gun toting, card playing, knife brandishing, authority rebelling little mutants...because that's acceptable. And while your little Pyro-emulating kid is testing out what he can do with fire, just make sure the cigarettes are way out of reach, because lighting up one of those can sure get him in a heep of trouble.

And, kids, if you're gambling on things illegally (especially in this town), be careful; you could possibly end up in jail...buying privileges with packs of smokes. Oh, wait...but you wouldn't know anything about that. A fine up-standing non-smoker like yourself - never seeing it on television or movies...well, I'm sure if you think real hard, you can find something else to trade while you're in there.

Well, it seems we've now come full circle...and if Hollywood would allow me to show you that circle, they'd look a little like this:

I best tone this down or I'll probably be attacked by the anti-smoking coalition campaign people...or maybe I'm just blowing smoke up your...but...read this if you didn't know it already.

Way Too Loaded

I'd like to know why I'm always the "lucky" one to end up behind the guy who has the back of his truck loaded with a refrigerator and dryer and has either his friend or a bit of clothesline securing it down.

If there's a guy and his passenger out there attempting to hold down two sheets of plywood on top of his car - by golly, you can bet I'm the one behind him on the road. You can also bet it's a "no passing" zone for the next twenty miles.

I absolutely hate log trucks. I hate big trucks in general, but those log trucks typically barrel down the road with those nearly rusted out side restraints...bowed out like they're about to give out - at any given second.

And what's with that measly tattered red/orange flag sticking out from the shortest log they could reach? You know the one...the one that signals "Look, I have a long load and if it's longer than it's supposed to be...tough luck...I have a red flag attached. It absolves me of anything which might happen."

And while I'm at it, what's up with those "Not responsible for vehicle damage. Keep back 200 feet." signs? Any moron can tell you that if I'm reading the sign...I'm a lot closer than 200 feet.

Boy I wish it were that simple for everyone. I could use a couple "Not responsible for speeding or causing any accident" signs to put on my car. They'll go nicely with the one I'll enclose when I send out my checks, "Not responsible for insufficient funds" - and that one goes very well with my "Not responsible if I misinterpret everything you say because: 1) My cat has a better grasp of the English language; and, 2) Was that three or four verb tenses you just used there? And what does "he might could of" mean exactly...or at least kinda sorta.

But back to driving behind trucks carrying things which are destined to fly off and kill me...

I was not aware the laws of basic physics cease to exist inside and around a personal conveyance. Nothing will fly off if you use either your hand, your friend, or a bungee cord. These scientific properties are also known world-wide...but only by a select "intellectual" few.

I once was fortunate enough to witness a rarity in the "things falling off trucks" realm. One of those car-carrying trucks...the kind car companies use to haul the cars to the dealerships...decided it would be a good idea to start jettisoning it's load, one by one, onto the lady a couple cars in front of me. They always look like they are precariously perched on that skeleton of a frame truck to start with...and they look like if you didn't line up Tab A with Tab B, something would unravel. Well, sure enough, one of those angled dangling cars decided to go for it...and took a relatively giant leap of faith. And the "stupid woman" following right behind it, who apparently assumed the cars were somehow affixed to the truck, got quite an unpleasant wake-up call. They started rolling out like toppling dominoes...and she was the first to get hit. The man in back of her, as equally non-psychic as the woman in front of him, hit her. By the time it was over, it looked like the aftermath of some giant kid and his Matchbox cars.

Back to the log trucks...

Did I mention I was deathly afraid of those things? Well, I am. I think I actually saw one that didn't have the scary bowed-out metal side arm railings. Once. Each one always looks like it's about to spill their unbalanced load and when they make that left turn, I have visions of being decapitated...right thru my driver's side window. My impaled skull, just dangling there...that ratty red flag neatly implanted in it for added effect.

You might think I'm a bit paranoid or overreacting, but I know these things tip over, spill their load and kill people. I've read about it and seen it on the news a few times, and so synonymous are they with Alabama (I never saw them in New Jersey), "My Cousin Vinny"'s opening scene features one. While it was probably lost on the inhabitants of the other 49 states, living in Alabama as I have been for the last twenty, I immediately "got it" and sympathized.

And I always think back to an accident which happened here in Montgomery on 5 May 2004. Driving down Interstate 85, 19-year-old Aaron Prevatte did what any driver would do - he swerved to avoid hitting a metal ladder which had fallen in the road, undoubtedly from not being properly secured. The resulting series of events, including flipping his car four times and being trapped inside...led to his untimely and more importantly, totally avoidable death.

I tell that story often and remember it more than I tell it. I don't know why I do, for some reason it strikes an internal chord with me. Al Stewart once sang in his song, "Post World War II Blues", "I never met him, so it may seem strange. Don't some people just affect you that way." And that's how it is with me and Aaron Prevatte.

So, every time I see a load haphazardly strapped on, things sliding back and forth untethered each time the brake or accelerator pedal is employed, tangled metal pieces entwined so high, so rusted and so sharp, no one wants to touch them, let alone tie a canvas sheeting over them, and people trying to maintain their footing to steady an awkward upright entertainment system...I think of how easy it would have been to take the extra time to have tied it down right. Sure, it might take you longer than you planned...you're tired and you want to get home as soon as possible, especially before it rains. But that driver in the other car wants to get home as soon as possible, too. NOTHING gives you the right to do a shoddy job and risk ANYONE'S life because you just couldn't bother taking the extra time to do it right.

And if you feel compelled to do this and I see you on the road or highway...I will call 9-1-1 on you. I've done it before - I'll do it again. It's just not a chance I'm willing to take. I couldn't live with the fact of finding out I could have possibly prevented an accident and didn't call. Hopefully I've made a difference...hopefully someone who reads this will choose to make a difference, too...whether by calling the police or tying their load down better, or by not trying to wing it with holding that mattress down with their hands alone.

If that mattress flies off and maims or kills someone, trust me, you're NEVER going to get ONE good night's sleep on it...probably not for the rest of your life. No matter how many times you buy a new one and have it delivered properly and safely...you still won't be able to get rid of those recurring dreams.

Is that really a risk you are willing to take?



Vehicle-related road debris (VRRD) accidents are typically totally avoidable...and they are responsible for a fair share of accidents and deaths each and every year.

The "AAA Foundation for Traffic Safety" breaks down Alabama's facts regarding VRRD on Page 42: http://www.aaafoundation.org/pdf/vrrd.pdf . "Triple A's site can be found here: http://www.aaafoundation.org/home/

This blog was inspired by the unfortunate accident which befell Aaron Prevatte and is dedicated to his memory and to the memory of many others who also lost their lives by individuals who took shortcuts, used inferior materials to secure their loads, or who really shouldn't have been driving with loads the way they did...be it rain, snow, too fast, bad brakes, etc.

If we choose now to remember in vain...these memories will only continue to grow in numbers. If we choose now to remember with actions and words...perhaps one day there will be only distant memories.

(Originally written but never published in 2005.)

Eschewing the Obfuscation of the Profundity

"You've made an egregious error."

"A what?"

"An egregious error."

"What kind of error?"

"Egregious."

"What does 'egregious' mean?"

"You know...something that's egregious."

"Yeah, but WHAT does it mean?"

"Something that's egregious is...you know. Look, if YOU don't know what it means, I'm not going to explain it."

"So, in other words, you don't know what it means?"

I have to admit - I enjoy doing this: calling people on it. Many people use words they have absolutely no clue what they mean. Oh, sure, they've heard the words plenty of times...and always in the context they use them -- and they are using them correctly, but they are merely "parroting" what they've heard. They honestly have never bothered to look the word up in the dictionary.

Personally, between you and me...I do it, too. Using "ten-dollar words" can be awfully impressive and downright convincing when, say, you're trying to get a lower rate on your telephone bill...or talking to your doctor...or trying to impress the stranger you met in passing...or speaking up to that guy in the office that just irks the hell out of you.

Using big words is like that animal making its hair stand on end to appear larger than they really are. Big words said by certain (not all) people make them appear smarter than they really are. But, just as a turkey displaying its feathers - strip away the feathers and what you've got left - well, is still a turkey.

I guess we all need to ruffle some feathers once in a while and appear larger than life. Words, are, after all...mightier than the sword...or at least they supposedly are when you write them down with a pen.

And good thing (at least for me) there's spell-check, too, as when I originally "penned" this blog, I spelled it "aggregious".

Sheesh...talk about an egregious error, right?

(Originally written, but never published, about two years ago.)

...and now for something completely different...

There was some "stuff" going on at the Montgomery Advertiser's blog site which got quite a few people misquoted and misinterpreted and such...so that's why I wrote this blog. Just ignore the first part and skip to the "question" part. I'd love to see what everyone out there answers to these two questions as well. :)

I thought it would be fun to head away from the "blogger" inspired blogs saying who did what and who didn't do what and who said something they didn't at all mean that way...to find out more about our fellow bloggers here on the paper.

Of course, no one has to read this or comment/participate...but I think it would be fun if we knew something about each of you other than the bios that are up there and the comments that you make.

So...I thought a couple questions might shed some insight about what makes each of us tick...and might make us realize we have something in common other than blogging.

What are some of your favourite movies and why? (Like which ones you could watch over and over and over again and not grow tired of doing so.)

...and...

What are some of the sites you look at routinely? (Dare I say it...just copy/paste the url of each one...and tell us why you like it.)


I'll go first. :)

Some Like It Hot: Hands down THE best comedy ever in my opinion. I can watch that thing 20 million times (and I probably have) and I STILL see or hear something I missed. It also never fails to make me laugh at all the places it's supposed to make you laugh. I absolutely love this film.

My Fair Lady: Okay, Audrey Hepburn's voice was dubbed by Marni Nixon...but no one could have been as "loverly" an Eliza than her. Love her...love Rex Harrison...love Colonel Pickering...love the entire score - and I DON'T LIKE MUSICALS! That's how much I LOVE this film.

The Shawshank Redemption: It took me about 10 years after this film was made to watch it. Why? I don't know why. If I had to write a film and be known by it - and only one film...it would have been this one. Great...superb writing.

V for Vendetta: See above...only it was about four years before I watched it. Plus the V character ended up doing what I refer to as a "reverse Charlie Chaplin". While wearing a mask and only using his voice - he conveyed more expression than I've ever seen. Chaplin did it the other way around...and was also a genius.

The Fifth Element: Best sci-fi movie ever. I love this film. I love Bruce...I love Gary Oldman...I love the ride. It's a fun movie. Not one boring part.

Idiocracy: Another movie that took me years to see even tho my friend kept telling me how great it was. But he liked that Garfield movie - so I never listened...until he told me it was by the same people who did Beavis and Butthead...then I watched it. It's FABULOUS. I don't think a day has gone by where I don't quote something from this movie. It's also so incredibly...um...prescient. Too much so.

Dinner at Eight: I love old films...if you've not seen this one or The Philadelphia Story or My Man Godfrey...rent them. They don't make them like this anymore...sigh.

Anything with Cary Grant in it.


Okay...URLs I go to:

My comedy website: http://www.HumorMeOnline.com - it's funny. Some of the best people in the world - yes world play my site. They are so incredibly witty - let's see YOU top them. :)

http://www.IMDb.com - The Internet Movie Database. I love this site - I am a trivia buff and movie trivia is something I have always gravitated towards. Hands down the best - I can get lost in there clicking and clicking and clicking.

http://www.Epicurious.com - The best cooking/recipe site out there. None even remotely come close...I don't know why others even try. And I love to cook - so this is the place for me.

I didn't want to post anything bloggy - but my friend, Chris...honestly is the best blogger in the universe. If I could write like him...well, judge for yourselves: http://www.knuckleheadhumor.com/

There are others out there - but those are the ones I pretty much go to on a daily basis.


How about everyone else?

Theories About Doctors and Spies

Well, here I will sit all weekend long watching my "Doctor Who" DVDs I rented from Netflix...I also have seven hours and five minutes of "Doctor Who" shows I TiVo'd as BBC America had the good sense about them to have had a marathon last week (some tonite as well)...unlike a certain SyFy channel who couldn't bother to continue with their great tradition of back-to-back "Twilight Zone" episodes for days on end.

I asked my son to come out of his room last nite to talk about what to have for our 4th of July dinner. I'm not too sure if I will grill anything and Alex doesn't want to be bothered with the grilling chore at all; as manly a task as they lead you to believe it is. My daughter's been wanting me to make Beignets, so I guess at one point that will happen...I've only put off making them enough times that my Cafe Du Monde mix is now out of date...but since it's just basically flour and yeast...I'm willing to bet the yeast doesn't know if it's May 30th or July 3rd. Yes, I'm crazy that way...stand back...I'm a risk taker for sure.

So, because "Doctor Who" was playing, my son opted to sit down as well and, after watching the David Tennant "Doctor Who" episodes for a bit, he concluded Tennant was indeed better than the new one...altho the new one isn't bad. Mr daughter is a Tennant girl as well.

My thoughts? I'm still a Tom Baker Doctor kinda girl...and therein lies my theory.

My theory is that you like the Doctor you grew up with. Just as with James Bond...most people will tend to tell you the one they liked the best...was the one they grew up with. I liked the nice campy Bond of the 1970s...yes, don't start throwing rocks at me just yet; I can't help it, I like Roger Moore. I never thought Sean Connery was sexy until he was much older. Pierce Brosnan is hot...and the new Bond, Daniel Craig - eh...he reminds me of a much older Jason Bourne.

But back to The Doctors...I grew up with the toothy, maniacal, long-scarfed Tom Baker who elevated the show when he took it from the original droll military episodes each week and morphed the regimentation of the weekly array of Colonels and upper crust "old chaps" into something else entirely: being silly and fighting a whole different type of monster. When Baker left, a series of other doctors came and went...hardly catching a moment's glimpse of my attention until David Tennant.

David is THE best Doctor to have come along in ages. And now, his reign is no more and his replacement is this little wisp of a bow-tied man-child as the displaced Gallifreyan Time Lord. In fact Matt Smith is indeed the youngest Doctor they ever had. Matt had some big shoes to fill, but he seems to be filling them and running in them extremely well. The only issue I have is with his companion. While Amy Pool is awfully cute and makes nice eye candy for the gents...the show is being "Always About Amy" or "The Amy Show" and I don't like that. She should NOT be the most sought after possession in the whole universe. Time to give more air-time to the Doctor in my opinion. He is, after all...The Doctor.

And then it got me thinking last nite watching one of the David Tennant vs The Master (oh, how I love John Simm as The Master) episodes....that secondly to Bond's, "Bond, James Bond" phrase...announcing that you are "The Doctor" holds about...or dare I say perhaps more, distinction.

So, those of you who are familiar with both shows..."James Bond" and "Doctor Who"...who would you rather be? A time lord who saves the world or a spy babe magnet, who also, ironically, saves the world?

And which "Bond" and which "Doctor Who" do you like best? How about "Doctor Who Companions" vs "Bond Girls" for that matter...which one will always hold a fond place...in your...heart?