Lunch Blyte

OK ... so I'm still suffering some ailment as described in my last post. But it hit me today that I'd be better off blogging short little snippets, perhaps while I'm eating lunch at my desk. I used to do this when a good friend of mine was stationed in Kosovo. I would sit down with my lunch and type up a Seinfeld letter ... much about nothing. Just banter ... jumping from one topic to the next. I think he enjoyed them. So this should be fun.

Here we are ... your lunch blyte for the day. Blog + byte. We're you really wondering? Not to mention, it rhymes with bite. So there you have it.

Topic for today: Sanford Mr. Sketch Scented Watercolor Markers. Can you believe these wonderful sticks of smell are still around??? I have a Blueberry one that was sitting here on my desk. I can remember saturating paper with color just so the aromatics of the picture would cloak the ineptitude of the visual. Teacher: "That doesn't really look like a flower." Chip: "Well no ... but smell it! Mmmmm."

I like almost all the colors but black. Black stinks. They now have a set of 18 (the original 12 plus some pastel flavorings: light pink bubble gum, lavender cotton candy, light yellow banana split, peach, light blue raspberry slushy and light green tropical punch.) I'll stick with the originals.

I think these markers have been around since 1972 ... I couldn't find a good history on them. I was five at the time and very impressionable. And I liked smells. So I have an affinity for these olfactory cylinders.

Kinda like the affinity for wet mimeograph paper. Those of you who are old enough ... you know what I'm talking about. And I'll admit ... I did inhale.

Have I Become a Blahgger?

I hit the ground running. Ah, a blog! A way to express myself and share a little bit of me with all of you. (Annie ... no comments about "yeah, both of us.")

I was firing off posts left and right ... leaving comments on blogs of my friends and their friends' blogs. I was excited to be in the blogosphere! Some of you even linked to my blog, and I wept. Course, I had to hint and beg, but you came through. The rest of you should follow suit.

And then it hit ... just as suddenly as it took off. It was like a train wreck.

I got blogstipated.

And don't pretend you don't know what that is. You log into your blog and you end up sitting there, trying your little heart out to produce something. You may even turn red in the face and break out in a sweat, straining for something. Anything! But nothing. The brain gets all stopped up. You're stuck ... bloated with emptiness ... wondering if you should investigate a blenema. I had to do more research before taking such a drastic step.

So I whipped out the trusty Wikipedia to see if I could determine exactly what condition I had ... to explain to me how it happened and what I should do about it.

Did I need to join B.A.? No, no, no ... this was the absense of the addiction. I was simply stuck. Certainly I could get things going without 10 steps.

But I had stalled after 10 random things. What was happening to me???

Was it blogtle dysfunction? Had the honeymoon worn off? Were mental issues affecting my performance? I mean ... I hadn't lost interest in blogging. To the contrary ... I was still infatuated with the ability to talk/type for an hour or so without interruption. But when it came time to do the deed, I was coming up short. Yes, it was sounding more like BD with every Google second going by. I even think I saw a commercial for this debilitating condition on The WB. Had I truly lost my li-bt-lo? (Log in, blog to, log out.) I'm only 40 ... it couldn't be.

But more alarming was the discovery of an entire plethora of conditions that I could face while in this wonderful world of Web 2.0. I pressed on.

Had I suffered from blogorrhea when I first joined in? I mean ... I wasn't incessantly blogging hour after hour, but I was doing it at least once a day. Sounds fairly regular to me ... no Pepto for me. I'd pass, thank you. Nasty stuff.

Many of you have come out of being blistless for a while ... a sense of apathy or disinterest with the whole thing. I'm glad to see you back. Perhaps knowing I wasn't alone would help.

I can assure you this much ... what you are reading is not a flog. It's all me, 100%. Fresh from the medulla oblongata, or somewhere near there I think.

Perhaps it's just a time issue ... not enough time when I'm sitting at the computer. Perhaps I should try moblogging from my cell phone? Short, sweet nothings to the blogdience? I know, I know ... you'd want more. And I can't do 80 words per minute on a ten-key.

But here I sit ... realizing my problems are finally over. I've emerged once again ... active and alive. I can go ride a horse or swim or do whatever I want, feeling fresh and renewed. I'm back in the blogging saddle, revived from reading all of your blogs ... finding my blog in your links ... laughing and singing and dancing. I can now stand up and move on with my life.

Yep ... all it took was a little blaxitive. Thanks folks ... you are all wonderful people.

I've been hit ...

Or should I say tagged ... thanks KTB ... you're gracious to think of me. Or everyone else has been tagged. Or your mama told you to. Whatever it was ... I'm game.

And the game is 10 random thoughts. Well, I've got about ten minutes before I have to start getting ready for a meeting tomorrow, so let me see what I can come up with. I guess this will be paced at 1 RPM (1 randomness per minute). Buckle up ... here goes.

1. I have two toes stuck together. It's like having a webbed foot, but only between two toes, not the whole foot. The technical term for fellow geeksters is "simple syndactyly." Wasn't that a Robert Palmer song? Anyhoo ... I used to pretend I was the "Man from Atlantis" with my webbed foot. Granted I don't look anything like Patrick Duffy. But I tried to swim like he did, like a flailing, dying worm with my hands by my side and my feet together. Did you know that you really can't get far underwater flailing like a dying worm with your hands by your side and your feet together? I know ... now. And so do you.
   
   
2. My great-grandfather, grandfather, dad, brother and nephew are all named George Bush. But our family is big into nicknames. My grandfather was "G.I.", my dad is Irvin, my brother is Skeeter, and my nephew is Bucky. Wackiness.
   
   
3. When I was born, the doctor told my mother, "Well Helen, you have a healthy bouncing baby boy." Her reply was, "Well, if that's the best you could do." I'm still not sure what to think of that, but I bet she was drugged.
   
   
4. I had three dates in college. They were with three different girls, and all within two months. I was having too much fun as a Redcoat (marching band) to date.
   
   
5. I like order ... lots of order. I prefer to have things in Tupperware containers vs. packages and bags of various sizes. If I am at your house and a picture is crooked on the wall, I can't concentrate until it's straightened. Notice the numerical order of the next one. More indications of the order disorder.
   
   
6. My six radio station presets, if you exclude the numbers, are Star River B Q Fish Jazz. In that order.
   
   
7. I love acting ... I won some awards in high school for the one-act play, and went on to act in the dinner theater at FUMC, which was awesome.
   
   
8. I hesitate to even mention this, but I LOATHE the "p" word used commonly to describe female underwear. It is the most wishy-washy, lame, gross word that I know of in the English language. Whenever someone says it, it's like someone whining. I know that God made everything, but the bad guy must have come up with this word. I think Eve originally called them "leaves" ... why didn't we just leave well enough alone and call them that? Works for me ... a bra and leaves set. No whining there.
   
   
9. I played french horn, trumpet and baritone/euphonium in high school, college, and into post-college. I also love to sing. I used to sing with a group at FUMC, and one year we were invited to sing at the lighting of the Rich's Great Tree at Underground Atlanta. THAT was way cool.
   
   
10. Let's wrap up (as we opened) with some more physical oddities. I'm color blind ... like for real. Not someone who has problems matching clothes, but really, genetically color blind. When I look at those circles of colored dots in the Ishihara color blindness tests, I cannot see the numbers in many of them. Oh, and I'm AB+, which is one of the rarest blood types and the universal recipient ... I can take blood from anyone. Well, I'd like to have their resume and accomplishments first, but in a pinch, I won't be picky. I'm married to an O-, the universal donor. I love that woman. And not just for her blood.
    

How random was that? Now I have to tag out ... let's hear from mother/daughter duo Kaye and Ann, and let's see if Ruth Allen will play the game! If not, we're going to call her a butthole (by her graces, not mine.) If I used language like that, I'd probably choose "butthead" vs. "butthole." Maintains complete distance from the leaves. Just FYI.

Toy Time

OK ... here's one everyone can relate to.

What was your favorite toy when you were a kid?

Now beyond my culinary fascination with Play-Doh (revealed in my last blog), I think my favorite was Tinkertoys. One big can of wooden Tinkertoys with plastic connectors and levers, etc. I made ferris wheels and cars and helicopters. When the pegs swelled up too much on the ends, I had to clamp the ends a little with my teeth. Much like Play-Doh. Little did I realize that getting them wet made them swell more. Ah, well.

My second favorite was a chemistry set and microscope. I was a dork. But those slides of mounted flies and blood stains ... all cool stuff.

Third up was a tie between a bike and an electric organ, which was basically a big fan that blew in the housing and allowed air to escape through the keys when they were pressed. I never learned how to play piano, but I belted out stuff on that organ. What a noise it would make when I leaned on the keys and tried to press them all down at once. Like a dying cow. Not that I've ever heard a dying cow. But I've heard one in labor, and my electric organ didn't sound anything like that.

So what was your childhood favorite? If you are going to comment that your favorite childhood toy was a Wii ... don't. I'm grumpy and I'll have to slap an age limitation on this blog.

OH, and BTW ... please pray for our family. I leave for San Antonio tomorrow, and Veda is going to fly out and join me Thursday evening. Leah, Amy and Chaz will be here with my in-laws, and Chaz is coughing up a storm. We think it's allergies. But nonetheless, it's tough for Mommy to leave for some R&R if her baby is sick.

And a haiku for you ...

Tinkertoys ... they rocked

And the can made a great drum!

Better than a cat.

Is that King Tut's Tomb in there?

Ain't it tough when you uncover the unfortunate choices of others that you now have to deal with?

I spent WAY too much time this afternoon in our shower. And I only wish it had been under some hot water. But no ... I was going to recaulk our shower. A quick job, it was to be. You know ... you get to a point to where you've used enough bleach to where the caulk is ready to throw in the towel. If it separates from the tile, removing it should be as easy as wheeling Britney out on a stretcher. Again.

So I get in there to start easily peeling away each precious bead of caulk, having done it's job and prepared for the caulk afterlife. Little did I know ... this caulk was heading for the underworld. At least, I was cursing it there.

Let's put it this way ... I broke one blade in the process, and at the end of two hours, I had stripped but not caulked a single bead.

For those of you who may be new homeowners, here's a little tip. TAKE OFF THE OLD CAULK BEFORE PUTTING ON NEW CAULK! A wise piece of information that the previous owners must not have read in Better Homes and Gardens. (Or perhaps they didn't discuss caulk removal in his magazine of choice. Not even a photo of caulk removal. Nada.)

It was so bad ... one corner had THREE layers of caulk. How did I know this? It was like going through an archaeological dig. I could tell by the strata and colors that this was no ordinary corner. And to top it all off, once I finally removed said caulks (yeah, plural), there was no grout in the corner at all ... it was a gaping hold between tiles. I had uncovered a secret passage. Was there money hidden in that crevice? No ... just wet caulk.

This was not the simple project I had planned to take on. Arrgh.

Fortunately, I had some tile grout. Now granted, it was about six years old, but after walking around with the tube in my hand, kneading it and rolling it like Play-Doh, I was ready to grout the gap.

So now our shower is posted as "out of order" for the next two days instead of one. But fear not, we will not grow ripe. We have other bathing options.

Homeowners ... please be informed. DECAULK before you caulk.

Sheesh.

Speaking of ... Play-Doh was the only time I can remember getting sent home from school. Or at least getting in big time trouble. In kindergarten, I tried to get someone to eat Play-Doh with me. I never could figure out why red Play-Doh tasted salty and not cherry flavored. But then again, so did the yellow and the green. Weird. Did you know that Play-Doh was originally invented as wallpaper cleaner? Now see, if I had known that, I certainly wouldn't have ingested it. Duh.

He's not Mafia ... I Promise

It appears that many of my blog posts will be regarding something overheard at dinner. Perhaps that's when the funniest things are said.

So, without further ado ... here's the star of this evening's show!

Chaz: "I want to say the blessing tonight!"
Chip: "OK ... you go for it."
C2: "OK ... let's pray."
(All heads bowed).
C2: "God is gweat ... God is good ... let us ... NO, WAIT!"
(C1 and family snickers)
(C2 goes Brando ... to the tune of "Where is Thumpkin?")
C2: "God ah faddah ... God ah faddah ... (pause) ... Ah-ah-men ... Ah-ah-men!"

And with that, our food was blessed, along with our hearts and our comedic senses. Good show, son!

Word Veri

One of the bestest bloggers out here is Caroline B. No, really ... you should read her stuff ... she's good. If you don't, you're not good.

She posted a comment on one of my posts recently that puzzled me ... I had no clue what she meant. Was it a typo? Was she medicated? I couldn't figure it out. In closing out her comment, she said, "Moilwax ... best word veri ever."

And for days, I fretted and fumbled around that comment. Was it a puzzle? Perhaps it was code ... something I had to figure out. She'd do something like that to me. More likely at 3 a.m. at summer camp, but I wouldn't put it past her on any other day.

But today, the clouds parted. I finally got it, while posting a comment on Annie's ultimate blog (another one you SHANT miss if you know what's good for you. And even if you don't ... I know what's good for you, and it's Annie's musings. Do it.)

Anyhoo ... as I was posting an eloquent comment to one of Annie's most recent perceptions into the human soul, I was reminded to type in a word verification for my comment so they'd know I was human ... as opposed flora or fauna, who have yet to master the keyboard. Word Verification ... hence Word Veri (sans the fication).

And ahhh ... I was released from my shackles. Course, at that point in time, now I had the best word veri ever. Me, me, me. And I'll share it with you.

Amfmkuny

Don't try to phonetically pronounce it. You have to spell out the A-M-F-M part first. Then say "kuny." I think it refers to the wickedly terrible state of Atlanta radio right now, with stations flopping around left and right.

Who comes up with these word veris? Flora or fauna?

Amfmkuny ... someone get Webster on the phone and let's get this one in print. 'Cause I like it. Just like snumping and snopping.

If you don't know ... don't be afraid to ask.