Blog number 386 **** 23 April 2009
My older son responded to my previous Blog entry about the cute little girl with a story of his own. I thought it so delightful that I decided to spread it around. Here 'tis
Ha ha. I have a funny little girl story too. She was at Weatherstone Coffee Shop. I drew her portrait once before, so I said hi. She is 3 and has a little dutch girl hair cut so cute. So she was blabbing and her mom was talking to her friend, not listening, so she shouted "hey! hey! You're bothering me!" -cause they werent listening to her....then she was eating her muffin and she asked her mom, "mom, who knows the most about muffins?" ha ha ha
Friday, April 23, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
TORI TORI TORI
Blog number 385 **** 19 April 2009
We - mine wife and I, went to Phoenix yesterday to see a movie and before our movie started, we went into Barnes and Nobles to look at books. I picked one up from the "New Arrivals" section. An autobiographical book about a woman journalist who was imprisoned by the Iranians for a hundred days. I first heard of the book when I saw the author being interviewed by Jon Stewart on "The Daily Show." Seemed like it might be interesting.
As I was walking to a table to read a bit in it, my wife having gone to the ladies room, I passed by a little girl whom I learned later was four years old. And named "Tori." She was a bit pudgy and a little bigger than a regular four year old. She was eating a cookie with frosting on it. It seemed to me that she was eating more frosting than cookie, and later she did shove aside the cookie when she had eaten all the frosting. She was sitting with an old lady who turned out to be Tori's grandmother.
I asked Tori if I could have a bite of her cookie and she offered it, saying, "Yes." This is not a usual thing that four year olds do, tending to be a bit more selfish. I told her, "no, no. I was just joking."
She asked me where I was going. I told her I was going "over there" to sit and read. "What are you reading?" she asked.
"This book."
"What's it about?"
"This woman on the cover."
"Why are you reading?"
"I like reading."
"How did you get here.?"
" I walked."
"How are you going to get back?"
"I'll walk."
"How are you going to walk?"
"with my feet."
"How do you do that?"
I asked her name and at first I could not get it right. Mory, Lory.
She put the index finger of each hand like a cross people use to ward off vampires and I said, "Tee."
She said yes and then proceeded to spell out, Tee, O, Eye, Are.
"Toeer?"
"NO!"
She tried spellling again, "Tee, O, Are, Eye."
"Tori!"
"Yes!"
The questioning continued on and on, with me standing there with my unread book in my hand, realizing by now that this had no ending.
Then she asked, "Why are you standing there?" Hah! I busted up on that one.
Teresa came back about then and I foisted Tori on to here so she could see what I had found. And sure enough, Tori started asking her innumerable questions.
She said her Dad's name was Don and her Grandma's name was Grandma.
All this time her Grandma sit there reading. Once in awhile she would tell Tori to come back. Tori would and then almost immediately she would get down from her chair and come closer to us. Grandma mostly ignored us.
Her dad, Don, came to get her. We told him how bright we thought she was, he told us she was very outgoing with everybody.
That girl was a real treat. So curious, so intent.
We - mine wife and I, went to Phoenix yesterday to see a movie and before our movie started, we went into Barnes and Nobles to look at books. I picked one up from the "New Arrivals" section. An autobiographical book about a woman journalist who was imprisoned by the Iranians for a hundred days. I first heard of the book when I saw the author being interviewed by Jon Stewart on "The Daily Show." Seemed like it might be interesting.
As I was walking to a table to read a bit in it, my wife having gone to the ladies room, I passed by a little girl whom I learned later was four years old. And named "Tori." She was a bit pudgy and a little bigger than a regular four year old. She was eating a cookie with frosting on it. It seemed to me that she was eating more frosting than cookie, and later she did shove aside the cookie when she had eaten all the frosting. She was sitting with an old lady who turned out to be Tori's grandmother.
I asked Tori if I could have a bite of her cookie and she offered it, saying, "Yes." This is not a usual thing that four year olds do, tending to be a bit more selfish. I told her, "no, no. I was just joking."
She asked me where I was going. I told her I was going "over there" to sit and read. "What are you reading?" she asked.
"This book."
"What's it about?"
"This woman on the cover."
"Why are you reading?"
"I like reading."
"How did you get here.?"
" I walked."
"How are you going to get back?"
"I'll walk."
"How are you going to walk?"
"with my feet."
"How do you do that?"
I asked her name and at first I could not get it right. Mory, Lory.
She put the index finger of each hand like a cross people use to ward off vampires and I said, "Tee."
She said yes and then proceeded to spell out, Tee, O, Eye, Are.
"Toeer?"
"NO!"
She tried spellling again, "Tee, O, Are, Eye."
"Tori!"
"Yes!"
The questioning continued on and on, with me standing there with my unread book in my hand, realizing by now that this had no ending.
Then she asked, "Why are you standing there?" Hah! I busted up on that one.
Teresa came back about then and I foisted Tori on to here so she could see what I had found. And sure enough, Tori started asking her innumerable questions.
She said her Dad's name was Don and her Grandma's name was Grandma.
All this time her Grandma sit there reading. Once in awhile she would tell Tori to come back. Tori would and then almost immediately she would get down from her chair and come closer to us. Grandma mostly ignored us.
Her dad, Don, came to get her. We told him how bright we thought she was, he told us she was very outgoing with everybody.
That girl was a real treat. So curious, so intent.
Friday, April 16, 2010
SINK SANK SUNK
Blog number 384 **** 16 April 2009
Ain't that the way it always goes? You lose something and the only way to find it is to accuse someone of stealing it. I kinda trashed the New Yorker magazine two days ago and yesterday I get the new New Yorker (April 19th) and it is full of wonderful cartoons, stories, pictures that rival National Geographic, and its size is such that I have not seen the like for almost two years now.
There is also a neat little conundrum in an article about tug boats.
Quote; "To load it, Lathum first had to flood his barge with water until it floated just below the surface - a procedure precariously close to sinking it."
My take is, if anything is "floating just below the surface," isn't it already sunk?
And if it can obviously easily be re floated, why is it "precariously close to sinking"? You see my confusion.
Ain't that the way it always goes? You lose something and the only way to find it is to accuse someone of stealing it. I kinda trashed the New Yorker magazine two days ago and yesterday I get the new New Yorker (April 19th) and it is full of wonderful cartoons, stories, pictures that rival National Geographic, and its size is such that I have not seen the like for almost two years now.
There is also a neat little conundrum in an article about tug boats.
Quote; "To load it, Lathum first had to flood his barge with water until it floated just below the surface - a procedure precariously close to sinking it."
My take is, if anything is "floating just below the surface," isn't it already sunk?
And if it can obviously easily be re floated, why is it "precariously close to sinking"? You see my confusion.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
KFC ANYONE?
Blog number 383 **** 15 April 2009
I grew up on a farm in Iowa. We raised hogs, dairy cattle, flax, corn, oats, alfalfa, and at one time, sheep. My grandma raised chickens. She sold the eggs to a grocery store in town and the money was hers. Every Sunday she would kill a couple of fryers and we ate the most delicious fried chicken. Sometimes she made chicken dumpling soup, and occasionally chicken foot gravy which had chicken feet floating in a pale gravy. The soup and the gravy were both delicious! Every meal made from chickens was outstanding. I especially loved fried chicken.
Nowadays, and for many years, I have not been eating chicken. It tastes bad to me. It makes me think of wet chicken feathers.
I just finished reading an article in the April 19, 2010 New Yorker magazine which enlightened me as to what is happening with my change of appreciation for chicken flesh. I'm going to quote a portion of that article right here. So, *******CAUTION********
The author has hired two men to help him unpack his furniture from a moving van. One of the men told the author stories about his different jobs over the years. He told him about truck fueling strategies, nurseries, and chicken farms.
"They got them on so many drugs nowadays. I had a friend who worked at a chicken plant and from the time they're born until the time they are processed it takes eighteen days. Eighteen days! It used to take months.
There was one woman who worked there injecting the chickens and occasionally she would prick herself by mistake. She got lupus and grew hair on her face. That's why I don't eat chickens any more."
Me neither, Red Ryder.
I grew up on a farm in Iowa. We raised hogs, dairy cattle, flax, corn, oats, alfalfa, and at one time, sheep. My grandma raised chickens. She sold the eggs to a grocery store in town and the money was hers. Every Sunday she would kill a couple of fryers and we ate the most delicious fried chicken. Sometimes she made chicken dumpling soup, and occasionally chicken foot gravy which had chicken feet floating in a pale gravy. The soup and the gravy were both delicious! Every meal made from chickens was outstanding. I especially loved fried chicken.
Nowadays, and for many years, I have not been eating chicken. It tastes bad to me. It makes me think of wet chicken feathers.
I just finished reading an article in the April 19, 2010 New Yorker magazine which enlightened me as to what is happening with my change of appreciation for chicken flesh. I'm going to quote a portion of that article right here. So, *******CAUTION********
The author has hired two men to help him unpack his furniture from a moving van. One of the men told the author stories about his different jobs over the years. He told him about truck fueling strategies, nurseries, and chicken farms.
"They got them on so many drugs nowadays. I had a friend who worked at a chicken plant and from the time they're born until the time they are processed it takes eighteen days. Eighteen days! It used to take months.
There was one woman who worked there injecting the chickens and occasionally she would prick herself by mistake. She got lupus and grew hair on her face. That's why I don't eat chickens any more."
Me neither, Red Ryder.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
FREEBIRD!
Blog number 382 **** 14 April 2009
Happy Birthday to me. Happy Birthday to me. Happy Birthday dear Donald. Happy Birthday to me.
Happy Birthday to me. Happy Birthday to me. Happy Birthday dear Donald. Happy Birthday to me.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
FOR BUDDHA'S SAKE, GET SOME HELP
Blog number 381 **** 13 April 2009
We have a subscription to the New Yorker magazine. I just read another of their short stories. Pure pap.
The New Yorker magazine has a reputation amongst the American elite - especially those elite who reside in New York, as being THE literary epitome of writings. This reputation is undeserved.
Occasionally there is some good writing, but most often it is nothing but pretentious trash.
Even some of the cartoons are pretentious - kind of like the stand-up humor of Dennis Miller. A pretentious comic.
All that being said, I just finished a book called, "Water For Elephants" which was so good I really expected the end to fall apart, which often happens, but I was pleasantly surprised. Excellent ending. Excellent beginning. Excellent middle. Excellent book.
I'm fair.
We have a subscription to the New Yorker magazine. I just read another of their short stories. Pure pap.
The New Yorker magazine has a reputation amongst the American elite - especially those elite who reside in New York, as being THE literary epitome of writings. This reputation is undeserved.
Occasionally there is some good writing, but most often it is nothing but pretentious trash.
Even some of the cartoons are pretentious - kind of like the stand-up humor of Dennis Miller. A pretentious comic.
All that being said, I just finished a book called, "Water For Elephants" which was so good I really expected the end to fall apart, which often happens, but I was pleasantly surprised. Excellent ending. Excellent beginning. Excellent middle. Excellent book.
I'm fair.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
BETTER TO BET ON GETTING HIT BY LIGHTNING
Blog number 381 **** 09 April 2009
In Arizona, the most common saying they give us poor saps for playing the lottery is, "If you don't play, you can't win." Every time I hear that. I think, "If you don't play, you can't lose."
Today I got to wondering if that saying of mine really made sense, so I looked at it.
If you play the lottery, you can win. Very, very rarely. But. If you don't play the lottery, you can't lose! YOU CAN'T LOSE!
It's a choice between losing almost every time or never losing.
I think they need a new mantra.
In Arizona, the most common saying they give us poor saps for playing the lottery is, "If you don't play, you can't win." Every time I hear that. I think, "If you don't play, you can't lose."
Today I got to wondering if that saying of mine really made sense, so I looked at it.
If you play the lottery, you can win. Very, very rarely. But. If you don't play the lottery, you can't lose! YOU CAN'T LOSE!
It's a choice between losing almost every time or never losing.
I think they need a new mantra.
Friday, April 9, 2010
NO NEWS IS GOOD NEWS
Blog number 380 **** 09 April 2009
Tonight I watched Miriam Garcia, a "reporter" for Fox "News," interviewing a "witness" to a shooting in a Walmart store reporting about the person she was interviewing, "Nick Garcia wasn't there, but he heard about it."
Miriam should maybe interview me about sighting the Lock Ness monster, 'cause I heard about that.
Tonight I watched Miriam Garcia, a "reporter" for Fox "News," interviewing a "witness" to a shooting in a Walmart store reporting about the person she was interviewing, "Nick Garcia wasn't there, but he heard about it."
Miriam should maybe interview me about sighting the Lock Ness monster, 'cause I heard about that.
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