Okay, it’s silly. But Rue McClanahan’s passing makes me genuinely sad. Like teary-eyed sad. Of course, the sad has been building as we’ve lost our GGs one at a time. And now there’s only Betty White. Talk about an era ending. I’m remembering all those nights watching the Golden Girls with my sister, giggling over Blanche’s sexy-smart funnies. Blanche Deveraux was a slut, and damned proud of it. That gal knew how to have fun. And anyone who has thought of themselves as “sexier at 50” has her to thank for blazing that trail.
And while we are on the subject, could we get Betty White a Mark Twain Award before it’s too late? That she has been passed over for so long is shocking to me. Just because she makes it look easy, effortless!, doesn’t mean that it is. She’s a lady, and a broad, and just plain funny. From Suanne Nivens to SNL, her body of work speaks for itself. And, frankly, I think Mark Twain would have gotten a kick out of her. She’s a national treasure. And in honoring her, the nation would be honoring four very funny ladies.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Hello, hello, my phone's ring-ing
I’ve been resisting going into the super-duper phone thing. E-mail, camera, web, GPS, slicer, dicer, chopper. I came to like the camera in my cell. It has been handy for those I-don’t-really-need-a-picture-but-I’ll-take-one-anyway moments. Like when I see a book that looks interesting, but want to take a look at a review before I shell out. Then I don’t have to spend 8 minutes thinking, “What was the name of that book by whoever that was?” See? Handy.
And I have texting. But it’s the phone keyboard rather than full QWERTY, so I really, really need to want to communicate. Click, click, click, Y, click, click, E, click, click, click, click, S. Not amusing.
And I know that there are super-duper phones that will make all of that easy. But it’s a slippery slope. There’s no such thing as a perfect phone. No matter how many things it does do, there’s something more that you wish that it did. That’s the way they get you. Not planned obsolescence, planed irritation. I took this picture, I wish I could share it with Nancy easily. New phone. Nancy thought that picture was so funny, I wish I could post it to Facebook easily. New phone. Alan just commented on my picture, I wish I knew where he was right this moment so we could meet up. New phone. I know some people who’ve been through 5 or six phones while I’ve been using the same model. And as they are showing me the really cool thing the new cell does, they’re complaining because now they can control their phone with thoughts, but they can’t uplink to the Mars rover – how annoying! New phone.
And I have texting. But it’s the phone keyboard rather than full QWERTY, so I really, really need to want to communicate. Click, click, click, Y, click, click, E, click, click, click, click, S. Not amusing.
And I know that there are super-duper phones that will make all of that easy. But it’s a slippery slope. There’s no such thing as a perfect phone. No matter how many things it does do, there’s something more that you wish that it did. That’s the way they get you. Not planned obsolescence, planed irritation. I took this picture, I wish I could share it with Nancy easily. New phone. Nancy thought that picture was so funny, I wish I could post it to Facebook easily. New phone. Alan just commented on my picture, I wish I knew where he was right this moment so we could meet up. New phone. I know some people who’ve been through 5 or six phones while I’ve been using the same model. And as they are showing me the really cool thing the new cell does, they’re complaining because now they can control their phone with thoughts, but they can’t uplink to the Mars rover – how annoying! New phone.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Played for a fool by Mother Nature
I get that the party planning process is a back-and-forth thing. You find the perfect party favors on-line. Then you find out they are sold-out until next January. You discover the perfect chicken enchiladas recipe. Then half your guests suddenly and inexplicably go vegetarian.
But this party for my niece’s graduation is just working my last nerve. I thought we were heading into the home stretch. Cleaning is done. Menus are planned. Guests are confirmed. I have created a handy spreadsheet that details the critical timing elements over a 4-day period (arrivals, departures, events, tide schedules). The D-Day invaders? Amateurs.
Then there is my old nemesis – Mother Nature. We’ve had an unusually mild spring, which as developed in to a cream puff early summer. Until last week, the forecast for Saturday was for 89 degrees. Oh, this would be the Saturday in which we were planning to use the patio as strategically planned overflow for a full house. You know – rock music outside, easy listening inside, beer outside, wine inside, with a free exchange of ideas. Now the forecast is for – wait for it – 102. A hundred and freaking two. Damn you, Mother Nature (who I now picture as that snotty bitch from the tampon commercials, rather than the snotty bitch from the margarine commercials
). Everything was going fine, and then she had to go fart in my elevator.
Not that everything is ruined. We’ll be fine. I’m on Amazon and HomeDepot.com investigating mister options and looking for a good beer sangria recipe. We can all just get along. But I do have my Hannibal Smith moments. I really prefer it when a plan comes together.
But this party for my niece’s graduation is just working my last nerve. I thought we were heading into the home stretch. Cleaning is done. Menus are planned. Guests are confirmed. I have created a handy spreadsheet that details the critical timing elements over a 4-day period (arrivals, departures, events, tide schedules). The D-Day invaders? Amateurs.
Then there is my old nemesis – Mother Nature. We’ve had an unusually mild spring, which as developed in to a cream puff early summer. Until last week, the forecast for Saturday was for 89 degrees. Oh, this would be the Saturday in which we were planning to use the patio as strategically planned overflow for a full house. You know – rock music outside, easy listening inside, beer outside, wine inside, with a free exchange of ideas. Now the forecast is for – wait for it – 102. A hundred and freaking two. Damn you, Mother Nature (who I now picture as that snotty bitch from the tampon commercials, rather than the snotty bitch from the margarine commercials
). Everything was going fine, and then she had to go fart in my elevator.Not that everything is ruined. We’ll be fine. I’m on Amazon and HomeDepot.com investigating mister options and looking for a good beer sangria recipe. We can all just get along. But I do have my Hannibal Smith moments. I really prefer it when a plan comes together.
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