Out of the blue, it suddenly occurred to me. That story about the smell from farts lowering blood pressure? How did they think to test that?
Two scientists are standing in the lab, looking at mice. One scientist says to the other, “You know, you keep farting. And that should be pissing me off. But for some reason, I can just feel my blood pressure going down . . . EUREKA!!”
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Brrrrrrrr.
Woke up this morning freezing my sweet niblets off. Yikes almighty. Okay, really my own fault. It was cold yesterday morning too, so I knew it was coming. And I deliberately didn’t get out my fluffy-warm blanky. I just slept under my quilt as usual. It was made by my Grandma and rarely leaves my bed. It’s a very effective vampire shield in the summer – protective yet not overly warm. But when the temp drops in the fall, it just isn’t enough to keep me actually warm.
Which is where my magical thinking comes in. Somehow, I believe that if I’m cold all night, I must be burning calories trying to keep warm. So it’s like exercising. Without actually, you know, exercising. Aerobic shivering. And it makes me feel all hearty and pioneer-like to tough it out. I can usually make it about a week. But after 7 nights of waking up 10 times because I’ve rolled out of the warm spot, I’m pulling out the woolies and electric blanket.
Which is where my magical thinking comes in. Somehow, I believe that if I’m cold all night, I must be burning calories trying to keep warm. So it’s like exercising. Without actually, you know, exercising. Aerobic shivering. And it makes me feel all hearty and pioneer-like to tough it out. I can usually make it about a week. But after 7 nights of waking up 10 times because I’ve rolled out of the warm spot, I’m pulling out the woolies and electric blanket.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Living Doll
Here's one thing that I noticed about Branson - and I probably noticed more, given that Halloween is on the way - have you ever seen those horror movies where the dolls comes to life? Usually possessed by a demon and looking to reak havoc, start fires and drive somebody the kind of insane where they hang themselves from the chandelier with a note pinned to their chest that says "the eyes the eyes the eyes". If that ever happened, Branson would be seriously screwed.
I have never seen so many porcelain dolls in my entire life. Rows and rows of them in all the shops. Victorian ones with the curlicue hair. Country girls with Branson aprons. Realistic ones that look like crying babies. Indian princesses. Fairies. You name it, Branson has it. I'm not sure how something can be kind of pretty and really, really effed up at the same time. And, of course, lots of the little girls LOVED them. They'd just stand and stare at them, with nearly the same blank expression as the dolls. But a lot of mature women were just as glassy eyed over them.
Of course, I had an Aunt Freda (actually a great-great aunt), who just loved those things. She had them all over her house. She even kept her dishes in the dishwasher so that she could display them in the glass-front kitchen cabinets. And she'd make vignettes with them at little doll parties. I shouldn't complain though. The way heredity works in my family, I could have a latent doll gene, and wake up one day and just drive to Branson and buy one of everything. But even if I do, I'm locking them in the closet on Halloween.
I have never seen so many porcelain dolls in my entire life. Rows and rows of them in all the shops. Victorian ones with the curlicue hair. Country girls with Branson aprons. Realistic ones that look like crying babies. Indian princesses. Fairies. You name it, Branson has it. I'm not sure how something can be kind of pretty and really, really effed up at the same time. And, of course, lots of the little girls LOVED them. They'd just stand and stare at them, with nearly the same blank expression as the dolls. But a lot of mature women were just as glassy eyed over them.
Of course, I had an Aunt Freda (actually a great-great aunt), who just loved those things. She had them all over her house. She even kept her dishes in the dishwasher so that she could display them in the glass-front kitchen cabinets. And she'd make vignettes with them at little doll parties. I shouldn't complain though. The way heredity works in my family, I could have a latent doll gene, and wake up one day and just drive to Branson and buy one of everything. But even if I do, I'm locking them in the closet on Halloween.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Home again
Whewh. Branson. What a trip. Some observations:
- From the timeshare room we stayed in: a full length mirror in the shower? Not cool. Especially not at 7 in the morning.
- Also, a full length mirror next to the toilet: see above. It lacks a certain dignity. What’s with these people and mirrors?
- A hamburger, onion rings and a fried pie at Billy Bob’s Dairyland is what the angels order when they want take-out.
- Yakov Smirnov does a damn funny show. Got to sit in the front row. And shake Yakov’s hand. Try not to feel too envious of me. Some of us are just lucky that way.
- Speaking of which – here’s a handy little tip: Don’t wear a necklace with the word “lucky” on it at Silver Dollar City unless you want that to be your nickname for the rest of the day. “Hey! It’s Lucky!” Who? Oh, me.
- Took the Ghost Tour in old town Branson, which was too much fun. They guaranteed a picture with something spectral. I got nothing. It was fun anyway. It was a great way to get some of the history of the town, and our guide had all the juicy stories from the wild days in Branson. And though I got bupkiss in the way of spooky pictures, this one sort of gothy girl came up next to me and said, “Ohmygod, look at this picture I got of you! It’s so freaky!” She showed me her digital camera that had a really nice screen that she could enlarge the picture on. She had a picture of me under the “hanging tree” with a giant orb over my head. How TAPS is that? I told her it was probably just one of my wilder ancestors who got hung there coming over to say “What up?”
- We stopped in Eureka Springs, AR on the way home. What a cool little town. I like any place that has 4 coffee shops within a mile of each other, and none of them are Starbucks. It’s one of those towns where it’s 1/3 artists, 1/3 bikers and 1/3 tourists. Great vibe. Lot’s of excellent arts and crafts stores to visit.
So, that’s the quick and dirty travel report. I’ll see if I can get a few pics downloaded to share.
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