Happy 8oth Birthday to my Mum.

Ma turns 80 today. We are a long-lived lot on that side of the family (the good side)--my Gran was 100 when she died.
Ma was born in 1927. She was 2 when the stock market crashed in '29. She insists she was no where near it at the time.
She has a strong aversion to rodents, ever since she was a small child, and a rat ran down her arm as she was reaching for a lantern in the barn. Much like Aunt Ada Doom from Cold Comfort Farm--she saw something nasty in the woodshed. But she never used it as a control weapon. She even tolerated my guinea pigs and pet rats. She's always been a sport.
She also gained a strong aversion to fish in childhood. It was the depression, and people caught much of the meat they ate. Ma ate some alligator gar, which made her violently ill (probably e coli)--she's been "allergic" ever since. She likes shrimp, however.
I had my first ever paying job as a classroom aide when she was superintendent of Project Head Start in Nueces county. And when I was very young, she took me to school with her, where I tutored her special needs students (I was quite precocious, and worked for free).
She was quite a looker in her youth--she was a ringer for Elizabeth Montgomery. Everyone told me that my ma "looked like Samantha". My Gran was utterly resistant to all suggestion that she dress "like Endora". I would have loved that.
For someone with severely impaired judgement and no real coping skills, she was an important ally in facing the world. I see alot of my ma in myself. I look like her. We have the same hair. I get to use it on odd numbered days.
We are having a wee party. I got her everything I could worm out of her for gift ideas, plus some surprises. Then it's dinner (chicken fried steak, mashed white potatoes, cake) and a comedy--I haven't decided between School of Rock and Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. She has a great sense of humor. It helped her during my youth (punk rock).
Happy birthday Mother.

A Childhood Influence

This might explain something about my sense of humor.

Momento Mouri: Fred Wong 1973-2007

(keep an eye peeled for this image, coming soon to a tortilla near you)

It is with infinite sadness that I post this memorial to our late friend, Fred Wong. Fred appeared on the blogosphere (last time I ever use that word--promise) suddenly, and just as suddenly died of undisclosed causes. I often take comfort in Fred's kind words of encouragement: good. nice. blog.


But what do we really know about our fallen comrade? He was 34--although he appeared to be much, much, much, much, much older. He apparantly lived a very full life---or drank heavily. I'm going with the "full life" angle. Fred liked movies. Music was "good". Books-"ok".
Fred and I had a couple of things in common. We were both capricorns, both born year of the rat. Fred, however, was employed as a korean-to-chinese interpreter, living in Chad. How Chad felt about that, we haven't heard.But I'm betting Chad was "cool" with it--such was the charm of Fred Wong.


Fred's generosity of spirit was celebrated by McDonald's, with a free fillet-o-fish sandwhich for every customer who mentioned Fred--for a whole day. (President Reagan was only memorialized with a hot apple pie)
http://otherpeopleexist.blogspot.com/2007/03/march-24-2007.html


Death has not silenced Fred, however. Fred has posted more blogs (1) than he did while alive. And I suspect that it is his gentle hand that has guided me in the past several days, as I purchased a wok, several books on Asian cuisines, and beer.

http://fredwongsghost.blogspot.com/

Freddie, we hardly knew ye.

Happy Vernal Equinox--Party Time Again

(THIS IMAGE RIGHTLY BELONGS IN ONE OF MARIANA'S 'SO CUTE YOU COULD PUKE' SERIES POSTS. ALL HAIL GATOCHY)

Happy Spring, all you bunnies and bears! This image, so precious, so cloying, such a threat to peristalsis, was apparently created by Gail Gastfield. The obvious "in a field, aghast" joke probably already suggested itself, so we'll just move on.

In honor of spring, and as incentive to clean house, I'm having the workies over for a massage exchange soiree. I wish you all could come-but the IRBHN world HQ only seats 8 comfortably. The menu reflects my spring mania--it's all over the place.
Guacamole, chile con queso. Shrimp kabobs. Pork dumplings. Irish rashers, bangers, and puddings. Pigs in blankets. Whatever else that may suggest itself between right now and tomorrow morning.

Best wishes for an extra springy spring to all my blog buddies. You all are the only reason I bother to boot up most days!

Gentility

It makes me sad to see good manners and taste recede into the mists of time. Ironic is the new sincere, and random is the new thoughtful. Are we past the age of the thank you note? I recall a day when a simple, tasteful note of thanks, printed in black on cream card stock, was as much a part of any event as the hangover, or making bail. My 20-something friends--the little vulgarian fucks--at utterly at sea when it comes to proper expressions of gratitude. The finer points of expression, the necessary bases to cover--all the major components of a well crafted missive of thanks giving---you couldn't drag out of a young person using a pair of pliers and a blow torch. Believe me, I've tried. So rather than simply cursing the gloom, I shall light this wee candle, in the form of an example of the lost art of saying "thanks". Take notes.

Dear Tamika,
Enclosed please find your monthly payment of $350. Thank you so much for keeping quiet about those films I did back in the 80's, back when I needed money to pay off those gambling debts. I'm also really grateful for your continued silence on the topic of those 7 people and that llama that met their end at my hands back in Nebraska. You know, I still feel bad about that llama. You know how much I love animals. I never would have opened fire, if it hadn't been for the two hiding behind it. I'm afraid my combined hatreds of redneck militias and the polka collided fatally that day. I still sometimes see that poor llamas wee camel-ly face, and shed a silent tear of regret. Something came over me, and I "lost my religion". You know, girl-you were there. You alone live to tell the tale. Except that you won't. Tell, that is.
I must remark how pleasant it is being blackmailed by you. Your rates are reasonable, and you are reliably discrete. I hope you are doing well. I've come to think of you as a friend and confidant that I pay. It would truly be a tragedy to have to "terminate" our relationship. But that won't be needing to happen, now--will it?
Yours in Christ,
"Mum"

J'ai Tombe' Dans la Cuisine or how to tell if your massage therapist is a whale (or other animal) in disguise

Ouch. I need something for the pain. I hit a slippery patch upon entering the kitchen, in my usual purposeful stride, and wound up looking like a marionette that had been dropped. My left leg went to the right, my right leg hyerextended behind me (like pigeon pose in yoga), and my right arm got tangled in the shelving. Were it not for extra dense bones and extreme flexibility, we would be posting this from hospital. So I'm lucky, for someone that just had such a painful and humiliating (if anyone would have seen ) mishap occur. I managed to get by with just some swelling/bruising and scrapes, instead of a sprain/fracture. Wheeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!

Next Topic:

I am encouraging Sebastien to seek massage therapy to help with the headaches etc. I even encouraged him to allow a LMT to make a house call. This can pose certain risks, given Sebastien's history with platypus' and other such creatures. There have been tragic encounters between humans and whales reported in the news of late, so I am supplying the following list of tips to help the massage consuming public avoid potentially fatal encounters with wild animals posing as massage therapists. An ounce of prevention, people.........

How To Tell If Your Massage Therapist is Actually a Whale (or other animal) in Disguise

1. Aroma. Your nose is your first line of defense against inviting a killer whale into your home. Sniff discretely, checking for a "fishy" odor. This will also help detect otters--the bastards of the sea. A "doggy" odor may indicate wolf--particularly if they show up in a group.

2. Look--what sort a vehicle did your massage therapist arrive in? If it is a huge tanker truck or other mega transport, odds are good you have a whale or other giant of the deep. Also, it is difficult for the average whale to squeeze into a polo shirt---look for straining seams. Also, the presence of a blow hole on the top of the head is pretty much a dead give away.

3. Rake your fingernails across a bit of chalkboard. Does your therapist flinch, like a human? Or do they try to answer, mistaking the noise for speech? If so-whale.

Stay tuned for further instructions. That is all.

DST WTF

The new daylight saving time thing totally caught me by surprize. I hate DST--more of it is not a good thing for me. So, unhappy to begin with---then I realized I hadn't seen my eyeglasses since 2am--the time that it happened. Ahah! My specs disappeared along with 2am--when it "magically" turned to 3am, my specs must have fallen in the crack. A perfectly reasonable theory.

Get a Room!

It is not even the vernal equinox yet, and ths sort of activity is going on, not two feet from my front step. Right out in the open, where they can scare the horses in the street.