Mom: So is he famous or something?
Me: He's Wil Wheaton.
Mom: And he beat this other guy up when he was little?
Me: No, he didn't show up for a Star Trek convention. Do you know who Wil Wheaton is?
Mom: No. A Star Wars guy?
Me: He played Wesley Crusher in Star Trek: The Next Generation.
Mom: Okay, now I understand.
[pause]
Me: You don't know who Wesley Crusher is, do you?
Mom: Well, no, but I wanted you to stop telling me.
[pause]
Mom: Alright, you can go ahead and tell me.
Me: Okay, so Captain Picard...
Mom: Just wait a minute while I turn off my hearing aid.
Me: You are so mean.
Mom: I didn't know that. Tell me more.
Sigh.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Nothing is Where It's Supposed to Be (and the Cats Are Very Angry)
Okay, so, well, there's nothing to report here. Seriously, nothing. Well, no, a friend of mine was startled by bunnies and injured her leg badly enough to need ice and sympathy and a link to my parody poem from February which made me feel all warm and tingly because someone else understands that bunnies are dangerous, dammit.
And then I felt guilty for feeling all warm and tingly due to someone else's pain. And then I felt better because I felt guilty, which is not, I think, the purpose of guilt.
But all of this is a mere distraction from the fact that nothing happened here which is darned upsetting because what was supposed to happen was the kitchen floor getting torn up and a new floor put down and a new dishwasher installed and a new garbage disposal likewise installed and then many adult beverages consumed in celebration. But not only was the floor not torn up and replaced or the appliances installed, but--and this is the really frustrating part--the wine cabinet is inaccessible due to the white cabinet and the refrigerator now living in the dining room.
Do you understand, my beloved readers? The refrigerator is in the dining room, and the microwave is in the living room, and the dining room table is filled with stuff from the kitchen cabinet and the coffee maker is in the damn bathroom, and I cannot open the wine cabinet.
And before you ask, yes, I could go buy more wine, but where am I going to put it? I can't use the coffee table because that's where we have the silverware and the gin and the tea bags. The fireplace is out because we had to move the cat dishes there to the great displeasure of the cats who keep wandering into the empty kitchen, looking around, and then vomiting right where their food bowls are supposed to be.
My bedroom would be a good place for the wine except that I have thirty pieces of pottery and twice that many books piled on every available surface waiting to go back into the kitchen or dining room or my home office. Mom's bedroom is full of cat toys and paper towels. There are dvds and cookbooks piled in my home office where they don't belong, along with the spice rack and a stack of skillets and all of the oven mitts.
There are too many oven mitts, by the way. If you need some, let me know, and I will send them to you as soon as all of this is over and the food processor is not blocking access to the desk where we keep the mailing supplies.
The hallway is a dangerous maze of laundry, shoes and teapots.
I mean, great silver cylons, just talking about this makes me want to get into that wine cabinet! Which I cannot do.
So I'm sipping a nice glass of unsweetened iced tea and pretending it's malbec. I'm doing deep breathing and visualizations of ponds and beaches and libraries. But let me be very clear about this: if nothing continues to happen this week, there will be boxed wine on the front porch where I will sit in my pyjamas listening to old Hank Williams songs and dreaming of the days when I could eat at a table in my own house.
And then I felt guilty for feeling all warm and tingly due to someone else's pain. And then I felt better because I felt guilty, which is not, I think, the purpose of guilt.
But all of this is a mere distraction from the fact that nothing happened here which is darned upsetting because what was supposed to happen was the kitchen floor getting torn up and a new floor put down and a new dishwasher installed and a new garbage disposal likewise installed and then many adult beverages consumed in celebration. But not only was the floor not torn up and replaced or the appliances installed, but--and this is the really frustrating part--the wine cabinet is inaccessible due to the white cabinet and the refrigerator now living in the dining room.
Do you understand, my beloved readers? The refrigerator is in the dining room, and the microwave is in the living room, and the dining room table is filled with stuff from the kitchen cabinet and the coffee maker is in the damn bathroom, and I cannot open the wine cabinet.
And before you ask, yes, I could go buy more wine, but where am I going to put it? I can't use the coffee table because that's where we have the silverware and the gin and the tea bags. The fireplace is out because we had to move the cat dishes there to the great displeasure of the cats who keep wandering into the empty kitchen, looking around, and then vomiting right where their food bowls are supposed to be.
My bedroom would be a good place for the wine except that I have thirty pieces of pottery and twice that many books piled on every available surface waiting to go back into the kitchen or dining room or my home office. Mom's bedroom is full of cat toys and paper towels. There are dvds and cookbooks piled in my home office where they don't belong, along with the spice rack and a stack of skillets and all of the oven mitts.
There are too many oven mitts, by the way. If you need some, let me know, and I will send them to you as soon as all of this is over and the food processor is not blocking access to the desk where we keep the mailing supplies.
The hallway is a dangerous maze of laundry, shoes and teapots.
I mean, great silver cylons, just talking about this makes me want to get into that wine cabinet! Which I cannot do.
So I'm sipping a nice glass of unsweetened iced tea and pretending it's malbec. I'm doing deep breathing and visualizations of ponds and beaches and libraries. But let me be very clear about this: if nothing continues to happen this week, there will be boxed wine on the front porch where I will sit in my pyjamas listening to old Hank Williams songs and dreaming of the days when I could eat at a table in my own house.
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Joy and Woe (and Joy. And Woe.)
I have a confession to make, precious readers: I hear voices.* Two voices, specifically. One of them is optimistic, always looking on the bright side of things, chirping around like a damn robin. The other is...not.
In times of stress, these voices become more passionate, more argumentative, and more likely to disturb me when I'm watching season 2 of the Sarah Jane Adventures.** To purge myself of their sniping, I am posting one of their dialogues to this blog. Feel free to heckle if the spirit moves you.
Voice A: "Woe unto me, for the dishwasher has sprung three leaks and ruined the kitchen floor!"
Voice B: "Rejoice and be glad! For I have homeowner's insurance!"
Voice A: "Woe unto me! The policy does not cover this, for, lo! a slow leak is a 'maintenance problem.'"
Voice B: "Rejoice and be glad, for the dishwasher is a mere three years old!"
Voice A: "Woe, serious woe! The warranty expired six months ago."
Voice B: "Rejoice and be glad, for we have an emergency fund!"
Voice A: "Woe unto me, for we will have it no longer!"
Voice B: "Rejoice and be glad, dammit, for we know a good plumber who charges a reasonable price!"
Voice A: "Woe unto me and unto that plumber, for he has died!"***
Voice B: "Rejoice and be glad, for my neighbors, the awesome ones, they have found a good contractor!"
Voice A: "Woe unto me, for good contractors are expensive!"
Voice B: "Rejoice and be glad, for I can (barely) afford him! And, lo! I didn't like that flooring in any case!"
Voice A: "Woe unto me, for I did like that dishwasher, dammit."
Voice B: "Rejoice and be glad, fool! There is a company that makes dishwashers that shut off when they leak!"
Voice A: "Oh, woe and more woe, for that dishwasher costs twice what I wish to pay!"
Voice B: "Rejoice and be glad, for it still costs less than a new floor!"
Voice A: "Woe unto savvy consumers, for this company receives mixed reviews on the internet!"
Voice B: "Okay, you have to rejoice and be glad about this one: that dishwasher has a utensil drawer which is Excessively Cool!"
Voice A: "Woe unto me, idiot, for that utensil drawer adds $100 to the price of that dishwasher!"
Voice B: "Rejoice and give thanks, for Mom, she desires that utensil drawer!"
Voice A: "Woe unto Mom, then, for she is not paying for that dishwasher!"
Voice B: "Er, you had better rejoice in that utensil drawer, or Mom will Kick Ass."
Voice A: "Woe unto me yet again, for I fear the ass-kicking from Mom, as a squirrel took me down not a day ago."
Voice B: "Rejoice and...wait, what?"
Voice A: "Woe, for he appeared out of nowhere, and I missed a step, and my ankle, oh painful woe! It was twisted!"
Voice B: "A squirrel? Seriously, you were injured by a squirrel?"
Voice A: "Lo! Where are your rejoicings and your commands to be glad now?! That squirrel has undone us both!"
Voice B: "Seriously?! You know, sometimes I have no idea what I'm doing in this brain with you, you know that? I mean a damn squirrel! I can't deal with this. I'm going to go watch Big Bang Theory."
Voice A: "Dude. It was a pretty vicious squirrel."
Voice B: "Shut up."
*No, I am not schizophrenic; I am an English professor, and I am laying a serious metaphor on you dudes. Watch now, there may be a quiz.
**The spinoff of Doctor Who that is not Torchwood. The one, that is, that you can't even pretend is for adults.
***He did die, and all three of us liked him, alas.
In times of stress, these voices become more passionate, more argumentative, and more likely to disturb me when I'm watching season 2 of the Sarah Jane Adventures.** To purge myself of their sniping, I am posting one of their dialogues to this blog. Feel free to heckle if the spirit moves you.
Voice A: "Woe unto me, for the dishwasher has sprung three leaks and ruined the kitchen floor!"
Voice B: "Rejoice and be glad! For I have homeowner's insurance!"
Voice A: "Woe unto me! The policy does not cover this, for, lo! a slow leak is a 'maintenance problem.'"
Voice B: "Rejoice and be glad, for the dishwasher is a mere three years old!"
Voice A: "Woe, serious woe! The warranty expired six months ago."
Voice B: "Rejoice and be glad, for we have an emergency fund!"
Voice A: "Woe unto me, for we will have it no longer!"
Voice B: "Rejoice and be glad, dammit, for we know a good plumber who charges a reasonable price!"
Voice A: "Woe unto me and unto that plumber, for he has died!"***
Voice B: "Rejoice and be glad, for my neighbors, the awesome ones, they have found a good contractor!"
Voice A: "Woe unto me, for good contractors are expensive!"
Voice B: "Rejoice and be glad, for I can (barely) afford him! And, lo! I didn't like that flooring in any case!"
Voice A: "Woe unto me, for I did like that dishwasher, dammit."
Voice B: "Rejoice and be glad, fool! There is a company that makes dishwashers that shut off when they leak!"
Voice A: "Oh, woe and more woe, for that dishwasher costs twice what I wish to pay!"
Voice B: "Rejoice and be glad, for it still costs less than a new floor!"
Voice A: "Woe unto savvy consumers, for this company receives mixed reviews on the internet!"
Voice B: "Okay, you have to rejoice and be glad about this one: that dishwasher has a utensil drawer which is Excessively Cool!"
Voice A: "Woe unto me, idiot, for that utensil drawer adds $100 to the price of that dishwasher!"
Voice B: "Rejoice and give thanks, for Mom, she desires that utensil drawer!"
Voice A: "Woe unto Mom, then, for she is not paying for that dishwasher!"
Voice B: "Er, you had better rejoice in that utensil drawer, or Mom will Kick Ass."
Voice A: "Woe unto me yet again, for I fear the ass-kicking from Mom, as a squirrel took me down not a day ago."
Voice B: "Rejoice and...wait, what?"
Voice A: "Woe, for he appeared out of nowhere, and I missed a step, and my ankle, oh painful woe! It was twisted!"
Voice B: "A squirrel? Seriously, you were injured by a squirrel?"
Voice A: "Lo! Where are your rejoicings and your commands to be glad now?! That squirrel has undone us both!"
Voice B: "Seriously?! You know, sometimes I have no idea what I'm doing in this brain with you, you know that? I mean a damn squirrel! I can't deal with this. I'm going to go watch Big Bang Theory."
Voice A: "Dude. It was a pretty vicious squirrel."
Voice B: "Shut up."
*No, I am not schizophrenic; I am an English professor, and I am laying a serious metaphor on you dudes. Watch now, there may be a quiz.
**The spinoff of Doctor Who that is not Torchwood. The one, that is, that you can't even pretend is for adults.
***He did die, and all three of us liked him, alas.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Real Conversations with Mom: Excerpts from Finals Week
Mom: You said you cleaned up this room. What exactly did you clean up?
Me: See those books on the coffee table?
Mom: Yes, and they are still there!
Me: But now they're alphabetized.
Mom: I am going to beat you with both fists.
******
Mom: Why do you keep wrinkling my clothes?
Me: They come out of the dryer like that.
Mom: Only if you leave them in the dryer overnight.
Me: You could always iron them.
Mom: You could sh!t on a stick!
******
Mom: You are worrying the hell out of me.
Me: They are not going to fall.
Mom: You have four books and a cup of tea and a bunch of pens and a gradebook all balanced on top of one another...they are going to fall.
Me: Well, if they do, the books will still be alphabetized.
Mom: I will alphabetize your head!
Me: See those books on the coffee table?
Mom: Yes, and they are still there!
Me: But now they're alphabetized.
Mom: I am going to beat you with both fists.
******
Mom: Why do you keep wrinkling my clothes?
Me: They come out of the dryer like that.
Mom: Only if you leave them in the dryer overnight.
Me: You could always iron them.
Mom: You could sh!t on a stick!
******
Mom: You are worrying the hell out of me.
Me: They are not going to fall.
Mom: You have four books and a cup of tea and a bunch of pens and a gradebook all balanced on top of one another...they are going to fall.
Me: Well, if they do, the books will still be alphabetized.
Mom: I will alphabetize your head!
Monday, April 29, 2013
Things Jumping Out of Pies
Greetings, precious readers! Yes, I still have my cold, and the grading is piling up, but if I don't take a break once in a while, I start to write comments on the papers in Middle English and/or watch reruns of Teen Mom 2, and neither of these is good for my state of mind.
Instead, I thought I would share my current weirdity with you. What is a weirdity? It's something weird that keeps preying on my mind. A weird entity: a weirdity.
My weirdity of the week is the four and twenty blackbirds baked in the pie in "Sing a Song of Sixpence." It seems, beloved readers, that
[pause while I sneeze repeatedly, curse, and find a new box of tissues; without menthol, dammit]
there are actual instructions in a renaissance Italian cookbook for putting live birds inside a cooked pie crust so that when the dinner guest cuts into the crust, he or she is surprised by the birds flying out.
I've been thinking about it, and, aside from the obvious animal abuse, this does not seem like the kind of surprise that would be greeted with delight. In fact, I suspect that should I serve such a dish to my own guests, there would be screaming and cursing and heart palpitations followed, of course, by two cats racing insanely around the house trying to catch two dozen birds all at once.
Also, those birds would poo everywhere.
And then there is the disappointment factor. I mean, when you slice into a pie--now please correct me if I'm wrong here--what you really want is, well, pie. In fact, I would venture to say that almost all of the pleasure of cutting into a pie crust consists in the anticipation that your actions will result in obtaining actual pie. It's not like me opening the litter box and finding it filled with squirt guns instead of cat feces; that would be a lovely surprise, and if anyone would like to break into my house and plan such a surprise, well, I'd like to encourage the hell out of you. Just make sure that you do it right before I'm planning to change the litter box because if the cats find squirt guns where they expect litter they will go and poo in my bed.
Which would not be a pleasant surprise.
[hack, wheeze, sneeze, use inhaler]
What was I talking about? Oh, the weirdity. Obviously, this filling-a-pie-crust-with-live-animals idea (called an entrement, if you really must know), did not survive as a form of entertainment, but I have been wondering for at least the past week or so what, if I could not have pie in my pie crust, would be most fun to find inside of it instead (pie still being, as noted above, the preferred contents of a pie crust). And I have reached a conclusion:
Robots.
Yes, robots. If you cannot have pie in your pie crust, then it should contain robots, tiny little robots that start walking and beeping and scaring the cats and grading papers and changing the litter box. Four and twenty robots, baked in a pie! Now that is a damned delightful dish to set before a king. Or, better yet, me.
Now you all know what to get me for my birthday next year: robot pie surprise. You're welcome.
Instead, I thought I would share my current weirdity with you. What is a weirdity? It's something weird that keeps preying on my mind. A weird entity: a weirdity.
My weirdity of the week is the four and twenty blackbirds baked in the pie in "Sing a Song of Sixpence." It seems, beloved readers, that
[pause while I sneeze repeatedly, curse, and find a new box of tissues; without menthol, dammit]
there are actual instructions in a renaissance Italian cookbook for putting live birds inside a cooked pie crust so that when the dinner guest cuts into the crust, he or she is surprised by the birds flying out.
I've been thinking about it, and, aside from the obvious animal abuse, this does not seem like the kind of surprise that would be greeted with delight. In fact, I suspect that should I serve such a dish to my own guests, there would be screaming and cursing and heart palpitations followed, of course, by two cats racing insanely around the house trying to catch two dozen birds all at once.
Also, those birds would poo everywhere.
And then there is the disappointment factor. I mean, when you slice into a pie--now please correct me if I'm wrong here--what you really want is, well, pie. In fact, I would venture to say that almost all of the pleasure of cutting into a pie crust consists in the anticipation that your actions will result in obtaining actual pie. It's not like me opening the litter box and finding it filled with squirt guns instead of cat feces; that would be a lovely surprise, and if anyone would like to break into my house and plan such a surprise, well, I'd like to encourage the hell out of you. Just make sure that you do it right before I'm planning to change the litter box because if the cats find squirt guns where they expect litter they will go and poo in my bed.
Which would not be a pleasant surprise.
[hack, wheeze, sneeze, use inhaler]
What was I talking about? Oh, the weirdity. Obviously, this filling-a-pie-crust-with-live-animals idea (called an entrement, if you really must know), did not survive as a form of entertainment, but I have been wondering for at least the past week or so what, if I could not have pie in my pie crust, would be most fun to find inside of it instead (pie still being, as noted above, the preferred contents of a pie crust). And I have reached a conclusion:
Robots.
Yes, robots. If you cannot have pie in your pie crust, then it should contain robots, tiny little robots that start walking and beeping and scaring the cats and grading papers and changing the litter box. Four and twenty robots, baked in a pie! Now that is a damned delightful dish to set before a king. Or, better yet, me.
Now you all know what to get me for my birthday next year: robot pie surprise. You're welcome.
Friday, April 26, 2013
Why I am a Pain When I Have a Cold
1. The tea is too damn hot.
2. This blanket is itchy.
3. The tea is icky and lukewarm.
4. I have to go to work today, and I don't want to. And there are no fishy crackers to take as a snack. I was going to give a quiz, but I don't want to grade any quizzes, so there will be no damn quizzes today!
5. Someone stole my pillow from my office! What do you mean, I threw it out? I did not! Oh, yes, that happened with the pens. Maybe I threw it out. Dammit, I stole my own pillow from my office and threw it out! I suck.
6. These are not the right tissues. I wanted the ones with the menthol. Yes, they do. YES, they do. Dammit, I've bought them before, stop arguing with me and get me my menthol tissues!
7. The tea is too damn hot.
8. They do not sell pillows in the campus bookstore. Not comfy ones that fit on my desk. No, this Riverside Chaucer is not comfortable, but I threw out my pillow, and I don't have anything else, so just shut up please and go away.
9. Hah! Here is the thunder-tea! I will drink the thunder-tea and go to my afternoon meetings!
10. The thunder-tea tastes like bilge. And it's too damn hot.
2. This blanket is itchy.
3. The tea is icky and lukewarm.
4. I have to go to work today, and I don't want to. And there are no fishy crackers to take as a snack. I was going to give a quiz, but I don't want to grade any quizzes, so there will be no damn quizzes today!
5. Someone stole my pillow from my office! What do you mean, I threw it out? I did not! Oh, yes, that happened with the pens. Maybe I threw it out. Dammit, I stole my own pillow from my office and threw it out! I suck.
6. These are not the right tissues. I wanted the ones with the menthol. Yes, they do. YES, they do. Dammit, I've bought them before, stop arguing with me and get me my menthol tissues!
7. The tea is too damn hot.
8. They do not sell pillows in the campus bookstore. Not comfy ones that fit on my desk. No, this Riverside Chaucer is not comfortable, but I threw out my pillow, and I don't have anything else, so just shut up please and go away.
9. Hah! Here is the thunder-tea! I will drink the thunder-tea and go to my afternoon meetings!
10. The thunder-tea tastes like bilge. And it's too damn hot.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Real Conversations with Mom: Watching the Today Show
Mom: Look what they're doing to that pig!
Me (glancing up from grading): It's surfing.
Mom: That's terrible! That pig does not look happy.
Me: It's surfing.
Mom: Does that pig look happy to you?
Me: I am not an expert on the facial expressions of pigs.
Mom: Wait a minute. [pause] Wait a minute. [pause] I've got to think up some smart ass answer to that...
Me (glancing up from grading): It's surfing.
Mom: That's terrible! That pig does not look happy.
Me: It's surfing.
Mom: Does that pig look happy to you?
Me: I am not an expert on the facial expressions of pigs.
Mom: Wait a minute. [pause] Wait a minute. [pause] I've got to think up some smart ass answer to that...
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