Fardeen the Constant

Fardeen, Who are you?  What do you do?  How do you survive?  I play 2 games a day on the internet, 2 different sites, only the free games.  It seems, no matter what time of day or night, Fardeen is always there.  I've spent more time in contact with him, of late, than with any other human being.  And he's not that good a player either, though he's getting better.  Maybe it's an ESL exercise for him.  Until tomorrow, Fardeen.......
   (And I almost went all the way to the million again today, being the top player, but I couldn't remember what god's name was mentioned in the Hippocratic Oath.  It's not Hermes.
  Another day, another final strike out:  the Leaning Tower of Pisa leans south, not east.  Surprise!
   P.S.  Fardeen, you imposter!   Why didn't you tell me you're a bot?  You could have broken my heart.    What's the name of that movie--"Her"?

Feel the Heat

     Literally, this time.  If you happened to be at M&T Bank this morning, you would see the manager and employees wearing their coats and scarves and a number of John Ray workers and trucks.  It seems that somehow the fuel delivery was overlooked, and the heating system went kaput.
     We have been automatic delivery customers of John Ray, and paying the season's full approximated cost in advance.  Our last delivery was Dec. 13 after the installation of our new fuel tank, which passed mandated inspection by John Ray.  I checked the gauge today and it read about 1/8 full.  I called to see when delivery was planned, and was told we were on "Will call," not automatic delivery.  They had neglected to restore our status after their despotic "Do not fill" notice.  We're scheduled for 2 days from now, so I've turned down our heat to conserve what we have.  We better not run out-----Grrrr.
  Update, noon, Jan.31, 2014  John Ray delivery.  Today's price per gal. is $4.529.

Sexual Revolution or Drunk In Love

Why is it not permissible for performers such as Beyoncé and Jay-Z to copulate on television. What with beating the box and eating the cake, how could it be inappropriate since they're rich and famous beautiful people.  The lyrics say he can't wait long enough to remove her panties, so he just pushes them aside.  He should go ahead right on stage. They could set a precedent with something heretofore unseen at the Grammys........  Though some years ago, in the wee hours of morning TV,  Cable TV did show such an act, but the participants were members of a convention where they all pretended to be horses---yes, they did (it).  

Heads up, TV talent scouts

  I think Channel 6's Nick Johnston is as perfect a meteorologist as Derek Hough is a dancer. 

The Giver

What!  Not another instance of the convention of the unreliable narrator.  Why is it so difficult for an author to write a work with a beginning, a  middle and an ending?
 Really, if I wanted to come up with a  version of how the story resolves, I'd write my own book.

St. Agnes' Eve

"Ah, bitter chill it was..."            January 20
                                             Charles Anthony Madigan

Muffin Madness

     I went to the supermarket, several miles from my neighborhood store, because of their advertised "Meat Week" specials.  On my way to the meat counter, I noticed a number of items on display  in the Buy One, Get One section of the store.  I picked up 2 packages of Thomas'  English Muffins, as we do use them from time to time.  I finished my shopping and checked out, returned home, and put the groceries away.  In short order, Dave got home with his purchases from Walmart's, where he goes to get his Entenmann's cake; he had also bought a package of Thomas' English Muffins.  Curious, I looked at the receipt; Walmart's  price was $2.00.  I checked my supermarket receipt and found I was charged $4.19 for each package, a total of $8.38---no free one.  So I looked at the store ad, and saw the offer was Buy One, Get Two free. 
   Normally, I must admit, I don't check my grocery store receipts, and on the few occasions I've noticed a mistake, have not reported it.  I figure once you leave the store, you're on your own, and it's too much trouble anyway to drive back for a correction.  But this time the price discrepancy seemed too egregious:  I paid $8.38 for 2 packages, when the advertised value was $4.19 for 3 packages.  As I happened to be driving by the supermarket, and I'd kept the receipt in my purse "just in case,"  I went to the courtesy desk, and as soon as I started to state the issue, the clerk said she'd refund my $4.18, and told me to pick up another package of the muffins.  She didn't even look at my receipt, or take any information at all.  So she gave me the cash, and I just picked up a package of muffins as I left the store.  No problem, except I now have 4 packages of English Muffins in my house.  Anybody in the mood for an English muffin can stop by. 
     As a side thought, Walmart's price for 3 packages of the muffins is $6.00.  So the supermarket's ballyhooed promo of 2 free packages with the purchase of 1 is only a savings of $2.38.  Big deal.

Advice----Sweet Yet Sour

    Dear No Clutter Nancy, I do agree that clutter can be a problem.  So definitely it would be easier on surviving family members if the deceased had tidied up their affairs in anticipation of their demises.  You write that after your uncle died, you had to spend lots of time sorting through your uncle's paperwork, and also lots of money to clean out his place, (presumably his home.)  You suggest that people over  the age of 55, and those in ill health, start the decluttering process as soon as possible, so as not "to leave a mess" for the survivors. 
    But........Do those facing death, either on a timely schedule, or because of unexpected illness have to contend with thinking about protecting the living from the untidiness of their deaths?  The dying are going to leave everything behind; do they need to erase all the evidence of a long life before they exit it?  So what if there's a bunch of stuff left behind, and somebody has to deal with it in some way.  The dead are gone.  If nobody wants the stuff, how much of an expense, really, can it be to get rid of it.  If  you resent the time you took off from work to go through the mountains of paperwork, you should have just stuffed it into garbage bags and destroyed it.  Some people pay for the experience of panning for gold; consider the paperwork-perusing a treasure hunt.  If you hadn't had the hope of finding something of value amidst the jumble, you would have just dumped it, right?   While it's true we are born into the world with nothing, and leave the same way, why should it be contingent on the dying to make the passage smoother for others by obliterating the traces of the majority of their living days?   I should think the process of dying is struggle enough. 

Throwing in the Towel(s)

     I guess you could say the builder of our house was a minimalist.  He built for practicality, with not the slightest concession to luxury.  Every feature of the house is minimal, at best.  The entire house has only 3 shallow closets, one in the kitchen, and a closet in each of 2 bedrooms.  The builder was not a large man, and the closets were evidently constructed to his specifications. He probably could not have conceived of anyone's needing more than a few changes of clothing. The closets close with wooden sliding doors, and are  deep enough only to contain clothing hung on wire hangers, which will swing sideways a little when the closet  doors are closed.  Try to hang an article of clothing, such as a jacket or blazer, on a wooden hanger, and you'll need to take the iron out to press the squashed shoulder before wearing.
   Our bathroom was likewise designed with little storage capacity, no linen closet, not even a single storage shelf, only the limited space beneath the vanity.  Our builder's idea of what was needed in a bathroom most likely included only a few towels.  We did at one point replace the original sink cabinet with a larger vanity, with slightly more storage space underneath, and that's the crux of a problem which occurs on an occasional, but regular, basis.  The reason most likely is too many towels, an accumulation of years' worth.  I admit, I have an issue with getting rid of them.  I think it may stem from my childhood memory of having only one towel in the house, hanging by the kitchen stove, and used by everyone in the family.  I used to buy towels  fairly often, but I have never just thrown them away.  When they get worn, I use them for cleaning, but I always wash them and put them away afterwards, to be used to clean something else.  One time, when I used to drive near the area,  I donated some to the Animal Shelter.  Another time, when my daughter worked for the local youth commission, the director had a circus come to town to perform at the Valley Falls Park, and the troupe stayed at her house.  They needed towels, so we sent a bunch of them up.  We didn't want them back.  Other than that, all towels have remained in my house.
    So our recurring problem is that every so often, something happens beneath the sink.  All the towels and facecloths stored there become sopping wet--to the degree that they are too heavy to deal with as a mass.  They have to be separated, and fed into the washer and then the dryer gradually, or else the weight would burn out the bearings of the machines.  The reason is that the pipe beneath  the sink leaks.  We know that.  I say plumber's putty should be applied to the pipe joints.  He says the towels are pushed against the pipe and loosen it.  I watch "This Old House" and am pretty sure pipe compound would help, but he says not in this case.  It could be possible he is right, so I have decided not to store so many towels there any longer.  Three laundry loads of towels later, I decide to act.  But what to do with them? 
     I could throw them away, but I can't bring myself to do that.  The donation bins in the parking lots specify shoes and clothing ONLY, with severe consequences if you do otherwise.  So that's out.  Someone at the library has offered to take donations of towels and mugs to St. Joseph's House for use by the homeless.  That sounds like a viable option, but I have a feeling that my towels are too old and worn and they may be rejected even by the homeless. That would shatter what little self-esteem I have left.   So here I sit, with a kitchen table loaded with clean but timeworn towels.  Oh, the horror!

The Day No Pig Would Die

  I just read that a woman in Berlin was taken by helicopter to Albany Med after a pig she was trying to slaughter fell on her.  The report said it was an accident. I doubt very much this is true, not if they took the pig's motivation into consideration. 
     I still suffer from PTPSS (Post Traumatic Pig Slaughter Syndrome) whenever I think of the double pig slaughtering  in the house where Warrens lived, later Mulligan's house.  The pigs had been raised and housed in the garage in the back yard of the house. No one paid too much attention to them until one day the word among the kids on the street was, "They're gonna kill the pigs today." The tipoff was the smoke.  Some cut-off barrels had been fashioned into tubs and filled with water, and set atop a flaming pyre of old rubber tires. The idea was to put the dead pigs into the water to scald the carcasses.  I can see and smell the acrid, suffocating  smoke from the burning tires, hear the ear-splitting squeals from the stabbed pig and its blood-crazed mate, and see Joby Andrew astride the frantic doomed  pig while stabbing it in the neck or heart.  His intention wasn't actually to ride the pig, but his arms were around its neck, with one hand wielding a knife. The pig did not go down easily, but ran round and round the confines of the garage,  Joby being dragged along with it, his heels digging into the muck while the other men tried to stop the desperate flight,  men and pigs thrashing around in the muck of the makeshift pigpen, a messy mixture of mud, pig poop, and fresh blood.  Some kids stayed to watch the death, but I felt sick and went home.  The smell of burning rubber still makes me sick
    I don't know the condition of the woman from Berlin, but it was said she suffered from a compressed chest.  No word about the pig.

Somewhat gratuitous, but WTH.

  I just noticed I have 999 posts on this blog, so this should make it a nice round thousand.  Congratulations to me, and one Cosmo please, with ice.

Golden Globes

Beautiful gowns this year, but the side-boob effect is best left to those in their twenties.  Just ask Robin Wright, and her right boob.  (I know what I saw!)

Sorry, Mira

But the answer is not more training, but more fabric.  And how could your trainer and costume designer not have let you know?    I mean, "Yikes!"

Women's Figure Skating Championhips--Observations

*Obviously a high level of performance
*Quite a few falls
* A whole lot of tears shed
*Minimal coverage of maximus gluteus

With A Woop and A woller

I wish all the media announcers would get together and learn how to pronounce the word "whooping,"  as in the deadly coughing disease, with the American English pronunciation.  If the British want to say woop instead of hoop, let them. (I wonder about their pronunciation of the "wh" as in a lady of the night.)

Book It No More

  The answer was Ikea, or rather the question, "What is Ikea?"  The program was Jeopardy, and the response was to what company has issued a denial that their shelving is being redesigned to accommodate tchotchskes rather than books.   So all you would-be authors, just stick to blogging; forget about writing books. 

Harbinger

     Today, as per internet directions, I started the process of "force-blooming"  a single tulip bulb.  I placed some glass marbles in a fruit jar, poured water almost to the top of the marbles and then set the bulb on top.  The bulb is one of six from Krystal and Danny's wedding gift bags.   I planted the other five  last fall in front of the house.  The forced bulb is supposed to bloom in 4 to 6 weeks if all goes well.   We'll see.  Watchful waiting will give me something to do.  I feel kind of like a plant myself.

The Pine Tree--No, not HCA

     JAN. 2, 2014, I took our Christmas Tree down.  We've had a Christmas tree in the same place every year since 1969, when our house was built.  I have undecorated it and/or taken it down every year except for 1976, the Christmas before Danny was born.  The following Christmas that year found the ornaments in a heap in the big cardboard containment box, with the original boxes thrown in on top.  The horror!  So every year thereafter, I would wait until the kids went back to school, and would carefully put the ornaments back in their boxes.  I always felt a sense of loss--after all the joy and excitement of the kids' playing  with and hanging on the tree the ornamental figurines their grandmother would send each Christmas, and awaiting the gifts Santa would leave beneath the tree, the tree was done with, nothing left but memories and the hope that the happiness of Christmas would return for another year, though each passing year brought with it a little less of the magic of childhood, and a little more awareness of the transient nature of what we view as happiness.
    On three separate  occasions over the years, the trees were taken down by default.  In other words, the trees fell down.  Fortunately, each time was after Christmas Day.
    The first time, David was a baby and I was feeding him a bottle in the rocking chair by the tree, when suddenly without any provocation the tree fell right on us.  A rather full and bushy tree that year, as I recall.  The hardwood floor was still bare of  any carpeting or rug, so the ornaments had a hard landing. Our supply of ornaments was only a few years old, and right out of the box(es), the kids still too young to have contributed any of the crafty little doodads that were to come later.  We had 4 boxes of ornaments: round red balls, green balls, red and green swirled balls, and a box of 6 long blue cylindrical ornaments.  After the fall, just about half of each box was broken. 
    The downfall of the second tree happened several years later, when Marilyn and David were in school, Danny still unborn.  I was home alone, in the shower, when I heard a crash.  I grabbed a towel and ran into the living room where the tree was lying flat on the floor with Roger the cat still enmeshed in its branches.  She had never bothered with it before, or after, and she lived with us for 15 years, but something that one day must have caught her interest.  Again, breakage of more ornaments, but I didn't bother with the inventory that time. 
  The third time the tree fell was only a few years ago, either last year or the year before.  Louise was here and Ben and Greg, who had been sitting beneath the tree playing games, had just left their positions and were heading out the door when the tree crashed down and onto the coffee table, spewing ornaments across the (now carpeted) floor.  Not too much breakage, but the set of small silvery delicate ornaments that Dorothy had recently given me suffered the most loss.  Besides being delicate, and for that reason, they'd been hung at the top of the tree, and so were most vulnerable.  I still have 3 of them left.
    The usual tree-felling sadness didn't impact me so greatly this year, my emotions mostly "sapped" by now.  I put all the ornaments carefully back in their time-worn packaging, and into the large multi-duct-taped master box, and brought it out  to the attic entrance.  Then I tackled the tree and dragged it out the front door and into the snow.  I tried not to conjure up the memory of Hans Christian's Andersen's Pine Tree.  Anthropomorphism goes only so far.
  

Bye Bye Love

We always liked the Everly Brothers.  Dorothy especially liked Phil Everly (not as much as Elvis of course):  Phil reminded us  of Roger Vickery.

1957 Bel Air

  I bought my first car when I was 22 years old, from John Colarusso at Bumstead Chevrolet.  It was two-tone, raspberry and white 1957 Chevy Bel-Air.  It ran pretty well for a time, but then  developed a pattern of stalling, usually when being driven through heavy traffic at low speed, which happened fairly often then, before the Northway, when the city roads were heavily congested with traffic.  I would get out of the car, raise the hood, and (if I remember correctly) remove the top of the carburetor, perform some minor function, fasten the top back on, and then proceed on my way.  I impressed quite a number of passengers with my mechanical ability, but it was a feat born of necessity; what else was I to do.
    One nice summer day, on my way home from Troy or Albany, the engine failed on Route 40, on the stretch between Melrose and Schaghticoke, on a slight incline as it were.   I got out, went to the front of my car, as usual,  to raise the hood.  But the car started to roll backwards, down the hill.  I did what any twenty-something would do.  I ran after the car, opened the door in an effort to get inside to stop it.  I grasped the steering wheel to gain leverage to get inside, but that of course brought the car into a swerve, across both lanes into the field, landing it perpendicular to the highway. Oddly now, I don't recall whether I rode with the car, but I don't think I did.  I think I must have extricated myself from the swinging door and it took off without me.  (I WAS in my early 20's.)  I do recall standing there, looking at my car and wondering what to do next.  It was not very long before some men in a truck, just passing by I guess, stopped, pulled my car out of the cornfield, and I went on my way.  I never told anyone, because I was embarrassed to have been in such a situation.  I never thought too much of how dangerous it was either.  And I think I traded the car in not long after----but it did run well, as long as you babied it a little.

Resolution Revolution

    I have committed, O Blog, to a New Year's Resolution.  But until I break the resolution, I cannot reveal it.  So it goes  with ironies, catch 22's and bulls#*t.