Not So Wonderful

There is an abomination that has been plaguing the airwaves over the last couple of years thanks to one obnoxious ad a few years back. It is the What a Wonderful World/Somewhere Over the Rainbow Medley. It was originally sung by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole, an Hawaiian songwriter and ukulele player. I can only assume he is responsible for the almost unintelligible mash up of these two classics. For some reason, people seem to love his song.

I have highlighted in red the places where the lyrics make no sense.

Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high
And the dreams that you dreamed of
Once in a lullaby ii ii iii
Somewhere over the rainbow
Blue birds fly
And the dreams that you dreamed of
Dreams really do come true ooh ooooh
Someday I'll wish upon a star
Wake up where the clouds are far behind me ee ee eeh
Where trouble melts like lemon drops
High above the chimney tops thats where you'll find me oh
Somewhere over the rainbow bluebirds fly
And the dream that you dare to,why, oh why can't I? i iiii

Well I see trees of green and
Red roses too,
I'll watch them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world

Well I see skies of blue and I see clouds of white
And the brightness of day
I like the dark and I think to myself
What a wonderful world

The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people passing by
I see friends shaking hands
Saying, "How do you do?"
They're really saying, I...I love you
I hear babies cry and I watch them grow,
They'll learn much more
Than we'll know
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world (w)oohoorld

Someday I'll wish upon a star,
Wake up where the clouds are far behind me
Where trouble melts like lemon drops
High above the chimney top that's where you'll find me
Oh, Somewhere over the rainbow way up high
And the dream that you dare to, why, oh why can't I? I iii ?

It is a mess. I can acknowledge the appeal of the folky music and his sweet voice but I cannot abide the butchering of two classic songs. Am I alone here?

To help you make your decision I submit:

I Dare Ya!

Last week I was feeling especially lazy so I decided to place a grocery order with Peapod. I just couldn't face walking to the store and back in this heat schlepping everything from my week's supply of Diet Pepsi to kitty litter. I have a grandma cart which I normally use for bigger grocery runs, but even that couldn't sweeten the deal.

There was also a bit of a catch 22: because it was so hot, I needed icy treats; because it was so hot, I had no chance of getting icy treats home.

This was my second try at ordering from Peapod. In both instances I have felt some sort of consumer guilt. It just seems so extravagant to have grocery items delivered to my door. Who do I think I am?

Anyway, the food etc. came and as soon as I had put it all away, I grabbed an Edy's Acai Blueberry popsicle. With what would have been relish (had everything gone according to plan) I began my first lick.

Things get a little fuzzy from here. I was lounging on my loveseat, laptop on my lap, popsicle in one hand, remote control in the other and nowhere to go. The epitome of sloth, greed and gluttony. But I was stuck. Literally. Stuck.

The popsicle had turned on me. In my haste I hadn't noticed the icy white film engulfing what should have been a purply-red frozen treat. All of a sudden I was Ralphie's little friend in A Christmas Story:

I will confess that I panicked a bit. I was rendered immobile and the thing wouldn't thaw! I know I should have gone to a sink but with my hands and lap full and in a 3/4 supine position, I couldn't move. (Yes, you may say I could have dropped the remote, moved my laptop and gotten up, but you weren't there!) Eventually, through the thoughtful and timely use of copious amounts of saliva, I managed to free my tongue. The whole thing would have been humiliating (if there were anyone to see) but I don't even think the cats noticed my struggle.

There wasn't an issue with any of the other popsicles, so I think that the first one was just temporarily over-refrigerated from the Peapod truck.

Freak

I cannot adequately express how much I adore James Frain as Franklin Mott on this season of True Blood. Frain is one of those actors that I know I've seen before, but can't always place. I knew he played Cromwell in The Tudors, but I couldn't remember what I knew him from before that. It turns out he was Forney in Where the Heart Is (the best part of that movie), he was in Titus and The Count of Monte Cristo, as well.

Part of the reason for my forgetfulness is that he generally plays quiet, unassuming characters. That is NOT the case with Franklin. His vampiric meltdown was hilarious and a much needed example of a True Blood vampire who is not alway cooly cruel. He's cruel all right, but bat-$#*t crazy (pun intended) to boot.

I love how, at the end of the clip, he is disappointed that Tara isn't watching him closely enough and says "Looook!" then "Love you" and blows her a kiss. The Vampire king of Mississippi isn't wrong when he calls poor, unbalanced Franklin a "Freak".

True Blood, please give me more of Freaky Franklin!

New Cut!

As you can see, I got about 3 inches of my hair chopped off. Right now it feels exactly the way a new haircut should: swishy and light. I cannot stop touching it, either.

As usual, Miguel (my hair guy) was extremely entertaining. He just got back from vacation and was still riding high. Even though he could have styled my hair curly and gone home about 20 minutes earlier, he decided to make me straight. We joked that, with this humidity, it would last just long enough for me to get home. I insisted my cats would be impressed. That stopped him in his tracks. Apparently Miguel LOVES cats so he had to quit blowdrying and show me something important. He ran off and returned quickly with his ipad.

He has some app (I cannot find it anywhere) that you choose a picture of a cat and pet it. It purrs and the ipad vibrates. His favorite part, however, is that if you shake it, the cat meows angrily. He was quick to assure me that he does not make a habit of shaking REAL cats, just the ones on his computer!

Any thoughts about shaking cats or my new cut?

Losing My Mind

When my mother has a senior moment, we tell her she is turning into Baba; when I have one, I'm turning into Mom. I thought I would stick around in the "Mom" mode until I was a least 40. Today I made the clear leap to "Baba"

Part of my job is to tally incoming payments by check and fill out a deposit slip. This is normally one of the easier tasks I do on a daily basis. It doesn't even require me to do any math, as I have to use our adding machine to total the checks twice, ensuring that both totals match.

I would like to emphasize that this has never been a problem for me before. Today, however, I found my deposit slip (which should have been clipped to the checks) floating around on my desk. I was surprised but didn't really think twice about it, I just got the checks out of the lock box and put it all together. In doing so, I happened to notice that the slip did not match my tape total. Not only didn't it match, but it was about six thousand dollars off!

Here is an idea of what I was seeing:

Tally Deposit Slip

3625 9352

Come On! That deposit slip number looks like I just made it up! Not only did I traspose the 5 and 2, but I flipped the 6 into a 9 and switched it with a 3. It is like a Sudoku Anagram!

I would never have caught the mistake if I hadn't forgotten to attach my slip to the checks. It would have gone to the bank then they would have called the bursar's office who would have then called my co-worker, Nicole (because she did the financial report today). She would have had to have asked me about it, then I would have gone to our files just to see that the two amounts didn't match up!

So, thanks to my "Mom" moment of leaving the slip on my desk, I discovered my "Baba" moment before exposing it to the world.

More Shoes!

I don't consider myself to be one of those shoe-obsessed girls (luv ya, ladies!) but I am now putting up my 2nd shoe-centric post, and my 3rd in which photos of my feet are featured. I find this a bit odd. Oh well, I'll just have to assume you don't mind.

While shoe shopping last week, I saw this pair of orange strappy slingbacks that I thought would be perfect with my imaginary navy dress that I plan to buy for my friend, Allison's wedding. Number one, I love orange. Number two, orange shoes and an imaginary navy dress are theoretically going to be tres cute together.

I didn't buy the shoes since I felt a bit tippy in them and I could just see myself twisting my ankle in Hershey. They've been on my mind since last Saturday. Yesterday I made it back to DSW (this time with back-up in the form of Kathryn, she's a lawyer and makes a great case for most shoe purchases). She insisted I buy, so I did.

I'll just have to practice the chicken dance wearing these heels and hope for the best. The hunt is now on for my imaginary navy dress!

p.s. It is extremely tricky to take a picture of shoes while you wear them.

Hump Weekend

Today marked the close of our first session of the Summer Program. We are officially halfway finished! I have spoken to some parents who are eager to talk about what a great time their kids are having and it is so nice to hear it.

Although I have to work on Sunday, I have another movie day planned. This time we are going to see The Girl Who Played With Fire. I am really excited, but I'm not expecting another celebrity sighting.

When we were planning our trip to the movies, Kathryn and I started talking about the inevitable hollywood version of the Stieg Larsson trilogy. She read it could be Tom Hanks and Natalie Portman. I was aghast! I have nothing against either actor, but PUH-LEASE! It probably won't happen, but I think they would be way better off finding an unknown actress to play Lisbeth and someone a bit more rugged to play Mikael. I guess it doesn't matter, as Kathryn says* "I'm determined to hate whoever it is".

* I'm paraphrasing

Little Sparrow

Tonight I watched La Vie En Rose, starring Marion Cotillard. If you don't know, it is the story of Edith Piaf, probably one of the best known french singers. My exposure to Piaf was very limited up to now, but you can bet I'll be downloading some of her songs from itunes. The film was beautiful and moving, but the best part (besides the music) was undoubtably Marion Cotillard.

I have praised Cotillard before on this blog. I believed her to be the only bright spot in the travesty that was Nine. In Nine she sang 2 songs, in La Vie En Rose, it seems she sang one. I assume they used Piaf's own performances for the rest of them. Her transformation from a girl of 20 to a prematurely old woman at the age of 44 was amazing. In my mind, she well deserved her Oscar.

I couldn't help but think of Judy Garland while watching the film. If they ever make a film about Judy, Cotillard should probably be a contender. If you have Netflix (or even if you don't) you should watch this film. Je Ne Regrette Rien.

Boat Shoes and Blisters

These shoes, called my "skippers" by Delta 1, were just about my favorite pair of summer shoes until they died a year ago. It was a noble death after 3 good years of service. I cannot, in good conscience, wear these shoes in public anymore.

When my skippers died, I tried to replace them. In the end I found these:

I like them, but I don't love them. They aren't super comfortable to walk in, but they are nice enough. This summer I needed something better.

I have wanted a pair of top-siders for a couple of months now. Saturday I finally bought some. I hesitated to buy a pair since I hate to look like a poser and (not owning a boat of any kind) that seemed to be a bit of a risk. In addition, I had a hard time finding any that did not have pink or green plaid as part of the upper.

In the end, I'm very happy with my purchase. I did wear them on Sunday to go to the grocery store. Of course, I got blisters. It doesn't diminish my satisfaction except that I will have to break them in before I can really wear them.

p.s. I know it is just the lighting, but my legs look really tan in these pictures.

The Most Dangerous Game

Things got crazy last night. It was the biggest moth I had ever seen and it kept dive-bombing me. With my cats by my side, I vanquished the killer moth. Here is the evidence.

The crispy smack you hear at the end is the moth. It was gross. Please excuse the shrieking on my part.

Snorkin Labbits!

On my way to work today, I nearly asphyxiated on the cigarette smoke coming from a guy walking about 20 feet ahead of me. I had this terrible feeling of not getting any oxygen, so I crossed to the other side of the street to walk the rest of the way.

As a child, I remember being extremely sensitive to smoke and, although this is not the best example, I once went to a shower (I hope bridal, not baby) at the Wesleyville American Legion and had to leave early because the air was so thick with smoke. Now, W.A.L. probably had its own atmosphere thanks to cigarettes, but it was not uncommon for me to be in a smoke filled room and have to leave.

When I got a bit older and went off to college, my tolerance increased. It was probably due to my affinity for bars and we all know that, in the 90's, to go to a bar meant second-hand smoke. My tolerance further increased when I lived in England and then Greece. Unlike in the U.S., where people rarely smoke in their homes or while actually EATING at a restaurant, smokers in those countries were everywhere. I guess that when your meal takes 3 hours to eat, a true smoker must have a cig at the table. Remember when hostesses asked "smoking or non"? In Greece I actually once sat at a table with a "no smoking" sign inside the ashtray! Oddly enough, it didn't bother me at all.

It was an un-ironic ashtray as far as we could tell. Since joining the E.U. Greece had to observe a few laws that were incomprehensible to the Greeks. No-smoking sections was one such regulation.

Now that we have reached the enlightened age when even Erie, PA has regulations about smoking in public places, my ability to stand the smoke has clearly decreased. I was not completely on board with the public smoking ban (even though I love a good regulation, I did think that adults should be able to indulge in legal adult drugs in public places) but now I can't imagine going back to the way things were.

Pet Alarmists

When I wrote about the Appa, my friend, Kathryn, mentioned that it looked alot like an "Alot". She was right. That comment made me go back to the Hyperboleandahalf blog, I hadn't read it since posting about spiders.

The writer's latest post centers around her dog. She was worried that it might be mentally retarded and, after a series of increasingly hilarious tests, she was no longer worried, she had been proven right. I think it is fairly clear that her blog is a humorous one. The name of the blog indicates that things will be blown out of proportion for comedic effect. This does not stop her commenters. I only had to read a few comments before I got to the one I knew was coming. It was a variation on the old "love your blog, take better care of your animal". I see this time and again. Any time someone blogs about their pet (particularly with pictures) some idiot has to question the blogger's pet ownership credentials. In this case, a reader actually suggested she take her dog to the vet to see if anything could be done!

That is one of the stupidest things I have ever heard. Yes, take your dumb dog to the vet to get smart. If that is your solution, you deserve to be charged 75 bucks for the visit, as you are clearly more deficient than your pet! Ally, the blogger, responded to the comment quite graciously, informing the commenter that she had, in fact, taken the dog to the vet when she got it and it was perfectly healthy. I probably would have had to refrain from replying, as it would not have been nearly so kind.

I suspect my cats' eyes are too small and too close-set. Should I take them to the vet? Maybe some plastic surgery would help. People love their pets for their loyalty, companionship, and, most importantly, the laughter they bring.

I HIGHLY recommend reading the hyperboleandahalf blog that I have linked to. You won't regret it!

One Appa, please!

In the trailers for The Last Airbender, I have caught glimpses of a creature and I want one! In-depth and extensive research revealed to me that it is called an Appa. Apparently the thing flies. It is like a cross between Mr. Snuffleupagus and Falkor with a pinch of Dopey.

I mean, how cute is this? The six legs kind of creep me out, but I could live with it for a ride to work.

Ender

Over the last few days I have been reading Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card. It isn't as good as The Hunger Games, but it was still pretty captivating. Interestingly, it also concerns a future world in which war has let to a more totalitarian form of government. In this case, however, bright children are trained for an impending war with bug-like inhabitants of another galaxy.

Anyway, as with many Science Fiction or Fantasy novels, religion has been outlawed. The main character's mother and father are Mormon and Catholic, respectively. I thought that was an odd combination but wrote it off when the two children per family rule was explained. I later found out that the author is actually Mormon.

I didn't find any overt examples of Mormon dogma (although I'm sure my friend, Kathryn, could) but I do find it interesting that, aside from religious writing, the most famous Mormon authors write Sci-fi/Fantasy. I'm sure there are statistics out there about this, but I don't have the energy to look them up right now.

Man On Wire

A month or so ago, I was catching up on old podcasts of Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me. On one of them, the "that's not my job" person was Philippe Petit, the man who strung a tightrope between the World Trade Center towers and walked it in 1974. The documentary about this escapade, Man On Wire, had been released and he was doing some publicity. On the radio show, M. Petit was a bizarre amalgamation of bravado, humility, confidence, humor and energy.

I had heard of the documentary before listening to Wait, Wait, but never really felt the need to watch it. It, like M. Petit, seemed to be a lot of things rolled into one. There was archival footage, interviews with his co-conspirators, reenactments (often involving frolicking in the french countryside), and an unusual sex scene. Throughout, there was this manic feel to the whole proceeding. It kind of made me wonder what it must be like to feel such a need to do something, even if that something, on the surface, seems quite meaningless.

In his radio interview, he was talking about the next walk he would like to do. There were some vague references to sponsors for an Easter Island tight rope walk. However, given the sheer magnitude of the Twin Towers walk and the fact that the feat can never be replicated, Philippe Petit may have reached his apogee 26 years ago.

Back to my Roots

This morning I woke up a little early (6:46) and looked at my alarm clock. Luckily I noticed that the thing wasn't actually set to go off and wake me. I reached over and turned it on then I rolled over to sleep a few minutes longer.

About an hour later I awoke to find that it was 7:30! I have to leave my apartment by 7:45 to have any chance of making it to work on time. In my half-waking I had forgotten that I re-set my alarm to go off not at 7am, but 6:45. I hopped into a 2 minute shower, dressed quickly, fed the cats, scooped kitty litter, and packed my lunch. It was a frantic rush, but I made it out in time, caught a train to make my connection to Evanston, then waited. The train to Evanston was a good 10 minutes late. Had I know that was going to happen, I would have done something to my hair. Instead, I put it into a pony tail.

My mother likes to call me "pony tail ponytail girl" whenever I pull my hair back like that. For a while, it was what I did nearly every day. My only excuse is that it is easy and my curls are unwieldy. Lately I have been making an effort to "do" my hair, despite the fact that I often think I look like a cocker spaniel in an insane asylum (especially on humid days).

"Pony tail pony tail girl" is bad enough, but for a couple of years my dad insisted that I looked like Don Johnson or Steven Segal (I'm not sure which of those two is worse). My parents are totally weird.