Holy Crap, We Are Old Now

Scene opens on the living room. Rick is in his chair, researching something with his laptop. Nance sits on the couch with her laptop open, reading the newspaper online. Behind her are perched the two cats, mildly interested in what lies outside the window. Maybe.

Rick: So if we have Amazon Prime, we have Amazon Music, right?

Nance: Yes. Which reminds me, earlier this week, when I was coming home from the store, I had the radio on, and--

Rick: (whole face brightens; looks doubly interested) I can't believe I just heard that.

Nance: I know, right? *I* was listening to the radio. Did you know you can change stations right on the steering wheel? I just discovered that. There's a little button right on board, and--

Rick: Haven't you been reading the book? I thought you said you would read the book.

Nance: I have been, but it's terrible. It's all over the place.

Rick: And it's vague.

Nance: Yes. It's vague. Anyway, I had the radio on, and Lose Yourself by Eminem came on, so I cranked it up.

Rick: (grinning and wholly amused) I cannot believe what I'm hearing right now. Go on.

Nance: What? That I like that song or that I cranked it up?

Rick: All of it. Go ahead.

Nance: By the way, you can crank it up using the same button that changes the stations. So, I'm blasting Eminem and doing some car dancing and it's really alleviating my stress from shopping, and then it's over. The next song is some boring song by Diplo and somebody.

Rick: Who? Who is that? I never heard of him.

Nance: Not important. Anyway, I don't feel like listening to that, so I switch stations and try to find something else. I find something briefly, then I decide to go back to the original station, figuring Diplo is about done. Next thing I know, here comes Eminem with Lose Yourself again!

Rick: What the heck?

Nance: I know! So I crank it back up and car dance like crazy. All I can think is that a lot of these stations are automated now. They don't even have DJs anymore, just preprogrammed lists and ads and it's all autopilot. It's probably a glitch in the program. So as I'm sitting at the light acting like some hyped-up senior from 2002 on the last day of school--in my Prius--I'm laughing and wondering if the next song is going to be Diplo again.

Rick: And?

Nance: I was already pulling into the driveway, but I actually sat in the garage and waited to see if Diplo was next. It wasn't. They must have fixed that glitch. But now that I'm thinking of it, I want that song on my phone. The Eminem one. I'm going to download it now. (looks at Rick, who is shaking his head and laughing) What?

Rick: Just...everything. All of it.

Nance:  I know. It's a lot.

End scene.

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Change Your Life: Second In A Series--Because It's There

As dejected as we all are by our lives remaining Unchanged from last week's first Sentence that was supposed to Change Our Lives For The Better, here I am with Sentence #2. Do get strapped in, put down your beverage lest any harm come to your Electronic Device, and let's prepare for Metamorphosis.

One never knows, does one? And at least we can chat about the Sentence should our Lives stubbornly remain the same.

Here is Life-Changing Sentence Number Two:

Climb mountains not so the world can see you, but so you can see the world.

Sigh. I really hate these Poster-Worthy, precious little metaphors. But that's probably just me. You go ahead and take a moment to reread it, and then we'll apply our test.

Okay.

Firstly, is your Life Changed? Mine is decidedly not. Did this Sentence give you an Aha Moment? Me...no it did not. As I said, I became unreasonably annoyed by the metaphor for some reason, even though it is perfectly acceptable, but I guess I'm just being a snot.

Overall, the Sentence provides some valuable advice. You should, in Life, strive to accomplish some difficult things, reach some important goals, broaden your perspectives in order to build your own character and satisfy your inner self, not to gain attention or extrinsic rewards. And by doing so, you will (hopefully) have a wiser, more mature view of the world around you.

I prefer poet Pablo Neruda's quote, "You have to climb the mountain in order to see the view." Not only is it simpler, but it has a clearer message: don't expect a reward without putting in the work.

(Wise, but alas! still not Life-Changing. We all learned this stuff years ago. Even the colonists of Jamestown had a No Work, No Food law.)

We've discussed the self-obsessed nature of people due in part to technology and social media. We agree that the world is a much smaller place now, thanks to both. We can both see the world and be seen by the world now, thanks to the internet. Sadly, so many people forget how big their audience is and how widespread their impact is.

Every day, men and women--children, too--climb their own mountains. They're not doing it for attention, either. They're not doing it to build character or even to figure out more about how the world works. They're merely living their lives despite whatever obstacles block their paths: chronic illness, discrimination, hunger, poverty, disability, guilt, or loneliness.

So, here it is again, our Sentence To Change Our Lives For The Better: Climb mountains not so the world can see you, but so you can see the world.

Did this sentence, as the article promised, "give you the power to go on"...and "change your life for the better"? Let's talk about it in Comments.


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As Seen On TV...Almost

Scene opens on Living Room. Dinner is over; it is approximately 7 PM. Rick is in his chair. Nance enters from the bedroom where she has just changed into her pajamas and heads past him to the small trunk where she keeps blankets. She draws out a patchwork quilt backed with flannel and heads to the couch. Out of nowhere, both cats trot over to her, waiting.

Nance: Holy crap, do you see this? It's ridiculous. (curls up on couch, spreads out comforter, and both cats jump up onto it, with enormous orange cat claiming her lap)

Rick: (chuckling) Well, that's what you wanted. You wanted a cat to keep you company and be on your lap.

Nance: I know, but this is all the time. Every single time I sit down. (orange cat begins snoring) And now, I can't move. I simply cannot move.

Rick: Nance, it's a cat. You're bigger than he is. Maybe not by much, but you are. If you need to move, just move. You know he'll come right back.

Nance: That's not nice. Piper knows he's fat. But I hate to bother him when he's not feeling well. He's been so stuffy lately.

Rick: I know. I can hear him over the TV.

Nance: (getting fussy)  Both cats rushed me, and now I can't move. I want this light off, and I can't reach it.  (sighs, then brightly)  You know what I need? I need The Clapper.

Rick: You what? The Clapper?

Nance: Yeah. That thing for old people. Then I could just clap this light off. It would be great!

(Rick is looking at her with increasing suspicion and disbelief. He is not sure if she is serious or, at this point, even sane.)

Nance: (continuing excitedly) What would even be better is if The Clapper could multitask. Like, right now, I can't reach the light. But I also can't reach my water, my phone, or even my iPad. What if The Clapper could get those things for me? Now that is something I really need.

Rick: (in the spirit now) It could clean the shitboxes for you, too!

Nance: I don't really mind that job. Litter has come such a long way that it's almost nothing to do it. But if The Clapper could put my jammies on me and wash my face every night while I just sit here on my couch under my blanket, I'd take it!

Rick: How about if it just finds your Chapstick?

Nance: (big sigh) Yeah. For sure...that, too.

End scene.

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Getting Over It

Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to a New Feature here at the Dept. of Nance, one we like to think of as a sort of Public Service/Therapy Session called Get Over It. I'm sure you'll figure out how it works as we go along, and we encourage you to offer up your own Subjects for Future Treatment, or you can provide your own rendition in Comments.

Let's get on, shall we?

"The Internet is so bougie."

1. Senator Lindsey "Old Lady Fussypants" Graham (R-South Carolina) proudly declared on Meet the Press to moderator Chuck Todd, "I don't email. You can have every email I've ever sent. I've never sent one." Oh, Senator, aren't you clever? And...sad? This past week, my mother, who will be 85 in June, picked up her new iPad. It is her very first foray into the world of technology. She learned how to use email, text messaging, the Internet, and some apps. She delighted in being able to FaceTime with her family members and add birthdays to the calendar. She can listen to Vic Damone on her personal Pandora station. You, however, revel in the fact that you eschew electronic communication as if you are a Puritan church elder who is denying the devil. Oh, Senator Lindsey Graham, Get Over It. Being a Luddite isn't virtuous, it's dumb. You might not send emails, but your staffers do, and those missives carry the imprimatur of your office. So do your Facebook page and your Twitter account. You even have a Web presence, here, and it includes a link to email you. You even have a YouTube page! So, again, Senator, Get Over It. You're sending emails and involved in the age of technology whether you "are" or not.

2. Can everyone check the date right now? We are rounding the bend and within striking distance of April. Yet, Some People are still displaying Christmas Decorations in their yards, on their homes, and in their windows. Hey, Holiday-Challenged Or Lazy Sods, Get Over It! Christmas is past, done, gone, and other holidays have come and gone as well. Even the snow is gone. There is simply no reason for any of this, all of which I photographed while I drove home from the grocery store and in a two-block radius from my home:

At left, a manger scene; Christmas lights are wound all around; they are illuminated most nights.

Confusingly, this Christmas wreath is in contrast to the bouquet of fake spring flowers at the door.

WTF is going on here?  Jolly snowperson out front; Uncle Sam next to the door with the US Flag Heart alongside.

You are hurting my feelings and annoying your neighbors. You are likely prolonging winter. You are devaluing the surrounding properties. This is, in a word, outrageous. What are you waiting for? If you hate this job so much, don't put this crap up in the first place. Winter in NEO is cold and long. Those decorations won't ever, ever take themselves down or put themselves away, and they end up looking pathetic and depressing. No one wants to see this in February, March, or at the rate you are going, April. Get Over It and yank this junk now.  My next-door neighbors just took down their plastic candy canes and inflatables on Sunday, March 22nd.  I thought I would die.

3. Hey, republicans--at least the eleven of you who are NOT running for president--Barack Obama is going to finish out his second term as the President Of These United States Of America. Get Over It. While I know that many of you still cannot do that, let me add that your continued attempts to repeal the Affordable Care Act have passed Ludicrous and are on their way to Psychotic. Since you took over the majority in the House, you have put a vote on the floor almost sixty times in those four years, accomplishing precisely nothing. Yet, the first thing you use in any argument about Democrats being unable to effect legislation is the fact that "they had a supermajority" and yada yada yada. Looks like you're finding out what it's like to deal with a group of people who don't follow in lockstep with The Party all the time. Hate to say I Told You So, but when you courted the teapartiers, you invited disaster. Now, Get Over It. 

Lovin' those Grizzly Mamas and Evangelicals now, aren't you?

Probably some of my Dear Readers could smugly say, "Nance, you should take your own advice and Get Over It as far as these things go." To you I would say pleasantly, "I tried. For a Very Long Time, I have tried. Now my patience is at an end, and Something had to be said. I said it."

Now it is your turn. Who needs to Get Over It? Or would you like to have Your Turn and snark a little at the three I have admonished? Let fly.

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What Do Catholics, republicans, And Chicken Pot Pie All Have In Common?

Fountainhead by Seyed Alavi

It's been a perfectly ghastly week, and I need to write to Feel Human again. All I have been able to do since Friday night is whimper, take drugs, lie down, and wonder for the eleventy hundredth time Why It Is That I Live Here in this godforsaken weather corridor. And why it is that Weather People cannot tell me what is coming, when, and for how long with any sort of reliability whatsoever. It all conspires to be mighty enough to make me say The Eff Word, almost, and I have been trying So Hard To Quit.

In case you wanted to know what it is like to rise from a Days-Long Migraine Process and try to re-enter Real Life, I have found something that is a little bit similar. Here; try to read this:

“Things must change for our government. Look at it. It isn’t too big to fail. It’s too big to succeed! It’s too big to succeed, so we can afford no retreads or nothing will change with the same people and same policies that got us into the status quo. Another Latin word, status quo, and it stands for, ‘Man, the middle-class everyday Americans are really gettin’ taken for a ride.’ That’s status quo, and GOP leaders, by the way, y’know the man can only ride ya when your back is bent. So strengthen it. Then the man can’t ride ya, America won’t be taken for a ride, because so much is at stake and we can’t afford politicians playing games like nothing more is at stake than, oh, maybe just the next standing of theirs in the next election.”

I'd like to echo DNC Communications Director Mo Elleithee and simply say, "Thank you." But of course, I can't. This speech by 2008 Presidential candidate John McCain's selection for his Vice President is beyond bizarre, even for her. As she continues to struggle for relevance in any avenue of American life, let's hope that it's not only the Democrats who sympathetically shake their heads and back away, whispering sadly. (Can we talk about it later over cocktails and nibblies, having a guilty laugh or two? Heavens, yes.)  And no, I won't mention her name and dignify her.

You know, here's another shitful thing about Migraineus Interruptus. I was being Such A Good Girl about my exercise regimen, plodding away on my Dreadmill of Punishment and even switching it up by shovelling the driveway (I know!), and then, Migraine. Down for the count. Thank goodness I don't have one of those Jawbone or FitBit thingies that would beep or vibrate or nag at me to Get Up. Like I need that. I bet you anything a Catholic invented those damn things. "Don't you feel guilty for not getting up and getting moving? Did you do your 10K steps today? CHRIST DIED ON THE CROSS FOR YOU AND YOU CAN'T EVEN MANAGE TEN THOUSAND STEPS?!?!?!" I'm getting a Monday 5PM Headache just thinking about it.

I think we all Want To Do Better. I really do. Okay, well, maybe not a Certain Bob Evans Restaurant. My friends Leanne and Jim, who live in Southern Maryland, each got sick with a terrible cold. They merely wanted some nice comfort food and were too tired and ill to cook for themselves. They went to a nearby Bob Evans restaurant--slogan, "Down On The Farm"--and ordered right off the menu, nothing fancy. Leanne ordered the Chicken Pot Pie, described as "Slow-roasted chicken, carrots, peas, celery and onions in a rich cream sauce covered with a flaky crust." Here is the teensy picture from the menu:

www.bobevans.com

Doesn't that look good, even though it's pixellated?  I can see why she ordered it.  Sadly, that is not what she got.  Here is what she got:

www.tf?

I think that, after this, they are Down On The Farm all right.

It's snowing here again, despite the odds being 40%.  The forecast changes hourly.  I'm tired of hearing all the new terms for Winter Weather--Snowmageddon, Polar Vortex, Bombogenesis.  I'm starting to think that, here in NEO anyway, if it weren't for Sports or Weather, there would be no "News."

What a lot of Effing Bullshit.  (Strangely, that did not make me feel better.)  Do let's chat in Comments.

I'm Melting, Melting...And A Little Of My Brain Is Leaking Out

After sixteen consecutive days of rain, we have had approximately eleventy thousand days of temperatures of ninety and above with tropical humidity.  I find myself dopey and numbed by Air Conditioned Cabin Fever.  When I venture out, it feels like I am trudging through a bowl of soup. 

It's abusive.

Very few things make sense, and those things that do are:  trekking across to the neighboring town to go stand in my sister Susan's swimming pool; going barefoot; taking care of my herb garden; watering; and overfilling the fishpond so that Frigidaire-Ziploc and Tina don't cook.

Nothing of value is rattling around in my head, but a few clutterbits are clogging things up, so I'll dump them out and see if you want to pick at them.

1.  Accidental Art:  Rick is Old-Skool about his cellphone, and he wears it clipped to his belt.  Sometimes, it rotates and, when he bends or reaches and, er...laps over a bit, he somehow manages to inadvertently take a picture.  This happened a lot more with his old phone, and he once took an entire movie while he played golf, including the part where he stopped suddenly and said, "Wait!  Do you hear something?  Like something is running, sort of?"  Here is Rick's latest impromptu photo:

 

 

I believe this was snapped as he got out of the Prius at the Angola exit/rest stop on I-90 on our way to Canada.  It was our only stop, and I see a Red Roof Inn sign up there in the background.  This never happens to me.  I keep my phone in my little red Italian purse.  I told Rick he should start a tumblr.blog of these pictures.  Sadly, there are a lot.

 

2.  Tweets For Salvation:  I have been torturing my Catholic sister about this already.  Pope Francis is offering a reduced time in Purgatory for any Catholic who follows him on Twitter.  Holy crap--literally.  What a racket.  What's become of the Catholic Church that I left years ago?  First the Mass stopped being in Latin, then they allowed a bunch of folk guitar music, then everyone had to shake hands in the middle of things, now this!  It's not that easy, however; "to obtain indulgences over the internet or otherwise, believers would first have to confess their sins, offer prayers and attend Mass."  But...isn't that what practicing Catholics do anyway?  Further clarification is offered by  Archbishop Claudio Maria Celli, head of the pontifical council for social communication.  “You can't obtain indulgences like getting a coffee from a vending machine,” he told an Italian newspaper.  (But pretty much like that.)

 

3.  No Frills:  Quite some time ago, Rick and I got rid of cable TV.  We had Time Warner, and it was awful.  I mean, Awfully Awful and in every single way you could enumerate.  Here's the verdict:  We do not miss anything but CNN and MSNBC.  We went to an HD antenna (this one), and really, we have never looked back.  Each day, I look in my sacred Plain Dealer to see what is on cable, and I have yet to sigh, "Ohhh, if we only had cable!"  We have use of Jared's Netflix, and we are reveling in "The West Wing."  So good!  So smart!  And, sadly, still so current.

 

There.  Empty again.  And outside, ninety again.  Humid again.  Horrid again.  I'm off to the grocery store for a few key foodstuffs (shrimp, flatbread, pasta, steaks--all sale items!), then it's pool time again!  Now that I think about it, not too terrible after all.

 

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Be Careful. Your Microwave Might Know My Refrigerator And Your Car Might Be In On It, Too

Perhaps you remember last year during The Holidays when I was victimized by my house.  How my refrigerator quit right before Thanksgiving, the garage door refused to go up, and the fireplace billowed smoke into the living room, among other Domestic Tragedies.  What I neglected to confess to you in a later post was that my oven also went on strike in the middle of Christmas Cookie baking.  Luckily, a repair was all that was needed, not an entirely new stove.

This year, I felt confident, knowing I had a new refrigerator and a newly repaired stove and garage door.  We understood the fireplace's quirks, and I had posted a sign on the front door that the doorbell did not work, so no delivery person would ring in vain.  I was ready for The Holidays!

Oh, ha ha.  It is to laugh. 

Thanksgiving.  I went to pick up my fresh turkey on Tuesday afternoon.  "It seems a little...frozen in parts," I said to the butcher.  "Oh, no!" she said cheerily.  "It's a little frosty on the wings, but stick it in the fridge and it'll be fine for Thursday!"  Thanksgiving morning, after feeding the cats at 7:30, I pulled the turkey out of the basement fridge and unwrapped it.  It was frozen solid inside; I couldn't even wrench the neck and giblets out of it.  Panic.  Water bath thawing and cursing.  After all that, the damn thing popped its timer a whole hour early anyway. 

Christmas Eve Party Prep.  I go to the grocery store for a big shop.  When I come home, in the snow, I push the button on the keyfob to pop the tailgate so I can unload the groceries.  Nothing.  I go to open it manually.  Nothing.  I re-lock it and unlock it again.  Nope.  I'm standing there in the slushy driveway and the snow and cold with a car full of groceries.  So I go back in the garage where I have to wrestle with the backseat--fold it down, crawl in the backseat and the backend, and pull out the groceries.  And is this my only errand requiring the capacious tailgate?  Of course not. I have to go to the warehouse club and do all of this all over again. 

A few days later, I grab a glass to get some ice water from the handy dandy dispenser on the front of my year-old side-by-side fridge.  I press my glass against the ice lever and suddenly it belches a mixture of crushed and cubed ice with incredible force.  I remove my glass hurriedly, expecting the ice to cease, like it's supposed to.  But it doesn't stop.  IT KEEPS VOMITING ICE ALL OVER THE FLOOR WITH RECKLESS ABANDON.  I scream at it to stop, but it doesn't, of course.  I open the door, and it stops ejecting ice, but the motor keeps running.  I shut the door, confident that I've stopped the...cycle...and it starts spewing ice at me, at the floor, at the cabinets opposite in some sort of mad celebration of Appliance Independence.  I'm truly scared at this point, and I grab a wooden spoon and start poking, poking, poking at the lever, but it only spits ice at me faster and with more volume.  I open the door again, and it stops blurting ice, but the motor runs incessantly.  Frantically, I search for an ON/OFF switch, and I find one blinking red.  I throw it to OFF, but nothing happens.  I close the door and the avalanche begins anew.  Flinging the door open again, I take the ice bin off its pedestal on the door while the motor drones on.  Fearfully, I shut the door and I kid you not the thing still throws ice on the floor, but how? How? HOW!?  I grab my cellphone and call the appliance store that sold me this Hellish Beast.

Store:  Hello, and thank you for calling Appliance Store.
Nance:  I need Service, and hurry!
Service:  This is service, how can we help you?
Nance:  Hi, I bought my KitchenAid refrigerator there a year ago, and right now it's going crazy. It won't stop throwing ice all over the place.  I've switched it off, but it won't stop. Please send someone.
Service:  Well, the girl who usually schedules is at lunch and--
Nance:  This isn't something to schedule!  I need someone here now!  This thing won't stop!  The motor keeps running and it's throwing ice all over my floor! I need help NOW!
Service:  I understand, but I don't even know where the service guys are right now. I'm just filling in while she's at lunch.
Nance:  Please give my message to someone there that can help me as soon as possible. (hangs up)

To get to the final act, my icemaker spit out one last enormous clump of frosty ice, and then it shut off.  The appliance store called back and scheduled a service call for the 27th, and I had no icemaker for my Christmas Eve party of over 25 people.  One bright note in all of this?  The store agreed to backdate the repair so that it would be covered under warranty since the warranty ran out on November 26th.  The fridge needs a whole new circuit panel, which would also explain why my produce and cheeses often froze in the refrigerator side. 

I've been nothing but nice to that refrigerator.  My car, too.  The turkey's vengeful behavior, I could understand, but not that butcher.

If A Blogger Falls In The Forest...

Cyberspace is a strange and surreal place. We've become part of an ethereal community in which we are friends, but most of us have never met. We know each other, but we've never heard the sound of one another's voice. We care about each other, but very few of us even know--or really care--where or under what circumstances the other lives, works, or indulges in his or her pastimes. Many of us couldn't find our blogger friends in a phone book because we not only don't know their last names, we don't even know their real first names.

If something happened to one of us, how would the rest of us find out?

In my case, no one here at The Dept. knows my Blogger sign-in information. Rick, Sam, or Jared wouldn't be able to post a notice, if they even thought about it. True, there are several of my "regulars" who live near me and who also blog, and they might kindly make mention of it at their blogs, or think to append a notice in the Comments section on my Last Post. But that seems pretty self-aggrandizing to take that for granted. Still, there are a few of you who might care and want to know.

You know, if Something Happened.

Well, I'm here to tell you that someone has already thought of all this. Of course. Let me introduce you to Deathswitch. A deathswitch is a program that prompts you for your password on a regular schedule that you have predetermined. If you don't respond within a previously agreed-upon time, it will prompt you again, several times. If you still do not respond, your computer assumes you are dead (or critically disabled) and basically goes on an automated emailing binge, sending out prescripted messages that you have prepared for this eventuality. "A deathswitch," reads their website, "is information insurance. Don't die with secrets that need to be free."

Holy Crap.

Let me just say this: I have a ton of secrets. A. Ton. And I am taking them to the grave with me. The whole point of secrets is just that. They are secret. Benjamin Franklin said, "Three may keep a secret if two of them are dead." No way I'm emailing a bunch of secrets. No one is getting The Pesto Recipe. Among other things.

And, is it just me, or are the rest of you seeing oh, about eleventy billion scenarios in which this deathswitch thing could go horribly awry? "Oh, sorry about that, Aunt Martha. We had a power outage and my computer got all screwed up and my deathswitch accidentally sent you that. Ha ha. Never mind." or "Hello? Oh, hi, Mom. No, it's really me. No, Mom. Please, Mom. Stop screaming. Mom, please. Mom, I really do love you. It was a joke. My roommate was just goofing around on my new computer. Mom...!" or "Hello, New ISP? I can't seem to get my email set up correctly...."

No, no Deathswitch for me. Instead, I'll opt for an index card with my Blogger info on it. I'll put it with my will and, when it's time for The Last Post, either someone at The Dept. will do it, or they'll recruit one of you.

Last Year at The Dept. of Nance: The Cats Are Pointless