My Ramblings
Friday, July 18, 2003
I've found here the list of the top 50 driving songs. And to think all we listened to was Puff the Magic Dragon (and it's not even on the list!).
I just read that France has banned the use of the word "e-mail" from their vocabulary (i.e. anything official). They really don't like us, do they?
Thursday, July 17, 2003
While doing the usual monotanous medical transcription today, I lucked out and got a doctor (who I don't know personally but sounds like a grouch) with Journey loudly playing in the background. Usually all I get to listen to are papers being tossed around, a baby crying, a doctor yelling orders out, a sandwich being chewed. And if I'm really lucky, I'll get to hear a chatty nurse in the background and make out at least a quarter of what she's saying (and it typically has something to do with lunch).
So getting to hear a Journey song today, almost in it's entirety since this doctor was being extremely slow with his dictation, was a real treat. Unfortuntely, just before the report ended, his head turned away from the phone, and he clearly said, "Turn down the music."
Guess he isn't as cool as I thought he was.
Our refrigerator is only 7 years old, but I'm growing tired of it. Sure it cools on the bottom and freezes on the top, but it no longer makes ice and the some of the shelves have broken. One of the "crisper" shelves cracked, I threw it away, and now that big heavy glass shelf on the bottom leans when I put too many containers of milk on it.
That fridge and I, we have our memories. Oh fridge, do you remember the time some half-frozen fish spilled into your ice box, making some rather tasty frozen fish water cubes (always made for an exciting glass of ice water!). I think I made you mad, because you eventually quit making ice for me and froze my ice spoon into your ice bucket.
Do you remember the syrup on your shelves? I always enjoyed scraping cold syrup off with a butter knife. How about the pool of blood on the bottom from unproperly wrapped thawing meat? I hope that didn't frighten you.
I bet you clearly recall the argument my husband and I had once about the magnet on your front. I thought "ex-wife in freezer" was funny, but he did not.
Oh, and how could I forget that important piece of plastic that hooked onto the bottom of your door? Oh how I'll miss that plastic piece that gets kicked off every time someone goes by. What was that plastic piece for anyway, dear fridge?
On Monday, we will part. I know we've had a long history, but I think it's time.
Wednesday, July 16, 2003
I've never actually owned a Chia pet before. What is it that grows out of it anyway, grass? The only one I found remotely interesting was the Chia "guy" that looked strangely like Screech from that dumb kid's show. But now I found one I might actually want if I had a few dollars to waste. The Mr. T Chia head has got to be the coolest one of all.
Monday, July 14, 2003
Me and my "wiser" significant other (that always sounds better than old) had a discussion on our long drive about a phrase that I abosolutely hate. He says I've got it all wrong. I've heard it on Jenny Jones (okay, okay--I sneak a peek at that garbage every so often), and the younger crowd seems to have picked it up (heard it a couple of times in Vegas). It's "my bad." In place of saying "my fault", "my bad" pops out Example: "Ooops! I told you to turn right instead of left? My bad." It sounds awkward. It sounds like something my 3-year-old would say. (My apologies to anyone out there who has actually adopted this phrase. I'll try not to let it color my opinion of you too much).
At any rate, he said I wasn't "hearing it correctly". That people in actuality were saying, "my bag" not "my bad." My bag??? What was that suppose to mean? As a person who spends hours a day listening to doctors mumble out medical terms through cheese sandwiched teeth, I think I've got fairly intact listening skills. This was coming from a man who doesn't even know the correct lyrics to "Eensy Weensy Spider." Not wanting to pick a huge fight on our trip (we still had hours and hours to be in the car), I let it go, but vowed to look it up once I had access to a computer.
So today I looked it up. And guess what? We are both apparently right; well I'm more right, but he wasn't completely off his rocker. "My bag" is an older phrase which means "a personal style or preference" while "my bag" is just another way of saying "my fault."
So even though *I* knew what I was hearing out of people's mouths, he was correct that at least the term "my bag" meant something and not just his lack of paying attention.
So I wrongly accused him. My bad.
Word Detective
Somehow I managed to journal and take pictures on vacation. I've added a link to my story on the main page.
Well after a long, but fun, trip to Las Vegas, I'm back in the comfort of Port Orchard and even enjoyed seeing some rain today. I read the average yearly temperature in Las Vegas is 66 but I have a hard time believing that when the two times I've been there it's been well over 100. Apparently, according to their local news, this week's temperatures actually broke records. I just can't understand why people would live there. Besides being surrounded by big hills of dust, there are days of the year you just can't go outside. They warned people on the news to put all their pets in the house. They warned you not to leave anything like CDs or chapstick in your car.
But when you ask a local there about the heat, they just smile and say, "Yeah, it's hot" and don't seem very phased by it.
This trip reminded me of how much I love Washington State (um, the west side). The big trees and water. We have real mountains with snow. We have towns that are connected to other towns and not just sporadic blotches of houses with a Shell station. Our speed limits don't go up to 75 MPH just because the roads are so isolated no one would drive on them any slower. The weather has never been bad enough that it's a danger to go outside.
Seriously, some roads had no road kill because animals didn't even want to be there.
I think even my Californian-at-heart husband was appreciating Washington a bit more after this trip.
It's nice to be home.
