Tonight I went to the movies with my mother and Malystryx. It was a smaller theater and we were surrounded on both sides by strangers and their even stranger offspring.
Lucky me, I sat in the middle thus ensuring that I did not share foot space or an arm rest with a total stranger.
Malystryx was not so lucky.
He was sitting next to a family of four who chose to place their youngest next to him.
Good times.
First, it was the ice cheweing, a particular pet peeve of Malystryx's. (And who can blame him? The sound approaches the level of fingernails-on-a-chalk-board annoying, especially when it interrupts the fabulous Captain Jack Sparrow.)
Then, it was the straw-chewing.
Straw-chewing by itself is not so great a crime. The occasional wet gnawing sound can be distracting, sure, but overall, it's no big deal.
It's the spit-flinging as the straw leaves the mouth that causes the problem.
The child sitting next to Malystryx had a particularly wide radius of spit-fling. First it hit Malystryx's arm. He leaned over and asked me for my anti-bacterial hand sanitizer (never leave home without it) and scrubbed his arm.
The next spit-fling landed square in his face.
No amount of water-free anti-bacterial hand sanitizer can cope with that. A face full of someone else's saliva requires nothing less than bleach, steel wool, and scalding hot water.
I'm sure, even as I type this, Malystryx is busy scrubbing.
Malystryx should be grateful. It could have been much, much worse.
When my hubby and I were in college, we worked several jobs to pay our way. My hubby's main job was managing the local Ben and Jerry's ice cream parlor (you have to love a man who smells like a waffle cone). He had several regular customers and one regular non-customer.
Anthony.
Anthony was a homeless man who liked to come into the store and talk to my hubby. Because my hubby is kind and tolerant, he listened. Listening to Anthony required kindness and tolerance because a)for obvious reasons, Anthony lacked any semblance of personal hygiene and b)Anthony had absolutely no concept of respecting someone's personal space.
One night, two friends and I stopped in at Ben and Jerry's to check in on my hubby and score some free Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. Anthony was there. My hubby served our ice cream and decided to take a break and join us at our booth while we ate.
I slid in next to one window, facing my two friends, and my hubby sat next to me. Anthony followed us to our table, talking all the while. Just as we settled into the booth and grabbed our first bite of ice cream, it happened.
Anthony opened his mouth to speak, made some sort of strangled half-cough, half-sneeze sound, and let fly with the largest amount of spit and mucus I've ever seen.
All of it, the whole nasty mouthful, splattered against the side of my hubby's face.
Anthony kept talking like nothing had happened.
My hubby sat there like a stone, snotty spit slowly sliding down his face, refusing to react and thus shame Anthony.
I have either less concern for others or less control over my reactions. I bent over double, laughing until I cried.
Anthony asked what was wrong with me.
My hubby slid his eyes toward me (in a look that promised certain retribution if I didn't get myself under control) and said two words through tightly clenched teeth.
"Napkins, please."
I gave him napkins. A whole wad of napkins. And kept right on laughing like a lunatic.
Later that evening, my hubby discovered that while it does kill germs, scrubbing one's face with Lysol and a Brillo pad has other consequences.
He decided it was worth it.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Mushroom Cloud Anyone?
Math and science have never been my thing. There are several examples of this throughout my school experience (note the time I drove my Algebra teacher to yank at his own hair when I demanded to know exactly what "x" and "y" stood for and refused to be mollified by the vague "two points in space" answer. Where in space? Who chose to call them "x" and "y" instead of "r" and "k"? Why do I care about two anonymous points in space anyway?).
The most notable example of my incompatibility with math and science is my brief stint in Chemistry as a junior.
Chemistry requires a fundamental understanding of the scientific elements and an appropriate respect for the methods used to combine those elements. Both of these were problematic for me. I anticipated long hours struggling to memorize the table of elements. I was sure I would toil over the mathematical equations used in the lab experiments and probably get it all wrong.
I never dreamed I would destroy my chances at success over the mechanics of a simple Bunsen burner.
We were two weeks into the school year and I was already in way over my head. I viewed our first lab day with something akin to relief. Finally, a chance to DO something rather than just sit there feeling stupid while I tried to understand why I shouldn't combine chlorine and ammonia (apparently the smell alone is enough to rip your lungs out through your nostrils) and why I should care. I mean honestly, when am I going to come up against a situation where combining chlorine and ammonia is really an option?
Our lab assignment was simple. We were to light a Bunsen burner and put a beaker of some liquid or other over the top of it until that liquid boiled.
No problem.
I liked to cook. Cooking often involves boiling water. This was a slam dunk. I entertained visions of my lab grade offsetting my classroom grade with favorable results.
I took my time setting up my area. All around me, my friends turned the knob on their Bunsen burners, releasing a sharp hiss of gas, and then flicked a lighter to ingite a steady blue flame.
How easy could it get?
I turned the knob on my Bunsen burner and waited to hear the hiss of gas.
Nothing.
I turned the knob farther.
Still nothing.
Trust me to get the one defective Bunsen burner in the mix. I turned the knob farther. No hiss. I glared at the burner. The burner didn't care.
At this point, the knob had been opened for over a minute. Everyone else was already well on their way to boiling their clear liquid. My dreams of redeeming my Chemistry grade were slipping away. Because I didn't know what else to try, I grabbed my lighter, pointed it at my burner, and flicked.
WHOOOSH!!!!
A ball of flames bloomed around my burner and hit the ceiling in a mushroom cloud formation. The ceiling, it turns out, was not as flame-resistant as perhaps would have been wise in a chemistry lab. The ceiling caught fire.
People screamed and dove under the table. The teacher snatched a fire extinguisher and coated the entire lab - floor to ceiling and every person in between.
Turns out Bunsen burners can release gas even without the tell-tale hiss.
I thought this was a definite design flaw. My principal thought I was a hazaard to the school population in general and my Chemistry class in particular.
I was relocated to geology.
The most notable example of my incompatibility with math and science is my brief stint in Chemistry as a junior.
Chemistry requires a fundamental understanding of the scientific elements and an appropriate respect for the methods used to combine those elements. Both of these were problematic for me. I anticipated long hours struggling to memorize the table of elements. I was sure I would toil over the mathematical equations used in the lab experiments and probably get it all wrong.
I never dreamed I would destroy my chances at success over the mechanics of a simple Bunsen burner.
We were two weeks into the school year and I was already in way over my head. I viewed our first lab day with something akin to relief. Finally, a chance to DO something rather than just sit there feeling stupid while I tried to understand why I shouldn't combine chlorine and ammonia (apparently the smell alone is enough to rip your lungs out through your nostrils) and why I should care. I mean honestly, when am I going to come up against a situation where combining chlorine and ammonia is really an option?
Our lab assignment was simple. We were to light a Bunsen burner and put a beaker of some liquid or other over the top of it until that liquid boiled.
No problem.
I liked to cook. Cooking often involves boiling water. This was a slam dunk. I entertained visions of my lab grade offsetting my classroom grade with favorable results.
I took my time setting up my area. All around me, my friends turned the knob on their Bunsen burners, releasing a sharp hiss of gas, and then flicked a lighter to ingite a steady blue flame.
How easy could it get?
I turned the knob on my Bunsen burner and waited to hear the hiss of gas.
Nothing.
I turned the knob farther.
Still nothing.
Trust me to get the one defective Bunsen burner in the mix. I turned the knob farther. No hiss. I glared at the burner. The burner didn't care.
At this point, the knob had been opened for over a minute. Everyone else was already well on their way to boiling their clear liquid. My dreams of redeeming my Chemistry grade were slipping away. Because I didn't know what else to try, I grabbed my lighter, pointed it at my burner, and flicked.
WHOOOSH!!!!
A ball of flames bloomed around my burner and hit the ceiling in a mushroom cloud formation. The ceiling, it turns out, was not as flame-resistant as perhaps would have been wise in a chemistry lab. The ceiling caught fire.
People screamed and dove under the table. The teacher snatched a fire extinguisher and coated the entire lab - floor to ceiling and every person in between.
Turns out Bunsen burners can release gas even without the tell-tale hiss.
I thought this was a definite design flaw. My principal thought I was a hazaard to the school population in general and my Chemistry class in particular.
I was relocated to geology.
Saturday, June 2, 2007
Think You Know Everything?
A dime has 118 ridges around the edge.
A cat has 32 muscles in each ear.
A crocodile cannot stick out its tongue.
A dragonfly has a life span of 24 hours.
A "jiffy" is an actual unit of time for 1/100th of a second.
A shark is the only fish that can blink with both eyes.
A snail can sleep for three years.
Al Capone's business card said he was a used furniture dealer.
All 50 states are listed across the top of the Lincoln Memorial on
the back of the $5 bill.
Almonds are a member of the peach family.
An ostrich's eye is bigger than its brain.
Babies are born without kneecaps. They don't appear until the child
reaches 2 to 6 years of age.
Butterflies taste with their feet.
Cats have over one hundred vocal sounds. Dogs only have about 10.
"Dreamt" is the only English word that ends in the letters "mt".
February 1865 is the only month in recorded history not to have a
full moon.
In the last 4,000 years, no new animals have been domesticated.
If the population of China walked past you, in single file, the
line would never end because of the rate of reproduction.
If you are an average American, in your whole life, you will spend
an average of 6 months waiting at red lights.
It's impossible to sneeze with your eyes open.
Leonardo Da Vinci invented the scissors.
Maine is the only state whose name is just one syllable.
No word in the English language rhymes with month, orange, silver,
or purple.
Our eyes are always the same size from birth, but our nose and
ears never stop growing.
Peanuts are one of the ingredients of dynamite.
Rubber bands last longer when refrigerated.
"Stewardesses" is the longest word typed with only the left hand
and "lollipop" with your right.
The average person's left hand does 56% of the typing.
The microwave was invented after a researcher walked by a radar
tube and a chocolate bar melted in his pocket.
The sentence: "The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog" uses
every letter of the alphabet.
The winter of 1932 was so cold that Niagara Falls froze completely
solid.
There are 293 ways to make change for a dollar.
There are more chickens than people in the world.
There are only four words in the English language which end in
"dous": tremendous, horrendous, stupendous, and hazardous
There are two words in the English language that have all five
vowels in order: "abstemious" and "facetious."
There's no Betty Rubble in the Flintstones Chewables Vitamins.
Tigers have striped skin, not just striped fur.
TYPEWRITER is the longest word that can be made using the letters
only on one row of the keyboard.
Winston Churchill was born in a ladies' room during a dance.
Women blink nearly twice as much as men.
Your stomach has to produce a new layer of mucus every two weeks;
otherwise it will digest itself.
Now you know everything
A cat has 32 muscles in each ear.
A crocodile cannot stick out its tongue.
A dragonfly has a life span of 24 hours.
A "jiffy" is an actual unit of time for 1/100th of a second.
A shark is the only fish that can blink with both eyes.
A snail can sleep for three years.
Al Capone's business card said he was a used furniture dealer.
All 50 states are listed across the top of the Lincoln Memorial on
the back of the $5 bill.
Almonds are a member of the peach family.
An ostrich's eye is bigger than its brain.
Babies are born without kneecaps. They don't appear until the child
reaches 2 to 6 years of age.
Butterflies taste with their feet.
Cats have over one hundred vocal sounds. Dogs only have about 10.
"Dreamt" is the only English word that ends in the letters "mt".
February 1865 is the only month in recorded history not to have a
full moon.
In the last 4,000 years, no new animals have been domesticated.
If the population of China walked past you, in single file, the
line would never end because of the rate of reproduction.
If you are an average American, in your whole life, you will spend
an average of 6 months waiting at red lights.
It's impossible to sneeze with your eyes open.
Leonardo Da Vinci invented the scissors.
Maine is the only state whose name is just one syllable.
No word in the English language rhymes with month, orange, silver,
or purple.
Our eyes are always the same size from birth, but our nose and
ears never stop growing.
Peanuts are one of the ingredients of dynamite.
Rubber bands last longer when refrigerated.
"Stewardesses" is the longest word typed with only the left hand
and "lollipop" with your right.
The average person's left hand does 56% of the typing.
The microwave was invented after a researcher walked by a radar
tube and a chocolate bar melted in his pocket.
The sentence: "The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog" uses
every letter of the alphabet.
The winter of 1932 was so cold that Niagara Falls froze completely
solid.
There are 293 ways to make change for a dollar.
There are more chickens than people in the world.
There are only four words in the English language which end in
"dous": tremendous, horrendous, stupendous, and hazardous
There are two words in the English language that have all five
vowels in order: "abstemious" and "facetious."
There's no Betty Rubble in the Flintstones Chewables Vitamins.
Tigers have striped skin, not just striped fur.
TYPEWRITER is the longest word that can be made using the letters
only on one row of the keyboard.
Winston Churchill was born in a ladies' room during a dance.
Women blink nearly twice as much as men.
Your stomach has to produce a new layer of mucus every two weeks;
otherwise it will digest itself.
Now you know everything
For Malystryx
Friends depart, and memory takes them
To her caverns, pure and deep.
-Thomas Haynes Bayly
My good friend Malystryx (aka Dragon Master, aka Cinna-man) lost a close friend and confidant last night. Leo, a gorgeous long-haired tabby cat who was both frighteningly smart and incredibly loyal, died in a sad accident.
I know what it's like to lose an animal who is an intricate part of the fabric of your life. You look for them in all the old familiar places and fresh grief hits when they aren't there.
I wish I could do something tangible to make Malystryx's pain heal for him but only God and time are in charge of that. So instead, I offer him this post as a way to commemorate Leo (that beautiful, loving, devious, cheese-burger stealing cat).
Love you!
Friday, June 1, 2007
For What It's Worth
10 Things You Might Not Know About Me
1. I was once zapped by an electric fence.
2. I've nearly drowned twice.
3. I'm deathly afraid of semi-trucks.
4. I love roller coasters - the riskier, the better.
5. I love classics - books, films, music, you name it.
6. I cannot take most country music seriously. I really, really can't.
7. I do not eat apples.
8. I've survived two major earthquakes.
9. I once herded a bull out of an orchard and into a corral on my own and lived to tell about it.
10. I don't like chocolate.
1. I was once zapped by an electric fence.
2. I've nearly drowned twice.
3. I'm deathly afraid of semi-trucks.
4. I love roller coasters - the riskier, the better.
5. I love classics - books, films, music, you name it.
6. I cannot take most country music seriously. I really, really can't.
7. I do not eat apples.
8. I've survived two major earthquakes.
9. I once herded a bull out of an orchard and into a corral on my own and lived to tell about it.
10. I don't like chocolate.
Beware the Rake
When I was growing up, I had a close friend we'll call Kitty for purposes of protecting the, umm, oh yes, innocent, that's the word I'm looking for. Innocent.
Kitty and I were friends from sixth grade on, our bond withstanding the upheavals of junior high, the interruptions of various boyfriends, and the time she slapped my face in front of everyone for daring to eat lunch with someone else. (Who says 6th grade isn't a cutthroat world?)
I loved Kitty.
I was afraid of her parents. Kitty was afraid of her parents. Everyone was afraid of her parents. They were old (in their sixties while other parents were in their forties), cranky, and apt to throw things at you if you stepped out of line.
At least that was the rumor.
One night when I was in high school, another friend (we'll call him Homer - not the poet, the Simpson) and I decided to visit Kitty after dark. This took considerable courage on our part (or showed an astonishing lack of common sense - take your pick). It wasn't very late - mabye 8:30 - but Kitty's parents were already asleep and we did NOT want to wake them up.
Kitty lived several miles from town on a street where cows grazed in people's front yards, orchards hugged the houses, and there was not a streetlight to be found. Approaching Kitty's house without detection by her parents required finesse that would do a Navy Seal proud. Her parents' bedroom was at the front of the house, facing the street. Kitty's room was at the back. In between were several daunting obstacles:
1. A long gravel driveway - very noisy when approaching by car.
2. A pond of monstrously large goldfish lurking somewhere between the driveway and the side yard.
3. Dolly the sheep chained up somewhere beyond the pond but close enough to the house to give you a scare and try to chew off a piece of your clothing.
Homer and I parked on the street and crept across the gravel driveway. We knew better than to speak. Kitty's parents had a sixth sense about EVERYTHING and we really didn't want her dad to run us over in his Peugot for trespassing. We were nearly past their window when a light came on.
We ran.
Quietly.
I hit the bushes around the side of the house and melted into the shadows. (Okay, it was more like crashing into a very stiff and unyielding shrub and then hanging on for dear life but, as I've pointed out before, this is MY blog. I can sound like a super-agent if I want.)
Homer was less fortunate.
Homer hit the pond.
There is nothing quiet about landing in a pond full of toddler-sized goldfish.
Homer splashed his way out of the pond and joined me at the bushes just as Kitty's dad hit the front porch. We froze - me with my back pressed against a very prickly bush. Homer with his back pressed against me, dripping on us both.
Kitty's dad returned to the house, evidently deciding that when one was foolish enough to raise man-eating goldfish, one could expect to hear large splashes at night.
We resumed our clandestine journey around the side of the house. Walking on tip-toe through knee-high grass while dodging bushes and trees in complete darkness is quite a trick. We passed the middle of the house and could see a faint light shining from Kitty's window at the back of the house.
A false sense of security seized us and made us temporarily stupid.
We stopped creeping, stopped feeling our way carefully to the next step, and just walked freely. Then we heard it - an ominous rustling in the grass to Homer's left.
Dolly.
A "Baaaaaaaaah" ripped through the silence of the night and Homer said, "Not the shoes!"
Neither Dolly or Homer was quiet about it either.
A tug of war ensued between Dolly, who was apparently tired of eating nothing but grass and wanted a nicely used pair of Converse instead, and Homer who really wanted to keep his shoes.
Homer lost.
We continued on with Homer now shoeless and dripping. We'd passed the gravel driveway, encountered the pond, escaped the wrath of Kitty's father, and paid our toll to Dolly.
We were in the clear.
We hurried toward the welcoming light from Kitty's window, sure of victory, never dreaming that a fourth obstacle, a booby-trap of ingenious design, awaited.
We turned the corner of the house and Homer took the lead. Five more steps and we would be at Kitty's window. Homer moved forward, stepped squarely onto the metal prongs of a discarded rake (in his bare feet) and the handle of the rake whipped up to snap him smartly in the middle of his forehead.
He went down.
I did what any good undercover agent does. I finished the mission.
Kitty and I were friends from sixth grade on, our bond withstanding the upheavals of junior high, the interruptions of various boyfriends, and the time she slapped my face in front of everyone for daring to eat lunch with someone else. (Who says 6th grade isn't a cutthroat world?)
I loved Kitty.
I was afraid of her parents. Kitty was afraid of her parents. Everyone was afraid of her parents. They were old (in their sixties while other parents were in their forties), cranky, and apt to throw things at you if you stepped out of line.
At least that was the rumor.
One night when I was in high school, another friend (we'll call him Homer - not the poet, the Simpson) and I decided to visit Kitty after dark. This took considerable courage on our part (or showed an astonishing lack of common sense - take your pick). It wasn't very late - mabye 8:30 - but Kitty's parents were already asleep and we did NOT want to wake them up.
Kitty lived several miles from town on a street where cows grazed in people's front yards, orchards hugged the houses, and there was not a streetlight to be found. Approaching Kitty's house without detection by her parents required finesse that would do a Navy Seal proud. Her parents' bedroom was at the front of the house, facing the street. Kitty's room was at the back. In between were several daunting obstacles:
1. A long gravel driveway - very noisy when approaching by car.
2. A pond of monstrously large goldfish lurking somewhere between the driveway and the side yard.
3. Dolly the sheep chained up somewhere beyond the pond but close enough to the house to give you a scare and try to chew off a piece of your clothing.
Homer and I parked on the street and crept across the gravel driveway. We knew better than to speak. Kitty's parents had a sixth sense about EVERYTHING and we really didn't want her dad to run us over in his Peugot for trespassing. We were nearly past their window when a light came on.
We ran.
Quietly.
I hit the bushes around the side of the house and melted into the shadows. (Okay, it was more like crashing into a very stiff and unyielding shrub and then hanging on for dear life but, as I've pointed out before, this is MY blog. I can sound like a super-agent if I want.)
Homer was less fortunate.
Homer hit the pond.
There is nothing quiet about landing in a pond full of toddler-sized goldfish.
Homer splashed his way out of the pond and joined me at the bushes just as Kitty's dad hit the front porch. We froze - me with my back pressed against a very prickly bush. Homer with his back pressed against me, dripping on us both.
Kitty's dad returned to the house, evidently deciding that when one was foolish enough to raise man-eating goldfish, one could expect to hear large splashes at night.
We resumed our clandestine journey around the side of the house. Walking on tip-toe through knee-high grass while dodging bushes and trees in complete darkness is quite a trick. We passed the middle of the house and could see a faint light shining from Kitty's window at the back of the house.
A false sense of security seized us and made us temporarily stupid.
We stopped creeping, stopped feeling our way carefully to the next step, and just walked freely. Then we heard it - an ominous rustling in the grass to Homer's left.
Dolly.
A "Baaaaaaaaah" ripped through the silence of the night and Homer said, "Not the shoes!"
Neither Dolly or Homer was quiet about it either.
A tug of war ensued between Dolly, who was apparently tired of eating nothing but grass and wanted a nicely used pair of Converse instead, and Homer who really wanted to keep his shoes.
Homer lost.
We continued on with Homer now shoeless and dripping. We'd passed the gravel driveway, encountered the pond, escaped the wrath of Kitty's father, and paid our toll to Dolly.
We were in the clear.
We hurried toward the welcoming light from Kitty's window, sure of victory, never dreaming that a fourth obstacle, a booby-trap of ingenious design, awaited.
We turned the corner of the house and Homer took the lead. Five more steps and we would be at Kitty's window. Homer moved forward, stepped squarely onto the metal prongs of a discarded rake (in his bare feet) and the handle of the rake whipped up to snap him smartly in the middle of his forehead.
He went down.
I did what any good undercover agent does. I finished the mission.
What Comes Next?
A book is like a man—clever and dull, brave and cowardly, beautiful and ugly. For every flowering thought there will be a page like a wet and mangy mongrel, and for every looping flight a tap on the wing and a reminder that wax cannot hold the feathers firm too near the sun.- John Steinbeck
This is a comforting thought on the days when my characters are stuck in awkward moments, paused on the cusp of brilliant dialogue that refuses to emerge, chained to the middle of a chapter while their creator desperately asks herself "What comes next?"
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