Saturday, April 25, 2009
nerd also nurd (nûrd) n. Slang. A person regarded as stupid, socially inept, or unattractive. [Perh. after Nerd , a character in If I Ran the Zoo, by Theodor Seuss Geisel.] – nerd’y adj.
Word History: The word nerd first appears in 1950 in Dr. Seuss’s If I Ran the Zoo: “And then, just to show them, I’ll sail back to Ka-Troo And Bring Back an It-Kutch a Preep and a Proo a Nerkle a Nerd and a Seersucker, too!” (The nerd itself is a small humanoid creature looking comically angry, like a thin, cross Chester A. Arthur.) Nerd next appears, with a gloss, in the February 10, 1957, issue of the Glasgow, Scotland, Sunday Mail in a column entitled “ABC for SQUARES”: “Nerd – a square, any explanation needed?” Authorities disagree whether Dr. Seuss’s nerd and the Glaswegian nerd are the same word. Some claim there is no semantic connection and the identity of the words is fortuitous. Others maintain that Dr. Seuss is the true originator of nerd and that the word was picked up by five- and six-year-olds of 1950 and passed on to their older siblings, who by 1957, as teenagers, had applied nerd to the most comically obnoxious creature of their own class, a “square.”
Just as I thought. (But, I didn’t know about the Dr. Seuss part, which I find fascinating! Wow.)
So now I’m starting to wonder, do they think I look like our 21st President, Chester A. Arthur??
Hey! And what ever happened to me being “The Cool Mom?” Guess I don’t don enough piercings and tattoos. (Oh, the shame – the shame!) In this case, I’d rather be classified a nerd. Thanks Dr. Seuss!
Friday, April 24, 2009
(And it's too funny not to share.)
A person can come in many different forms, smart, good-looking, level-headed, but why-oh-why do I seem to attract all the goofballs? (It takes one to know one? Birds of a feather… ?) Now don’t get me wrong, I like oddballs, but I like intelligent oddballs, the one’s that don’t fit the mold but have some knowledge and something to say, they are much more interesting.
Lately though, I’m surrounded by, sorry family (not talking about you) but you’ve got to admit, a whole bunch of mindless not-normal people I’d rather not have to deal with.
I am proud to say that all my kids and I easily find humor in the silly things we do or say… the big mistakes, or the little faux paus. In other words, we take great pleasure in making fun of each other and ourselves but never in a mean or spiteful way.
But.. I'm not so sure others see it that way. So, let me start by saying, my son Max’s girlfriend is currently living here (against my better wishes). You may remember her mousecapades from earlier entries. (January '09 entries… “Riddle Me This Batman” and “Mousetrap Mania.") (Hey, does anyone know how to do the “target” thing on this Blog site?)
She is, through no fault of her own, bi-polar and consequently on disability. And, how can I say this tactfully… oh well... a ditz. I can claim that title too, but she has a few other issues going on, like not playing with a full deck—like missing all the face cards—in the intelligence department.
Oh, she’s pretty enough.. and sweet, but so was Elsa the cow, who did her best for Jersymaid. Moo.
Anyway, her disability case is to be reviewed by a judge early next week.
Max came in the studio yesterday to ask me a small favor. “Can ‘Girlfriend’ borrow something to wear for court?”
I was just fixing to start in with a client call, but I seriously had to turn my chair around and raise my eyebrow at him. I mean, this gal is five-feet-nothing, and a bit on the plump side… her bust is much bigger than mine (well, everybody’s bust is much bigger that mine!). I’m tall and skinny, she’s… not.
“Maybe," he asked coyly, "one of your… um… Mickey Mouse shirts?”
“WHAT!? To wear to court??” (None of my shirts would fit her anyway.) “She shouldn’t wear something like that to court! Even I wouldn’t wear a tee-shirt, Mickey Mouse or otherwise, to court!"
“Well, her Dr. told he she needs to look kind of… um… nerdy.”
I shook my head in disbelief and started to giggle. “So you want her to wear MY clothes so she’ll look ‘nerdy?’ Are you insinuating I’m a... nerd?” I said grinning at him. “And what makes you think Mickey Mouse is... um... nerdy?”
“Well, the Dr.,” he argued, “said that one of his patients lost the claim because the gal went in all fancy with her hair and nails all done up stylish-like.” (But with our girl, it’s a bit obvious that our tax dollars are being well spent not only on make-up, nails and hair dye, but also on lovely tattoos and facial piercings. What part won’t the judge notice?)
Okay, folks, now when it comes to me, it’s true, I’m super low maintenance in the beauty and fashion department. Jeans and tee-shirts for me… call me a hick or a hippie maybe, I like to think of myself as smart, and maybe a bit eccentric, but a NERD? (Don’t I wish!)
“You want her to look ‘nerdy’ and you come to me??” I said still in disbelief, practically choking.
In the meantime, here comes Girlfriend who tries valiantly to explain the dilemma.
Too late. Now I’m laughing. “Excuse me, do you even know what the word “nerdy” means?” I seriously doubted it at this point.
Enter my goofy brother, Luckey (who's able to take and deliver a good ribbing). “Hey Luckey," I call, "Girlfriend here needs to look ‘nerdy’ for her hearing, and they came to meeee for something for her to wear!” (I really wanted to say “whacko” instead of "nerdy" but bit my tongue.)
Of course, it takes him absolutely no time to start laughing, “No, no, no… " he says pointing at me, "she’s the one you want to ask for clothes if you want to look homeless.” That really put me in hysterics.
Poor embarrassed Girlfriend, turning red-faced because Max didn’t present the case right, and probably ‘cause we're making fun, stomps off in frustration.
I announced that I really have to get to work and everyone cleared the room. Nevertheless, I was still giggling so hard as I called my client and wasn’t exactly able to contain myself for the first few minutes of our session. Thank goodness, he understood.
Anyway, I’m still shaking my head and still laughing. Please, what are these young people thinking?
Oh, and did I say she was blonde? Yeah, bleached blonde.
And, even as ditzy blond as I can be, she’s really giving our delicate recessive genes a bad rep!
My advice to her in court: “Just be yourself, Girlfriend, just open your mouth and be yourself! You’ll do fine.”
(Heaven help us! Let us pray!)
Thursday, April 23, 2009
I ordered the materials about three weeks before his birthday (March 10) but I was very bummed that I didn’t receive the goods till the day before his special day. I did have some of the red yarn to get started, but one stripe didn’t help much.
So… the project is finally finished and delivered. Yay! And now I can show you a picture...
It actually took me only about a week (in between Mr. Man’s visits) to make the blanket—stripes and blue star field, and even making the stars went fairly quickly. BUT attaching them was the tough part. I can crochet, but sewing is whole a different story.
Those pesky stars. It took me approximately two hours to sew on one star! Making them was a breeze (I thought that would be the hard part), but sewing them on, geeze. You’d think it would be simple to just whipstitch ‘em on, right? Nooooo… I wanted them to be straight and PERFECT, and when it didn’t happening to my liking, I’d undo it, repin and try again. Grrrr.
Only three of stars are sewed in this shot (the bottom left corner), the fourth is pinned. (If you look closely you can see the little orange and yellow heads on the pins. I actually had to go out and buy a box of straight pins for this project! Only for you, Mr. Man, only for you!)
I thought they were so cute the way their little arms curled. They reminded me of Dr. Seuss’s “Sneeches with stars upon thars.”
Well, I finally had to face it, they were not going to be perfect. Who’s gonna notice anyway? The thing’s supposed to be draped over a lap, not hanging on a wall (which several people have said that if it were theirs, that’s what they’d want to do with it).
Of course, Mr. Man loves it and says it was worth the wait.
Hmmm… the original pattern called for 32 stars. Can you imagine?! I might have had it ready by his next birthday if I went that route. Yikes!
Okay, stay tuned for my next trick… :-)
Cheers for now, people!
Friday, April 17, 2009
I recently watched the film version which caused me to seriously scratch my head and wonder what was wrong with this picture? (No pun intended... okay, just a little.) However, so much seemed wrong with the film, that I wanted to renew my faith and read the book again. Perhaps the book wasn’t as great as I remembered? My vision of it was so different.
Having read a borrowed version of Bees way back when, I looked into acquiring a used addition from Amazon, then remembered Mr. Man has a client who’s a used-book seller that I thought would maybe give me/him little better deal (and make a buck for his client); after all, I just wanted to check my memory.
Mr. Man did one better and just went ahead and bought me the book. Yay! Thanks, Honey.
Well, just as I hoped and remembered, the extraordinary insight and imagery incorporated in Kidd’s wonderful writing doesn’t even come near the surface in the film. Granted, the movie does follow the story line fairly well, but it lacks so much of the meaning intended.
Nothing like a two-hour movie to ruin a good 300-page novel.
All in all, I sincerely recommend reading the book first… then don’t watch the movie (which I guess is probably “okay” if you don’t know any better).
Here's what I hate, when they plaster the pictures of the movie characters on the cover of the book. I prefer my own images, thank you.
So now, Marley & Me is available for my viewing pleasure, but I haven’t read the book by Josh Grogan, which is what I would really prefer rather than acquire the taint of movie-murdering before I read. I suppose in this case, it really doesn’t matter, I’m gonna sob at one point or another. Any movie, or book, involving animals (animated or otherwise) almost always jacks up Kleenex brand’s profits on my behalf.
I just finished, Dewey, the Small-Town Library Cat Who Touched the World, by Vicki Myron. Dang if I didn’t cry my eyes to puffiness at the end of the story. (And the middle when another beloved pet was put down.)
The cat lived 19 wondrous years!
The reader knows from the start what happens at the end, nothing tragic, but it doesn’t matter. I still wept, even though Mr. Man, who was napping beside me as I finished the memoir, would most likely note my eyes, suddenly with lack of make-up and horribly puffy, and I would look totally different when he woke up. Hey, love is blind, right?
Dewey is a charming, quick read. Probably not one I’ll want to read again (unless they botch the movie version). But if you like cats and libraries, and I suppose it helps if you’re from the Midwest, it’s worth the effort (and tears).
Still, Bees is much better. And, thankfully, I don’t recall crying at the death of any insects.
Oh wait… Charlotte, dear Charlotte!
Oh geeze, don’t get me started. That's a whole different story.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
I just heard it. Mr. Man pronounces my name, which is Wendi (WHEN-dee... you know, like in Peter Pan), “Windy” (WIN-dee... as in gusts of air).
Why does this bother me? I'm not sure.
Perhaps it bothers me that I hadn’t noticed before? (And we’ve known each other for how long… nine years?)
Perhaps because he thinks wind is the only thing blowing around in my head making the name more appropriate? Could be true at times.
I’ve certainly been called “Windy” many times before by people who don’t matter, but by my own sweetheart, all the time? And when I finally caught it and corrected him, he shrugged it off like it doesn’t matter. :-/
Maybe I should retaliate and call Mr. Man (Tony), Tuney… or better yet, Teeny!
I guess I should be happy he at least spells my name, Wendi (with an "i"), correctly (but not always). Grrrr.
(Teeny... that's a good one, [tee-hee] but not true ! It wouldn't reform him anyway.)
Oh well. I guess I better just blow this one off.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Anyway, there I was with my five items in the “express” line of about a million people. When it was my turn, I noticed a hand-written notice at the register saying, “Cash only. No debit or credit. Sowy.”
I read the sign slowly aloud to myself…
“Cash only. No debit or credit. Sowy.”
Oh! It’s supposed to be sorry!
Well, being the English language aficionado that I am, I very politely asked the young, Hispanic male checker if he knew that the word “sorry” on the sign was spelled incorrectly.
“Oh,” he said laughing with nary a Hispanic (or Oriental) accent, “I wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be with a ‘y’ or an ‘ie’.”
Gee, I wonder if his high school English teachers were sowy to see the genius go?
(Is it wrong for me to assume Vons requires a high school diplomma to work there?)