Thoughtful Thursday

I don't know if you are aware of it, but a certain singer/songwriter/artist/awesome Canadian known as Leonard Cohen is a bit of a big deal around these here parts.

A national treasure, our Leonard. A Renaissance man.

Not only did he have a much-talked about gallery showing here recently, he also had a critically-acclaimed concert. The press loves him. He's friendly, aloof, mysterious, open.

And he writes some pretty amazing lyrics.

I noticed in today's paper than one of his musical associates, Jennifer Warnes, is going to be coming here. She and he have a real mutual musical admiration society going on.

The irksome advertisement for the event is what caught my eye - "First Lenny, now Jenny!".

Ack.

This so does not befit such fine artists.

To somehow make up for this, today's Thoughtful Thursday will be an exquisite collaboration of the two - lyrics by Lenny!

Vocals by Jenny!

Bird on a Wire
Like a bird on the wire,
like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free.

Like a fish on a hook,
like a knight from an old fashioned book
I have saved all my ribbons for thee.

If I have been unkind,
I hope that you could just let it go by.
And if I have been untrue
I hope you know it was never to you. No, no

Like a baby, stillborn,
like a beast with his horn
I have torn everyone who reached out for me.

But I swear by this song
By all I have done wrong
I'll make it all up to you. Yes I will

I saw a beggar leaning on his wooden crutch,
He called out to me, "Don't ask for so much."
And a young man leaning on his darkened door,
He cried out to me, "Hey, why not ask for more?"

Like a bird on the wire,
Like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free.

May you all have a fine day, straddling that balance between not asking for enough and asking for too much.

Time to Go

It is a firm tenet within the vonBloggenschtern household that without rules, anarchy is just a whisper away.

So, while we haven't exactly created a gulag environment, we do maintain a certain structure and order and, thusly, have erected boundaries that have been carefully chosen for both their intellectual merit and common sensical value.

Take the vonB policy on the social contract involving weddings, for example.

(I love weddings, by the way. Without fail, I tear up when the bride makes her entrance. Just lovely.)

The Baron and I will always give a gift equivalent of at least the cost (plus a little) of the catered meals provided to us. We are, however, not really big on large soirees. It could be because we don't like noisy crowds. It could be because neither of us can stand not being the center of attention.

Regardless, we have devised a non-negotiable exit strategy. And it does not involve:
a) drunk babysitters (our 'children' are 16 & 19 year old boys- this fascinating scenario we would just let run its natural course),
b) early flights, or
c) feigned illness.

It's strictly legit.

Should the bride and groom's choice of DJ deign to play any of these songs: "La Bamba", "Pretty Woman", or "Old Time Rock and Roll"?

We are outta there.

To us, the trotting out of these old chestnuts is the beginning of the end, anyway. We feel that should the evening be proceeding so abysmally that these songs need to be played, the DJ is clearly losing the crowd and is making a desperation ploy to get all of the old folks out on the floor.

You know the ones.

The plaid-polyester-panted, pommaded uncles and the bosomy, chiffon-0-rama aunties.

The 'Funky Chicken' crowd.

Ack.

So once we hear the first "Duh Duh Duh Duh duh duh duh" keyboard intro and begin to envision Tom Cruise sliding around in his tighty whities, we're gone.

We once actually left the reception just after the first dance.

"Pretty Woman, walkin' down the street"...

Pretty vonB's, walkin' to their car.

Sad, really.

(The choice of music, I mean)

I've now decided that another rule is to be established within vonB world.

This pertains to the "news" about the flagging economy.

What. The. Hell?

This is life, people. This is not news, any more than "This just in - there is air outside" or "Today at dawn, the sun rose. Sources reveal it may set at dusk. News at 11."

I've now decided that any time I read or hear the following phrases: "In this economic climate",
"In these tough times", "During our current recession", I no longer will continue reading or listening.

Yeah.

I'm down to listening to All Traffic Radio, and watching my old "Gumby and Pokey" videos.

Just, of course, until this financial downturn rights itself.

Damn.

Time to go.

My People will be in Touch with Your People

"It would appear, " she smoothly proclaimed , rubbing her hands together greedily, "that very, very soon I will be a very, very rich woman."

You know.

The class action suit I'm planning on launching, based on the article I just read in the latest Entertainment Weekly.

The very article that says that The Baroness will be appearing in the August 7th movie debut of G.I. Joe.

What the deuce?

Please forgive me, but I have no recollection of:
a) being struck by a blunt instrument near the area of my cranium that makes good judgment calls, thereby
b) subsequently taking leave of my senses for 4 months straight and filming this movie.

Nor do I recall being asked for permission to use my name or my likeness:

(photo source: firstshowing.net)

Believe me, if I had to suit up in that cowhide every damn day? I would remember.
(and BTW? I would never in a million years allow myself to be made brunette - too Autumn; I'm more of a Spring)

(Just a little FYI for my fans)

(You're welcome).

The ultimate slap in the face? The choice of casting of this for this character, of which I was never consulted.

Who would I have chosen? Someone ferocious.

Someone brilliant.

Someone by turns funny and alluring.

Someone, well - me.

Someone distinctly not Sienna Miller.

Ack.

(Although, she does kind of rock that little leather ensemble of mine...)

I digress.

(constantly)

While we patiently wait for our windfall, my husband came up with a great cross-promotion marketing strategy - the shameless tapping of the the fanboy market.

Hence, from now on, I will be including labels for my posts that will direct all of the fans desperately seeking the Baroness over this way.

This should make the time pass quickly, non?

Thoughtful Thursday

Being the Class A windbag that I am, there are few things more attractive to me than the multi-syllable word.

Who says the art of conversation is moribund (dying)? Not I.

There are so many interesting choices to make - why go the terse route?

Yesterday, one of the charming words in the NY Times Crossword was "osculate", a synonym for 'kiss'. How can anyone not love 'osculate' (or osculating, for that matter)? It sounds complicated, vaguely scientific, and slightly naughty all rolled into one. Just like what a kiss is all about.

By strewing words (talking) hither and thither (much better than here and there), I am doing my small part to keep the atmosphere (i/o air) glutted (full) of marvelous (good) vowels and consonants (words). And while I become the good, the bad, and/or the irksome myself - well, it does my soul good.

So, when hunting down this week's TT, it was not so much the quote itself - which is quite lovely by itself - but the author's moniker.

Why go by the name Couch, when you can be Chesterfield?

"While I can crawl upon this planet I think myself obliged to d0 what good I can, in my narrow domestic spheres, to my fellow creatures, and to wish them all the good I cannot do."

Lord Chesterfield

Thoughtful Thursday

It has been well-documented by scientific types that do real important stuff that as a human ages, they require less and less sleep.

I figure that by the time I'm 93 years old? 8 hours should do me just about right.

As another plus (other than this) to my Compulsive Obsessive Attention Deficit High Distractibility Spring Cleaning, I have been coming across some really apt quotes. I guess there is a reason that I became a crazy lady magazine hoarder after all...

On the subject of that delicious treat of squandered time, the nap:

"I count it as an absolute certainty that in paradise, everyone naps. A nap is a perfect pleasure and it's useful, too. It splits the day into two halves, making each half more manageable and enjoyable. How much easier it is to work in the morning if we know we have a nap to look forward to after lunch; and how much more pleasant the late afternoon and evening become after a little sleep. If you know there is a nap to come later in the day, then you can banish for ever that terrible sense of doom one feels at 9 AM with eight hours of straight toil ahead. Not only that, but the nap can offer a glimpse into a twilight nether world where gods play and dreams happen."
excerpt from 'How to Be Idle', by Tom Hodgkinson

I sincerely wish that, amid the cacophony of life's squawking and the steady slow ebbing of your natural resources sometime around 2 pm, you are able to take a few moments to lay down your head and make your dreams happen.

The Gift That Keeps on Giving (really!)

Now, you all know how I feel about him:
And him:

Oh, and him:

But what you may not know is this.

I am so mad for this little imp:

that I discovered, whilst Obsessive-Compulsive, Attention Deficit/High-Distractability Spring Cleaning that I actually have 2 copies of the fine piece of literature devoted to this sexy beast, "Bat Boy Lives".

Hunh. How about that?

Love him!

That much.

An-n-n-n-nd. . . hard as it is for me to share (so intrinsically against my nature), in a gesture of Springtime bonhomie, I am willing to put it up for grabs to whomever is enough of a BB aficionado to tell me what glorious publication brought dude to the limelight in the first place. (No Googling, people!).

This is me, being unselfish. Don't blink.

Nurse - 10 cc's of Amusement - STAT!

C'mon. It's just you and me here.

Just me. And you.

Admit it.

Confess - bold-faced or ashamedly- that you have at least once in your life watched "ER".

Maybe you liked the drama. Maybe you dug Clooney's revolutionary hairstyle, the "Et tu, Brute?". Maybe you secretly wished that you and Nurse Hathaway could play "Where am I hiding the thermometer today?".

Maybe you had some sort of drinking game going - a Jagermeister shot every time they yelled for a CBC panel and tox screenl. Who knows?

As of last night's final episode, it's the end of an era. To all the plethora of fine medical staff and trotted-out guest stars that ever graced the linoleum of County General Hospital (with the exception of Eriq LaSalle, who was always such a miserable feminine hygiene product), we raise a glass of O positive/Shiraz to you.

And to the writers who culled stories from both the headlines and from "Obscure Medical Freak Diagnoses of the 20th Century", we say thank you. Most of the time.

Just think, though. Had you dug deep enough to chat with Dr. MacDonald, Dr. Byrnes, Dr. Steinberg, Dr. St. Clair, Dr. Swanson, Dr. Kransdorf, or Jane Doe the Mystery RN, you could have possibly had enough material to drag out the show for one more season.

Our loss.

From the "Medical Oops" files:

1. A man comes into the ER and yells, "My wife's going to have her baby in the cab!" I grabbed my stuff, rushed out to the cab, Lifted the lady's dress, and began to take off her underwear. Suddenly I noticed that there were several cabs ------and I was in the wrong one.

Submitted by Dr. Mark MacDonald, San Francisco


2. At the beginning of my shift I placed a stethoscope on an elderly and slightly deaf female patient's anterior chest wall. "Big breaths," I instructed. "Yes, they used to be," replied the patient.

Submitted by Dr. Richard Byrnes, Seattle , WA


3. One day I had to be the bearer of bad news when I told a Wife that her husband had died of a massive myocardial infarct. Not more than five minutes later, I heard her reporting to the rest of the family that he had died of a "massive internal fart".

Submitted by Dr. Susan Steinberg


4. During a patient's two week follow-up appointment with his cardiologist, he informed me, his doctor, that he was having trouble with one of his medications. "Which one?" I asked. "The patch, the Nurse told me to put on a new one every six hours and now I'm running out of places to put it!" I had him quickly undress and discovered what I hoped I wouldn't see. Yes, the man had over fifty patches on his body! The instructions now include removal of the old patch before applying a new one.

Submitted by Dr. Rebecca St. Clair, Norfolk , VA


5. While acquainting myself with a new elderly patient, I asked, "How long have you been bedridden?" After a look of complete confusion she answered "Why, not for about twenty years - when my husband was alive."

Submitted by Dr. Steven Swanson- Corvallis , OR


6. I was performing rounds at the hospital one morning and while checking up on a woman I asked, "So how's your breakfast this morning?" "It's very good, except for the Kentucky Jelly. I can't seem to get used to the taste" the patient replied. I then asked to see the jelly and the woman produced a foil packet labeled "KY Jelly."

Submitted by Dr. Leonard Kransdorf, Detroit, MI


7. A nurse was on duty in the Emergency Room when a young woman with purple hair styled into a punk rocker Mohawk, sporting a variety of tattoos, and wearing strange clothing, entered. It was quickly determined that the patient had acute appendicitis, so she was scheduled for immediate surgery. When she was completely disrobed on the operating table, the staff noticed that her pubic hair had been dyed green, and above it there was a tattoo that read, "Keep off the grass. "Once the surgery was completed, the surgeon wrote a short note on the patient's dressing, which said, "Sorry, had to mow the lawn."

Submitted by RN no name

Thoughtful Thursday

One of my dear friends, the Good Countess KR (a.k.a. The Book Pusher), is of the mind that once one's conversation veers towards the topic of the weather, any level of intelligence has evaporated from the interaction, and the talking is over.

Kaput.

Goodbye.

But I can't help it. I have become obsessed with the weather and its changing trends. Around these parts, things have definitely been on the weird side, so I can't help but think that this isn't one of those "once every 20 years" scenarios. Gah.

While poring over books to try to validate my suspicions, I instead discovered that I have yet another detractor - KR is in good company, indeed. He's been around since 1842, so he really knows where it's at.

Ambrose Bierce, in his 1911 Devil's Dictionary, describes weather thusly:

Weather, n. The climate of an hour. A permanent topic of conversation among persons whom it does not interest, but who have inherited the tendency to chatter about it from naked ancestors whom it keenly concerned. The setting up of official weather bureaus and their maintenance in mendacity prove that even governments are accessible to suasion by the rude forefathers of the jungle.

Oogah boogah, Mr. Bierce. Clad in my stylish banana leaf bikini, I shake my shrunken-head-on-a-stick at you.

Also following this [somewhat hurtful] description is a somewhat more apt ode to meteorlogists written by Halcyon Jones:

Once I dipt into the future far as human eye could see,
And I saw the Chief Forecaster, dead as anyone can be -
Dead and damned and shut in Hades as a liar from his birth,
With a record of unreason seldom paralleled on earth.
While I looked he reared him solemnly, that incandescent youth,
From the coals that he'd preferred to the advantages of truth.
He cast his eyes about him and above him; then he wrote
On a slab of thin asbestos what I venture here to quote -
For I read it in the rose-light of the everlasting glow:
"Cloudy; variable winds, with local showers; cooler; snow."

May there be sunshine and warmth in your day today.

Oogah boogah.

What Happens Between 8 & 9?

As I sit here in my turret, trying to reconnect with the land of the living, once again I'm conflicted- do I have something clever to write, or should I just throw some caca out there and fingerpaint on the wall?

Given that I'm still not bringing my A-game, I'll choose option B.

Caca at the ready, and-d-d-d fling:

Can I just tell you, without having my tummy lurch as I even type this sentence, that I love, love, love Denny's for breakfast?

Without meaning to sprinkle my post with subtle innuendo, I'm a Grand Slam kind-of-gal. (ok, maybe there's just a titch of intention here - I need to get my readership back up...)

Today, though, it's all bacon and eggs, baby. And some sensible multi-grain toast.

And that naughty, sticky Welch's Grape Jelly.

Oh, yes....

Oops, sorry. Got a little carried away. I do so love breakfast in a diner-like setting.

An-n-n--nywaysssssssss, on a recent visit, waiting for my order, I realize that I don't have any reading material with me. Which puts me into a slight panic mode. Because I always need something to read.

So, I look at the dessert menu: turtle pie, some Oreo-festooned caloric nightmare, something constructed almost entirely out of whipping cream, with 2 token strawberries thrown in for color.

And then this notice catches my eye:

So, Denny's, I have a few questions:

1. Are people In Washington State that in need of happiness that you are compelled to offer 2 sessions?

2. Are you planning a morning session? Because I can be here by 11.

3. What exactly happens between 8 & 9 PM?

Ew.