How Mrs. Linklater Resolves Conflict

So a guy I've known for a long long time got mad at me several weeks ago. Apparently I whined too much about MY problems instead of listening to HIM the last time we talked.

A "discussion" ensued that got so heated and one-sided that I put the phone down on the pillow so i didn't have to listen to him. Needless to say, we haven't spoken since.

Today I called and left him a message on his voicemail.  "Are you still mad at me?" I asked.  He EMAILED me instead of calling me back. Here is what he said:

Until you acknowledge what you did, take responsibility for it and (here's a new word) apologize, there's no need to call. In the meantime, please feel free to congratulate yourself all you want for your good intentions. 

HERE IS MY REPLY TO HIS EMAIL:

Haaaaaaaaaaaaa.  Not happening, apology boy.  I did NOTHING that a normal person would consider wrong, except commit the crime of not being concerned enough about some man's ego. For which I received punishment in excess of the crime committed.

YOU on the otherhand had a meltdown of astronomical proportion well beyond anything attributable to me.

Have a nice life. 

I love using words like they're napalm. He knows I'm not kidding. I don't care if I NEVER speak to him again. Truly. In the past, years have gone by after he pissed me off. Until he decided to call ME again. And putting this "conversation" in my journal is evidence that I don't care if he falls off the earth for good. Again.

Meanwhile, hanging out my dirty laundry here isn't nearly as much fun if he isn't going to read it. Darn. I don't know whether he stops by my journal or not. If he has, he's always done it in stealth mode.

Oh, well. S**t happens.

DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT

Click on anything in those ad banners above and I will personally track you down and make you eat Thanksgiving dinner every night for a year.  

MRS. LINKLATER GIVES IT HER BEST OVER AT BLOGSPOT

You can read Mrs. Linklater's latest attempt to rectify unsightly advice column advice here:

Ask Mrs Linklater POKER FACE Edition

If you can't link, screw it. She's tired of messing with this stuff today.

Who Knew I Had Such Thoughtful Readers?

A mathematically inclined reader of my journal did the calculations on how much weight I would gain if I continued at my Thanksgiving rate of ten pounds every seven days.

He said I would pile on 474.5 pounds more by this time next year. I'm so lucky to have friends like YOU and you know who YOU ARE.

Since having juice on the plane ride back this morning I haven't eaten anything. It's been eight hours and I can still taste the sopapillas from last night's dinner. Maybe I have seven stomachs and just didn't know it.

I haven't been hungry all day. I wonder when it'll kick in again.

By the way my nephew hasn't been born yet. Since he was already estimated at seven and a half pounds three weeks ago, he's going to be a big one by his due date next week.

He's going to love Thanksgiving.

IN YOUR DREAMS

All you folks who think the banners are gone should probably realize they're NOT.

The only change coming is the "disclaimer" which will be rolled out at four in the morning Wednesday -- according to Journals Editor Joe, at least. Bet he thought he had an easy job about a month ago.

I, too, didn't have any banners for a heartbeat or so. Then a bunch of new ones showed up. Disappeared. Showed up. Disappeared. It's AOL's version of a lap dance. Lots of teasing.

They're sticking their butts in our faces and saying na na na na na.

Wait till the advertisers find out there aren't really 600,000 journals -- active, readable ones at least -- on AOL.  If there is one tenth that amount I will be shocked.

I would love to know what kind of BS-level target audience numbers were foisted on the companies that are paying for those banners.

Did they use our hit counters that jump to 50,000 and drop to zero in one breath to represent the amount of readership?  Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!! 

How were the totals skewed and twisted to convince those gullible marketing veeps that their reach and frequency would merit the expense they're forking out?

What a crock.

The Saturday Six Fat Ass Edition

I've gained ten pounds in seven days. I can hibernate now.

1. Have you ever had a dream that you felt was a message from some "higher power?" Do you think it's possible to receive such messages through dreams?

I have flying dreams, where I'm flying higher in the sky than everyone else. Do they count?

2. How much does a person's musical preference tell you about them?

Country -- pilots, commandos and Texans. Classical -- Ivy Leaguers and old people. Hip Hop -- white teens. Rhythm and blues -- people who watch PBS. What other kind of music is there?

3. What time did you get up Friday morning? Were you part of the shopping madness?

Woke up at six in the morning. Turned on the TV. Tried to come up with a caption for the New Yorker weekly cartoon caption contest. Failed. Made some calls. Lay in bed until ten. Wouldn't shop on Black Friday EVER.

4. Take this quiz: What religion do you fit in with?

Educated guess -- none. Took the test:

Spiritualism

Your ideals are mostly spiritual, but in an individualistic way. While spirituality is very important in your life, organized religion itself may not be for you. It is best for you to seek these things on your own terms.

5. Is the answer you received the religion you feel you really do fit in with?

Yep.

6. READER'S CHOICE QUESTION #77 from Globetrotter2: Do you have any special nicknames for your significant other when you're annoyed or irritated with them? If so, give us a few of them (NO PROFANITY, please).

Dildo -- for anyone who ever qualifies as a significant other. And it's down hill from there. What a nice question to follow the one on religion. 

Dabawabadooolaalala

The Fourth or Fifth Day of Thanksgiving

I read somewhere that AOL has 600,000 journals. That CANNOT be possible.

It's almost nine o'clock in the evening here. I think we only have one more meal scheduled tonight. So there may be enough time to get a quick entry in before I start an infusion of Zantac, Tums, and Rolaids. 

The first birthday party for my college roomie's granddaughter yesterday was a huge success. Birthday gift: $40.00.  Birthday cake and ice cream: $30.00. Eight adults singing Itsy Bitsy Spider for a two foot tall person who walks like Frankenstein: Priceless.

Tonight we did Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and Baa Baa Black Sleep for my niece. Her dad danced around the living room with her to Frank Sinatra singing New York New York while everybody else sang the chorus. 

Perusing my alerts, I noticed the lovely Yakvette of DO I AMUSE YOU? [See Other Journals for the link] is about to celebrate her 25th wedding anniversary.  She's still in her forties. Or at least she says she is. Haaaaaaa. I didn't even make it to ten years the first time around. If I got married again tomorrow, I'd be 87 before I could celebrate two and half decades of marital bliss. Make that marriage. I'm not sure about the bliss. Not to mention how annoying the pregnancies would be. 

Ohhhh -- I smell garlic. Someone must be cooking. Or my breath has become a biohazard.

 

 

 

The Third Day Of Thanksgiving

Check out thisismary's contribution to the ongoing debate about ad banners. She actually has a useful idea. Instead of our usual pissing and moaning. At least my pissing and moaning.

Now on to really important matters:

Three fabulous days of excessive meals in a row. Is this a perfect holiday or what? 

Last night was an evening of grilled filet mignon wrapped in bacon. Even the bacon tasted good. My sis-in-law had a taste for real wild rice [not the Uncle Ben's version that has about three grains] with sauteed mushrooms -- the large orangy ones that look like some sort of unfortunate growth removed at a dermatologist's office. Compared to most wild rice, this was the instant stuff, only taking forty five minutes to cook, not three days. The rest of our plate had an excellent spinach salad tossed with balsamic vinagrette. Everything was washed down with champagne. I actually had two glasses, a rare occurrence.

My contribution?  Homemade chocolate chip cookies made with bittersweet Ghirardelli chocolate, with the claim of 60% cocoa on the front of the chips package. That cocoa thing is a secret message that I haven't deciphered. Actually, regular old semi sweet chips aren't as expensive. And taste almost the same. So what was I thinking?

My niece joined us for dinner as usual. At seventeen months she has a very sophisticated palate. I'm sorry I didn't take a picture of her eating artichoke leaves the other night. She scrapes the ends of the leaves against her teeth, like a huge shingle. She also loves avocados. And asks for kiwis. Last night she stuck her little kid fork into her pieces of steak and was very proud of her accomplishment. She finished her wild rice, and drank almost all her mom's seltzer water out of a glass, too. All of it accompanied by lots of clapping.

She doesn't get many sugary things, but her dad offered her a bite of a chocolate chip cookie. In a heartbeat she had grabbed the whole thing from him and refused to give it back. NO!  Then shoved it all into her mouth like a shredder. She couldn't chew there was so much. Yep, got a picture of that one, but you'll have to wait. The whole uploading thing.

I found out my college roommate is in town here visiting her son and his wife. They're the same age as my brother and his wife. They're all lawyers. And their daughter's first birthday party is today.  Par-tay!!!

Ooops. My brother just came up to announce breakfast.  Dutch Babies and sausage.  Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.  The food continues.

 

 

 

 

  

 

     

Don't Die With The Music Still In You

It sounds like AOL is trying to make amends by promising to release upgrades, changes, etc., with announcements ahead of time. So no surprises. They still don't get it, do they?

Earth to AOL.  It's not the shock of suddenly having banners. It's the BANNERS.

Well, the feeding frenzy started early. Last night, Thanksgiving Eve, my bro made veal piccata [Ooops, PETA members avert your eyes], steamed artichokes with an anchovy, butter, olive oil and garlic sauce I have to look up because I can't spell it, a celery root and tomato concoction he created that was wonderful, rice with orzo, which I keep calling Ouzo, and haricots verts, the really skinny French green beans. 

It was a meal ten times removed from anything resembling Thanksgiving.  Except for the green beans. 

He decided to brine the turkey. So it's been sitting in a huge pot of salty water in the fridge overnight. I hear brined turkey tastes delicious. But it just sounds like it's going to make me retain water. Well, what's the point of being a woman if you can't be bloated from time to time.

Meanwhile, as I'm typing, he brought me a plate of "smelly French cheese."  About six cubes of the stuff. Very tasty. And, smelly.

He thinks the cheese is Contina. Is that really French, I ask? Probably not, he answers from the kitchen. But it's definitely stinky.

The dressing [stuffing, whatever] was made with fresh foccacia croutons, olive oil, Italian spices, garlic salt, carrot, celery, dried cranberry, chorizo, apple, chestnut puree, a little cognac, butter, sage, thyme, homemade chicken broth and probably some other stuff I forgot. 

He's already finished the fresh cranberry sauce with sliced apple for the pectin to thicken it and there's a smidge of cognac again. Earlier he cut up the white potatoes and of course we can't forget sweet potatoes, which will be "infused with vanilla bean and cream" -- haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!

We're also having braised brussels sprouts with olive oil, onions, garlic, red pepper flakes, and jalpeno pepper, along with homemade creamed onions. We'll start with homemade oyster stew.

He will be making pumpkin ricotta pie for dessert, with pumpkins he baked himself. Puree one pumpkin and fold into the ricotta for filling.  The topping is pumpkin with marscapone cheese. The cheese is whipped with pumpkin syrup -- pumpkin boiled with sugar, and spices and folded in the marscapone -- then dolloped on top. Did I mention the candied pumpkin on the side?

He just showed me the basting butter for the turkey -- sage, garlic, rosemary, thyme, and a little pepper. The butter for the mashed potatoes has rosemary and garlic in it, which  will be strained to keep the rosemary thingys out of your teeth, not to mention the garlic.

Cooking is his hobby. He loves it. I love that he loves it. His wife and mother do too. All we have to do is set the table. 

The title of this entry was something I heard on PBS this morning as I was waking up. No doubt it resonated because today is a holiday to give thanks. 

I am thankful a friend of mine once said that she thought I was one of the few people she knew who would not die with the music still inside me. Today is a good day to remind me of how I used to live my life. Lately I've had to ignore the music I hear.

Maybe it's time to ride through the Wasatch mountains on the back of a Harley, listening only to the wind and the echoes of my mind.    

Happy Thanksgiving.

 

The Clintons' Massage Therapist

AOL isn't listening. What else is new? Now they want to put a disclaimer up on our banners. "The writer of this journal thinks these ads suck." Or something like that. As if that will make us like the ads better. Don't they know you can't put lipstick on this pig?   

Washington DC, where I'm doing the turkey thing, has as many celebrities of the political kind as LA has of the Hollywood kind.

Only in a Costco in DC would I meet the massage therapist to the Clinton White House -- at least he claimed he was -- who managed to tell me right away that he refused to have traditional anesthesia for an operation he needed, opting for an epidural so he would be awake. 

Why am I telling you this? So you can be as flabbergasted as I was. I was just looking for giant jars of Nutella when he chatted me up.  

Ultimately he chose the epidural because, he whispered, he didn't want to reveal any information he had about Monica Lewinsky while he was under a general anesthetic.  I guess the guy talks in his sleep.

I must look like I'm from out of town and would be easily impressed.

Who needs Match.com? Costco on Wednesday before Thanksgiving is the place to meet your soulmate. 

Or somebody very strange.

MRS LINKLATER EATS ADVICE COLUMNISTS AT BLOGSPOT

http://askmrslinklater.blogspot.com/

The link above is where all future Ask Mrs. Linklater columns will live now. Mrs. Linklater's Guide will remain here to be a pain in the arse to AOL whenever possible.

Meanwhile, her opinionated-ness will reside over the other place until AOL gets rid of the ad banners.

Like that's going to happen.

Meanwhile, don't miss the TUB O' GUTS edition now playing.

HEY AOL FIXED SOMETHING

Notice the larger type in the previous entry.  Apparently AOL fixed its FIREFOX screw up which happened when they launched the Ad Banners.

They still scuk.

Thanksgiving

This year Thanksgiving falls on the 24th of November. 

The 24th of November is the day that my stepmother and dad got married..

The 24th of November is the day that one of my brothers was born.

The 24th of November is the day my Uncle Archie was killed in 1932 on one of his last days of training in the Army Air Corps. His wingman hit him and when he bailed out his parachute got caught on something and he went down with his plane.

Two weeks ago my pregnant sister in law was told that her baby wasn't 34 weeks along, he was 38 weeks along. This week is her fortieth week. She's full term. Tomorrow she'll be at the doctor about the time I fly in. 

I'm wondering if we're going to have something else to commemorate on the 24th again.

Hey, Doc, can you hold off on your turkey so we can fit another November 24th anniversary in?

My brother planned to do the meal this year. I've enjoyed several years off by going to visit my friends and family.  But this baby may have other plans for him.

Wait a minute. That means I may be cooking the turkey. Do you dare me to make that Campbell's green bean and mushroom soup side dish?  Haaaaaaaaaaaa.

How about if I serve a can of jellied cranberry sauce pushed out of the can onto a glass dish so you can see the rings around it. Always a nice touch. I could use Potato Buds too -- instead of peeling and cooking the real thing. Is there a recipe for microwave turkey?

So what's your favorite dish from Thanksgiving that you remember best? Or like to cook most? I will always love mashed potatoes and gravy. My favorite to cook and eat.

I can't wait for a respite from the goodness of my sushi and chicken with steamed vegetables world.  Whether I end up cooking or not.

Have a great holiday. 


  

Today's Lesson

Mrs. Linklater read this over at Misscarberry's [SAM] journal -- No Longer Sweet Sixteen

Hope you'll settle for a URL, since links are not possible here: http://journals.aol.col.uk/misscarberry/NoLongerSweetSixteen

Let me double check it before you cut and paste. I don't know if there are caps involved. There are, I added them and cutting and pasting should work.


Here's the Thought For The Day I found at her place:


MEN HAVE TWO EMOTIONS:  HUNGRY AND HORNY. IF YOU SEE HIM WITHOUT AN ERECTION. MAKE HIM A SANDWICH.


Naturally, after I fell down laughing because I've been making a lot of sandwiches, this made me wonder what the female version might be. Here's my first one.  Maybe I can come up with something better later.


WOMEN HAVE TWO EMOTONS; SHOPPING AND PMS. IF SHE SAYS SHE HATES YOU AND WISHES YOU WERE DEAD, PUT A BAG OVER HER HEAD.  

Hey, that rhymes.  

What's yours?

We Can Learn From The Past

Remember the Tylenol fiasco in 1982? You can read about it here: http://iml.jou.ufl.edu/projects/Spring01/Hogue/tylenol.html  -- AOL won't let me do links because I'm on a MAC unless I use FIREFOX.  When they launched the banners they screwed up FIREFOX too.  So you will have to cut and paste, Sorry.

Anyway, somebody put cyanide in Tylenol capsules and seven people died.  They never actually pinned the murders on anybody, but there was a suspect for a long time.

But, the point is, Tylenol did one of the best PR jobs ever to make its customers feel safe in using their products again.

Think about it, would you want to use a pill that had killed people?  But they put lots of failsafe measures in place, triple sealing the cap, and ultimately removing the capsules from the shelves, switching to caplets, whatever it took.

Plus the president went on the air with commercials to deal with consumer confidence concerns.  Anyway, they cared about the people that used their product and did whatever it took to keep them as customers.


Imagine if Tylenol had been owned by AOL.  Haaaaaaaaaaaa.

Okay, we're getting reports some people died using our stuff. How many?  Seven, maybe?  Out of how many customers?  Millions. Come on, big deal. Who needs 'em.  As for making our product more user safe and/or friendly, why bother?  They'll learn how to sniff for the telltale signs of cyanide when they open up the bottle.  Why should we have to go to the expense of putting seals on our containers.  That costs money.  Our money.

And we're in the business of making money, not spending it.  

How long do you think it would take for Tylenol to be out of business?

Here's an irony.  Apparently AOL has lost over 600,000 paying customers in the last three months.  

How many journals are there?  Two thousand?  Even if we all left at once, who would notice. We're  a pimple on their butts.  We have to figure out a way to make a big festering sore out of this.

Maybe we should take a lesson from Tylenol.  Someone needs to die.

Any volunteers?  

AOL CONSPIRACY?

I wanted to create a link to my new blog.

So I cllicked EDIT in my OTHER JOURNALS sidebar.

I cut and pasted the URL.

I clicked save.

It wouldn't link.

I clicked EDIT again.

I noticed that there was no URL only http://.  I erased that.

Hmm, did I make a mistake.

I pasted the URL in place again. Double checked it.

The same thing happened.  AGAIN.

This occurred four different times.  Well, we're up to eight now.  Twelve, now.

I enter the URL and it vanishes, leaving only http://.

Is there something I don't know?  

I'm sure if there is, someone will tell me.

Meanwhile, the reason I will leave AOL isn't the banners.  Although that's reason enough.
It isn't the fact that the services I pay for are offered to AIM users for free.

It isn't that AOL seems non responsive to our needs while they ram their new initiatives down our throats.

It's that on a day to day basis, the techs are idiots.  They break things that aren't broken. They come up with new bells and whistles they like, but can't add stuff we want, llike Spellcheck or a greater variety of fonts or fonts that don't default to other fonts., etc.  

Their recent implementation of the controversial banners has farked up my ability to post entries COMPLETELY.

WHAT ARE BETA JOURNALS FOR -- EXCEPT TO IRON OUT THESE KINKS AHEAD OF TIME.

And now I can't create a link to my new blog.

F-word F-word F-word F-word.

By the way did you know that on TV the censors will let you say someone is a DICK, but you can't say a penis is a DICK.

My New Blog

I have deicded to stay here for awhile.  

But I have started a new blog here:

http://askmrslinklater.blogspot.com/

Thanks to the new ad banners I can't post links at all here anymore. Or make the type big enough to read. Basically, I'm typing blind.

So I apologize for any typos or other inconveniences.  Unlike AOL.  

NOT GONE YET

I don't know what I'm going to do yet.  As soon as I get some free time I'll decide.  Feel free to stop by and comment while I'm going through purgatory here.

Meanwhile, the banners have not only screwed up my ability to save changes on FIREFOX.  

OKAY.  SUDDENLY MY LINK ICON, FONT GENERATOR, TYPE SIZE CHOICES, etc., etc. are BACK. So that reason for leaving is temporarily not on the table.  I just know it will come back. Uh-oh.  I just clicked SAVE and I can't save again.  I accessed my AOL by typing http://journals.aol.com/jevanslink/AskMrsLinklater/, made changes, added color, changed typefact, increased the font size and tried to save my changes.  No dice.

If I access my journal via FIREFOX another way, I can write in it, but not make changes. That way is to Google aol.com, sign in, go to Journals, write my screenname, click on one of my journal entries links that pops up and I can go to my journal.  But not add links, etc.

Why does AOL have BETA journals, if they haven't ironed out these kinks yet?

Whatever the techs did when they were launched has now removed my ability to create links, change typefaces, font size, add graphics, pretty much anything.

I can't wait to write to editor Joe with my problem and have him treat me like he's patting me on the head and I should take some aspirin and call him in the morning.

I'm not happy.  Don't want to leave.  Don't want to stay.

AOL CAN EAT MY DUST

Patrick [Pattboy 92] of Patrick's Place is shutting down.  But he's got a place for you to leave your new address if you're leaving.  One of the fallouts of this ad banner mess is that those of us with MACS have no access to creating links or making our typeface larger or changing it, etc., etc.,

So we have an additional reason to get out of town.  Apparently when the techs added the banners they fucked up our ability to save our edits on FIREFOX. A must when you've got a MAC and use AOL.  And since the only browser we can use to post our journal entries is now the one that came with our AOL software, which SUCKS if you're on a MAC, this is what you get. Tiny type. No color.  No graphics.  No pictures. No llinks.

Anyway -- OH LOOK, I'M ON A PC -- as I figure out how to create a journal at Blogger, in the midst of finishing up some work that's on deadline, go over to Pat's and see what's happening.  

http://journals.aol.com/pattboy92/PatricksPlace/  -- you have to cut and paste this. Or you can just use the link over in my Other Journals sidebar.

Check out the graphics at DragonRose3911's journal. Someone made a nice pile of shit that I can't wait to post in my Someone Pooped on My Lawn Entry.  But not until I can get to a PC and do that.  Since I can't cut and paste any graphics here, along with all the other stuff I mentioned earlier.

AOL SUCKS.

Where Is Cool Hand Luke When We Need Him?

I have led a few community groups in the past. I'm not volunteering now for this AOL debacle, however. Just trying to gather my thoughts on paper, or whatever this is.

I got a dog leash law in one town. You may not like me for that.  But the elderly lady around the corner couldn't walk to my house because she was accosted by dogs. My former husband was attacked at night when he ran.  And my kids couldn't play outside because my neighbor's overly friendly dog scared them. This isn't Colorado, Utah, Montana or Wyoming where dogs are people and can vote.

At the well attended hearing, my neighbor, who was opposed to the leash law stood up to say that his dog wouldn't hurt anyone, that he was very friendly and he stayed on the property, He finished with the classic dog owners' mantra: "Nobody has a problem with my dog." His dog was the one that was terrifying my children.

When he sat down, I stood up and said, "I have a problem with your dog."  The ordinance passed unanimously.  

I got a stop sign erected where no stop sign had ever been before, along a one mile stretch of narrow, winding road that people used as a shortcut. Unfortunate for those of us who lived on the road. Often the imprint of somebody's front grill was left on a tree, one in particular, especially on the weekends. The stop sign would at least slow them down, if only temporarily.

A group of women wanted to sign petitions and march on city hall. A large number met a my house and I said that ain't happening. So I had a questionnaire distributed along the entire road. That way everybody affected could have input. We got a fifty per cent response. A few days before the village board meeting I presented the returned questionnaires to them for their perusal.  And I showed up at the meeting alone. Before it began, I was called up ahead of time and told we could have a stop sign and I didn't need to stay.

Three years ago I said I would head up my neighborhood effort to make the village take responsibility for allowing a new construction homeowner to raise his grade and flood eight of our yards, ruining the entire lawn in a couple of cases.

We had three meetings where the village tried to say there was just extra rain or we had added vegetation that reduced drainage, blah blah blah. They made an offer. We could get things fixed for $1500 each. No thanks. I had to be careful as the leader of this group. As the only divorced person, let alone a woman over fifty who lives alone, I knew that I couldn't come across as a bitch with an ax to grind. It was true, but they didn't have to know.

So I played my best hand at the last meeting. One of my neighbors had just had a baby. She was in flames about losing her back yard to mud. She was a former flight attendant who had married a college football star. Think Nicole Kidman and a tall Tom Cruise. There were lots of comments at the gathering about how great she looked for having such a little baby. She got up in front of those bozos, holding her three week old infant in her arms and rearranged all their sphinctors in about two minutes. When she was done screeching at them in a voice from Hell, she sat down and the room was silent. I didn't have to say a word. Somehow the village found a way to solve our problem for free. Nothing like an angry woman with a baby.

I guess what I'm saying is that we have to get creative to fight these banners.

First of all, instead of boycotting AOL, I would boycott their advertisers. You can't make changes by leaving.

The larger issue here is that AOL often seems disinclined to ask our opinion before they do things. And only a members' advocate[s] can rectify this failure to communicate.

I'm thinking of a person who is a combination of Norma Rae and Cool Hand Luke. Who rides a motorcycle like Steve McQueen. [If you have to ask who Steve McQueen is, stop reading now and rent The Great Escape]. Someone who won't run to another blog site. Someone who will stand and fight.  

Let's be honest, one thing it helps to have is money. Money, as everyone knows, is power. That's why I am stepping up to the plate tonight.

And buying a Mege Millions ticket.  If I win, I'll be powerful. People will listen to me. AOL will isten to me. They'll ask me if they can get me something to drink. I'll say sure, and then I'll start firing people.

Fair and square, not like they treat us.

I'll fire the idiots who created the new AOL alerts message with that teeny tiny type that they haven't fixed yet.  Along with the people who can't figure out how to make MAC journals more compatible with AOL. I'll fire the yokels who screwed up the save button on FIREFOX [Don't ask].

As for the marketing genius who came up with the idea for the banners on our journals?  Let's hot wax the hair on his, uh, body parts. You just know it's a guy.

Anyway, if I win the lottery, after I fire everyone, sorry, only the people who deserve it, I'll throw a party for AOL journalers so we can hash this mess out among ourselves over a long weekend in, say, Las Vegas. No way we can be effective until we act like ants and move as a coordinated unit.

So Armand, besides moving our blogs to another place, you got any other thoughts?

Our Informed Electorate

Subject: These People Vote
NOTE:  THIS ARRIVED IN MY EMAIL FROM A FRIEND.  I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE IT ORIGINATED.

Some guy bought a new fridge for his house. To get rid of his old fridge, he put it in his front yard and hung a sign on it saying "Free to good home, You want it you take it". For three days the fridge sat there without even one person looking twice at it. He eventually decided that people were too un-trusting of this deal, looks to good to be true, so he changed the sign to read "Fridge for sale $50". The next day someone stole it.                    Caution! These people Vote

While looking at a house, my brother asked the real estate agent which direction was North because, he explained, he didn't want the sun waking him up every morning. She asked, "Does the sun rise in the North?"  When my brother explained that the sun rises in the East, (and has for sometime), she shook her head and said, "Oh, I don't keep up with that stuff". . She ALSO votes!

I used to work in technical support for a 24x7 call center. One day I got a call from an individual who asked what hours the call center was open. I told him, "The number you dialed is open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week." He responded, "Is that Eastern or Pacific time?" Wanting to end the call quickly, I said, "Uh, Pacific" . . . He ALSO votes!

My colleague and I were eating our lunch in our cafeteria, when we overheard one of the administrative assistants talking about the sunburn she got on her weekend drive to the shore. She drove down in a convertible, but "didn't think she'd get sunburned because the car was moving". . . She ALSO votes!

My sister has a lifesaving tool in her car It's designed to cut through a seat belt if she gets trapped. She keeps it in the trunk. . My sister ALSO votes!

My friends and I were on a beer run and noticed that the cases were discounted 10%. Since it was a big party, we bought 2 cases. The cashier multiplied 2 times 10% and gave us a 20% discount... He ALSO votes!

I was hanging out with a friend when we saw a woman with a nose ring attached to an earring by a chain. My friend said, "Wouldn't the chain rip out every time she turned her head?" I explained that a person's nose and ear remain the same distance apart no matter which way the head is turned. My friend ALSO votes!

I couldn't find my luggage at the airport baggage area. So I went to the lost luggage office and told the woman there that my bags never showed up. She smiled and toldme not to worry because she was a trained professional and I was in good hands. "Now," she asked me, "has your plane arrived yet?". . . SHE ALSO votes!

Someone Has Pooped On My Lawn

You probably think I mean that someone has let their family dog take a dump on my grass. Noooooo. I took a look and that shit is human. Those little corn pellets are the dead giveaway. And that poop is sitting up there on my lawn like it owns the place. Which is so not true because I'm the one that pays the mortgage and takes care of everything.

What right does anyone have to use my fescue to defecate upon? Who made them king for all time?  

I'm fairly laissez faire as life goes, but when you start shining your shitola where I live, like it was your personal porta potty, I have to put my foot down, hopefully not in the middle of your crap. If you want to use my lawn instead of yours, which is zoned for people pooping, then I will have to ask you to leave a donation in my mailbox to cover the costs of cleaning up this mess. Let's make it around thirty dollars a month.  

And don't give me any sass about what great manure it'll be for the grass. Because that's just a crock and you know it.  The truth is you've left untreated human waste in my yard without asking permission -- not that I'd let you leave it even if you asked.  So l hope  you're willing to meet me half way on this.  Pay for the clean up, then curb yourself and dump your dump down below at the street so it's not stinking things up here.  

It occurs to me that you may think there's nothing I can do to you, since you do your business on my lawn when I'm not around and I can't stop you  Based on the size of the load you've dumped here I know you're much bigger than I am, too.

But there's an old saying, don't get mad, get even. I subscribe to that. Also revenge is best served cold. So while your turds will continue to pile up here over time, since I'm not going to clean up your mess, I will put a sign up to let people know that's your scat, not mine.

So quit with the pooping on my lawn or pay for the clean up. My lawn looked great before. Now it looks like shit cause of all the crap you're leaving on it. And that's starting to piss me off.  

NOTE: Mrs. Linklater has screwed the pooch [a metaphor] here apparently. This entire entry was meant to be a metaphor for the ad assault we journalers are facing here at AOL.  Guess I'm just too esoteric for my own good.

Oh -- if you access my journal via other methods -- i.e., NON AOL BROWSERS -- you won't see the ads or understand anything that I've been trying to explain. But instead of deleting this entry, I'm just going to keep it up for my own amusement.  

For the record.  If someone really pooped on my lawn, you don't want to know what I would do.

Scalzi's Monday Photo Shoot -- Landmark Status

La Tour Eiffel in February 2004 on my first trip to Paris. My daughter was there on business. I tagged along. Look at the flowers blooming. Only someone who has spent many Februarys in Chicago can appreciate the fleurs. Look how huge the infrastructure of the tower is. Pictures usually don't give you any kind of perspective on its enormous size.  

NAME MY NEW BOOK AND THEN WRITE IT FOR ME

For years, my friends have been telling me to write a book. Usually they say something like that after I've told them about the latest wreck I've made of my love life or, more often, lack of a love life. If some guy isn't gumming things up, as it were, there's always my family, my career, my health, or my wardrobe. Nothing is exempt from my screw ups and therefore, my friends' entertainment.

Part of me wonders if my friends think I've been doing the things I do and living the life I've lived, just so I have something to talk about at the end of it all. I guess that's the upside. The downside is I don't know how much more time I have to put pen to paper. Or fingers to keyboard. I probably shouldn't wait too long to get started. I would hate to write a great opening paragraph and croak.
 
But that's the risk I'm taking now, the longer I wait to write whatever it is I'm going to write. It's not for lack of motivation. I am motivated to do this. Heaven knows if I live long enough people are going to expect me to retire. And having a book to peddle from my shopping cart will help defray the cost of cat food.

But I don't know what to write about. I ask my friends and they say things like "Write what you know." Easy for them to say.

What do I know? I know I can't write a novel. I haven't got the patience, perseverance or the organizational skills, not to mention the imagination to create an interesting plot. 

"Write a romance." There is no more ironic word in my life right now. I'll leave the heaving breastesses to women who believe that some guy looking like Fabio is actually going to sweep them up and take them away from all this. Wait till they find out he's gay.

Memoirs are a hot new genre lately. I actually thought about trying to write a memoir, but the good ones are really juicy and my white girl suburban existence is so not on anybody's radar. Tell us, Mrs. Linklater, how did you survive having a cleaning lady just one day a week?

Also one of my kids has already asked me not use her name, likeness, or anything she says to me in my journal. So I have been wondering how to mention her without mentioning her, given those parameters.

There's always How-To books. I wonder if there is a How to Write a How-To book? There must be. Everything's been written about ad nauseum. Except for books about relationships. You can't kill relationships. I know. I have tried. But there are 356,455 million books on relationships hoping to get on Oprah.  I don't need to be number 356,456.    

As for other How-To subjects, my style is less Mrs. Fix-It and more Mrs. Mess-it-Up-But-Good. How to offend anyone in a heartbeat would be perfect for my personality type. But ever since we've embraced diversity, being offensive is just so offensive these days. 

There's always a slot available on the how to look young and stay young forever shelf. Lately they've been telling us that forty is the new thirty, fifty is the new forty. And I can vouch for the fact that sixty-two is the new 57.  

I wonder if anyone would believe that living alone is the new married? 

I'm at a loss here. Perhaps some of you would have some ideas I could, uh, borrow, to get me on the path to writing this book I have to write before I die. That's the last thing I have left to do. I've done everything else. Okay, not that. But first, maybe the book should have a title. So help me with that. You can worry about the rest later. I mean, I can worry about the rest later.    


 

Patrick's Saturday Six On Sunday Edition

1. You are invited to spend a night, alone, in a large house that is believed to be haunted. A close friend of yours whom you trust tells you of his or her own experience, and you have sufficient reason to believe that there may be a genuine haunting going on there. Without promise of any kind of reward for staying the night, would you agree to do so?

No. If ghosts can't work in the daytime I am not interested. I need my sleep.  

2. What do you most enjoy about your job?

Since it's Sunday and I'm working, when I'm not doing the SIX, not much is enjoyable right now. All right, I get to meet lots of young guys.  And I make them call me Mrs. Linklater.

3. Who was the last person you had a conversation with? What was the main topic of the conversation?

Aunt Genie this morning. Cousin Marvin died. He was eighty something and missing the ring finger on his left hand because his wedding ring got caught in some machinery and tore it off -- something I don't have to worry about.  Anyway, he was found dead in his farm house a couple of days ago. That will teach you to ask about my personal phone calls.

Also my aunt is making a list of things to bequeath to each of her grandnieces and nephews. Did I want one of my great grandmother's handmade quilts? Yes. I'd love something to remind me of a woman whose favorite saying was "Go tell my ass, my head's gone a huckleberrying."

4. Take this quiz [link at Patrick's Place]:   What kind of "smart" are you?

Apparently I'm Naturally Smart,as opposed to unnaturally smart, or just a smartass.

You're a naturally smart person. Your intelligence comes to you naturally, rather than from instruction OR MIND ALTERING DRUGS - and you are better with applied or more real-world things... which comes in handy, here in the real world.

0% applied intelligence  -- ZERO? Where's that other 40% and what the heck is applied intelligence?
60% natural intelligence -- is that all I have? What's the rest, feathers?

5. What was the last food that you totally ruined -- to the point that it was inedible -- when trying to cook?

I don't recall ever messing up food to the point it couldn't be eaten. But my children may have a different answer. "That's not burned. Just pretend we're having S'mores and it's a marshmallow." These days I don't cook, I re-heat. Only on special occasions do I bake. Usually I just make reservations, so cooking problems are few and far between.

6. STRANGELY-OBSCURE QUESTION #1:  If you had to do over again, would you change anything?

How much time do you have? I would completely re-live my life. As a different person.

Can You Guess Where This Floor Is?

I think what struck me most about this floor was that so many people walked on it and didn't once look down to notice the beautiful design of these tiny tiles that seem to be antique.  It occurred to me that they might have come from a villa in Italy and were re-created at great expense.  Like pearls before swine.

A YEAR AGO

Last year I was in Bozeman, MT at my girlfriend's house for my birthday. We had elk steaks, courtesy of some hunters who left their frozen meat at the airport, because they were too cheap to pay the $150 cost of bringing it home. After going on a $10,000 hunt. Thanks guys, the steaks were outstanding. So were the elk fajitas the next day. I hear moose is even tastier.

I thought about going to get my mountain fix over Thanksgiving this year, until I checked the fares. Haaaaaaaaaa.

It costs around hundred and fifty dollars to get to Las Vegas, Salt Lake City or Denver and back from Chicago. Maybe $200. Not bad. Cheap, in fact, these days. But it's around five hundred dollars to get to Bozeman and back once you get to those cities.

Okay I'm exaggerating, but just a little. A big chunk of that $650+ dollar fare is for a distance you can drive. For instance, this time of year Jackson Hole has non stops from Chicago, so maybe I should just drive to Bozeman from there. It's about three and a half hours.

I only have to dodge all the hot pots in Yellowstone, avoid the the angry bison and the snorting buffalo, oh wait, they're the same thing, hide from the hungry grizzlies, and hope there's no snow yet. Or rent something with snowtires and an engine. Sounds like a plan to me.

Actually the plan is to go to Washington D.C. now and spend time with my cute little niece. My stomach will be filled with wonderful holiday food cooked by one of my brothers. 

My heart will be thinking about the view of the Bridger Mountains from the front steps of my friend's house at daybreak. Although our nation's capitol ain't shabby.

Ask Mrs. Linklater Lap Dance Edition

Prudence is Ann Landers' daughter. Apparently advice columnists don't fall too far from the tree. Based on her advice, Mrs. Linklater can confirm that Prudence is out of her tree.

Published November 10, 2005 SLATE online
Dear Prudence,
My husband recently informed me that his friend is having a bachelor party in Vegas on our first wedding anniversary. He asked me to come along, but I feel infuriated and cannot believe he would even consider asking me to do this. I think it is inconsiderate. I feel our first wedding anniversary should be celebrated and honored—alone together—not with a bunch of drunken guys in Las Vegas. Am I wrong to be angry? I know he will say that we spend every minute together so why should it matter that we are not celebrating our first anniversary alone together? I feel his doing this, along with some past actions (looking at girls on the Internet and on dating services) are huge red flags that I am not letting sink in. I need advice on what I should do, and what you think he is doing. I don't want to overreact.
—Wedding Belle Blues

Dear Wed,
What a guy ... so romantic and sentimental. But given that this is his idea of fun, accept the  invitation and go to Vegas. It will shock his sox off. It is a getaway and may, in fact, turn out to be a romantic trip after all. Granted, this is a counterintuitive move, but your "permission" to attend his buddy's party will give you good-sport points forever. Such a gesture on your part seems wiser than raising hell about his wanting to go—since you already know that's what he wants. And Prudie wonders about a guy married only a year who is looking at dating sites. You might want to discuss this with him, and ask him why. As to what Prudie thinks he is doing, she has no idea, but does suggest you monitor the situation. He sounds immature, at the very least.
—Prudie, alertly

Mrs. Linklater climbs on stage. Oh Prudie, hold my tassels will ya? They get in the way when I'm giving advice.

What's with the good sports points? For what? Hooker heels? Lap dances? Marriage isn't about keeping score. Although that romantic hubba bubba sounds like he wants to score with anyone but his wifey poo. Come on, Prudence, wake up and smell the urinal cakes, he is counting on her to bail on his invite.

Besides, do you really think his bachelor buddy will let any woman that resembles a wife near a single one of their all guy parties? No way a female is getting into those slimy soirees unless she's coming out of a cake or sliding down a pole.

So Miss First -- and it sounds like her Last -- Anniversary should just give her loved one a kiss and send him on his way. 

Tell him with a smile that she knows what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Oh, and by the way, Sweetums, if you go to Vegas, stay in Vegas. Because this is no longer your home.

That ought to shock more than his socks off.

Okay, you can return Mrs. Linklater's tassels, now. They just started playing her song.
 

THE CHROMOS AWARDS

Mrs. Linklater wants to steal another one of Bosox's ideas. Actually he hasn't given her permission to steal it yet, but here goes anyway.

He may have topped his VULVI idea with The [loud fluorish] CHROMOS Awards. You'll find them mentioned by him in the comments a couple of entries back. Mrs. L thinks the name is a combination of CRONY and COSMOS. Although she knows Bosox would not agree.

However, instead of stealing all Bo's ideas, which included, among others, the Bag Lady of the Blog, an award Mrs. L would win hands down, given her age and lack of finances, she thought a CHROMOS could be awarded to a journal that should have been nominated for a VIVI, but wasn't. For whatever reason. We were too stupid, for instance.

[Finally something Remo can't win.] 

So, as far as she is concerned, there are two deserving journals that fit into some category of greatness, but were not nominated for it. 

The first is ONE WAY PASSAGE, which you can link to over in Other Journals. 

And the second is What the hell. . .? Which can also be linked to from Other Journals. 

Here are three more from Bosox, which in the interest of sucking up to him, have links so you can let him know if they're each worth a CHROMOS. Not that he'll care if you don't like them.

HORSESHOE BEND 

Liza's Life  

Theresa Williams-author

UPDATE by popular demand: Separation Anxiety
 
Now, if only Mrs. L can get Andi [artloner] to make the knob fit into a sidebar.

Originally, Mrs. Linklater thought that a statue made from the chrome fender off an old Chrysler would make a perfect symbol for a CHROMOS. But who has time for that?

So this picture of the knob from a Fender guitar will have to do.

See what happens when you Google "chrome fender"?

AND THE WINNER IS. . .

Yes, you can listen to the LIVE selection of the winners and runners up for the first ever VULVI award. 

Mrs. Linklater is from Chicago and there are some people who just assumed she could be convinced to stuff the ballot box for one candidate over another.But she was asked to do so out of the kindness of her heart and that just doesn't cut it here in the Windy City. Put up or shut up is her motto.

Not that she's happy with the winner. But it was all done on the up and up. Nobody was allowed to use their other screen names so they could vote early and often.



So if you want to know who won you'll have to listen in.

Patrick's Saturday Six Monday Night Edition

Well, the Vivis are starting to be old news by now. It's time to announce the winner of the VULVIs. Remember them?

The purpose of the VULVIs, besides walking a very thin line between tastefulness and trashiness, is to acknowledge the people who CONSISTENTLY make the funniest comments in your journal. So funny, that they render the entry you wrote useless. Why did you even bother?

To refresh your memory, the four nominees are Screaminremo303, Robbush6, Belfastcowboy75 and Bosoxblue6993w. There are a couple of other write-in nominations which I will track down and throw into the pile. Give me awhile to do the links. I can't do them from here. I have to change browsers.

Here's the dilemma. How are we going to choose a winner from among this auspicious group? The VIVIs had a boatload of volunteers, fancy voting software, and a chat room to announce the winners.

Not the VULVIs. We're on a budget. We've got an empty fridge and some stale crackers. Personally, I think Mrs. Linklater should put the nominees' names in a hat and pick the winner that way. It's fast. It's easy. And the result will no doubt be just as shocking as some of the VIVI award winners.

Glad you like that idea. Mrs. Linklater and I will do the selection this evening. Wait a minute, I AM Mrs. Linklater. Well, one of us will handle the voting for sure. Then, we'll announce the winner TOMORROW.

Meanwhile, here are the answers you're dying to read.

1. What is the last big "gift" you bought for yourself...either for your birthday, Christmas, or any other holiday?

That little TV I wrote about. It was close to my birthday. Big Whoop.

2. Of the official Vivi Award Categories, if you had to nix one of them, which would you choose?

I'm with skelligrants on this one -- who needs a most missed journal category. If you don't write, I don't miss you.  I just get annoyed. Maybe that's another new category. Most annoying. I wouldn't tie for that one. Remo would win it outright.

3. Which category would you add that isn't on the list this year?

Most gratuitous use of sexual innuendo. Not to be confused with glorious use of innuendo. How about best recipes instead?

4. Take this quiz:  Which soap opera does your life most resemble?

The last time I watched the soaps I was nursing my babies and there wasn't anything else on TV. This was deep into the last century, before cable and TIVO. 

Oh, I forgot -- my life resembles The Young and the Restless.

5. Have you ever heard a song and thought, "Whoever wrote that must know me?"  If so, what song was it, and do you still feel that way?

Pointer Sisters -- DARE ME.  It starts out, GOT A CHIP ON MY SHOULDER WITH YOUR NAME ON IT, KNOCK IT OFF.

Haaaaaaaaa. Those lyrics have my name all over them.

6. If your birthday had to fall on a holiday each year, which holiday would you choose and why?  (For this question, assume that holidays like "Thanksgiving," which fall on a different date each year, would fall on the same date to accommodate the question.)

I was born the day before Halloween. I've celebrated my birthday on Halloween so many times that even my dad thought my birthday was on Halloween. 

Have I ever sung my Halloween carols for you?  Be ever so thankful.

Rage Against A Machine

I just got a 17-inch flat screen LCD TV for $325 dollars on sale. It's a Samsung. How many years have I been saying, why do we have to have these huge boxes for watching TV?  Hurry up and make a thin one that's small.  I didn't want to spend five grand on a industrial size wall model. But I knew they could do this. At least, I knew the Japanese could do it. What are we Americans doing lately?  Oh, yeah, iPods, right? So I can watch TV shows on a 1.5 inch screen. Thanks.

Anyway, I am now about to plug it in and start it up.

Except the power cord is one of the three or more that came packaged separately. Having a power cord that is permanently attached to the monitor is so 1999. With a convenient separate cord, I'm sure that some day I can convert the screen to a very heavy laptop computer, if I want to. Or use it for a door stop.

I got a look at the remote control. It's designed like something out of Star Wars. All silver and small. With teeny tiny buttons. I bet the instructions for use are written by Chewbacca. What instructions?

I discovered that the directions for putting my computer together with its multiple gadgets and extra attachments are on a disk that won't launch from my MAC. At least, i can't launch it.

But I'm calm. I'm collected. I'm handcuffed to my bed for safekeeping. Medication would help. I have assumed the zen position [TOS guidelines prevent a description of it], so I am not in the least bit concerned about the amount of time this is going to take to figure out.  

Actually, I am annoyed beyond measure at the stupid people who can't include written instructions for setting this TV up. But what am I going to do, complain to someone in India named Keith?  I mean Musachi?  

There must be alaw that instructions have to be on a CD that I won't be able to reference because it's incompatible with my computer.

Now that we've established what I'm up against, I think I'll just let the TV and its cords and stuff sit there by themselves for awhile. Let these wires and cables stew in their own juices, while I get some dinner. By the time I get back, they'll be ready to cooperate I'm sure.

Sometimes you have to treat electronics as badly as they treat you. Show em who's boss. Maybe I'll turn out the light in here too. Bet that will scare them.

Mrs. Linklater Doesn't Do Ties Without Whining About It

Remo and I tied for Most Outspoken. How did that happen?  The uber cop and the whiner mom. To quote the Screamer himself -- WTF?

What is it they say about ties, it's like kissing your sister? It's like the taste of steak and potatoes after you've put it in a blender. It's cold pizza and warm beer for breakfast. It sucks.

We ought to have something resembling sudden death to determine a winner when the vote is tied.  

Since Remo and I are deadlocked for Most Outspoken and he's a member of law enforcement, some kind of weaponry would seem to be called for.

Of course, he has Kevlar so we would need a gun that leaves marks, instead of holes. Like paintball. Kevlar can't stop bright yellow splats.  

But he's a sharpshooter on the range. And I've only won stuffed animals at amusement park shooting galleries. So let's not use conventional weapons to shoot at each other.

Let's use water balloons to throw at each other.  Fill them with kindergarten paint -- the kind kids use for those masterpieces we hang on our refrigerators.  And let the games begin.

The first one that gets paint on the front and back of the other will be declared the winner. Loser buys lunch. And relinquishes any claim to Most Outspoken.

How would you break the tie? And it will be broken.

I bet you thought I'd be all thank you everyone for your support.  Okay.  Okay. Thank you for your support.  But I want to know who didn't vote for me? Were you on the phone?  The toilet?  The rag?  What?  You thought someone else would do your voting for you?  Sheesh. Do I have to do everything? 

Undeleting a Deleted Entry

AOL frustrated me so much today that I deleted this entry. But I returned and beat two browsers into submission and here it is again. I just wish it were a better entry. Oh well, sometimes the concept is more important than the execution.

MARCH OF THE NOTRE DAME GAME
VS. Tennessee at HOME

I'm multi-tasking this entry today. Football and a movie.

My stepmom wanted to see March of the Penguins the other night. So did I, but I was thinking I'd wait and watch it on DVD.

No matter how much everyone has raved about that flick [do people still say FLICK?], I just knew it would be a made for TV kids and family thing. I wasn't in a feel good mood. I wanted men, action and excitement.

Besides it was French. Not that I don't love the French. well, Jacques Cousteau anyway. But the problem with the French is that they're so French. For instance, even though the movie is narrated by Morgan Freeman, I just had the feeling there would be subtitles -- in French -- to remind us just whose movie it was.

NOTRE DAME 0  TENNESSEE 0  Game Starts

Jarhead looked interesting, but a war movie wouldn't fly with my Stepma. And Jake, with the impossible to spell and pronounce last name, doesn't elevate my pulse -- just as well, given my age. I love Jamie Foxx and, of course, I do have a thing for men in almost any kind of uniform. Although I think the UPS guys could wear something more flattering besides BROWN.

Anyway, Stepma and I go to March of the Penguins. I'm prepared for chicks eating regurgitated fish, Penguin sex. Lots of snow and ice. Penguin sex. Plenty of underwater shots in the freezing cold. Penguin sex. Penguins eaten by predators. Penguin sex. The usual National Geographic fare. Ah, but this was a sophisticated French documentary. Perhaps we might be spared the bird porno.

We go to see the movie at the cheap seats theater, which always has the movies you meant to see, but didn't for some reason. The penguin movie has been out for awhile. The good news is that late first run movies cost less.

The bad news is I passed for my age. The guy taking tickets announced that anyone over 62 could get in for a special price. I told him I was 62 with a big smile and he didn't say a thing. Asshead.

At the very least, he could have pretended I didn't look that old. "62? You had me at 55." He should flatter me like the sales guy in Pretty Woman who starts sucking up to Richard Gere until Gere tells him to suck up to Julia Roberts. But, noooooo, he didn't.

NOTRE DAME 7  TENNESSEE 0   6:51  First Quarter
Irish score on their first possession. Yay. Quinn throws to Fasano, followed by the tightend lumbering into the end zone, with an all important block for him by Maurice Stoval.

The penguin march movie begins with extraordinary footage of the Antarctic ice shelf on the edge of the ocean.The beauty of the pristine white cliffs of frozen water is eventually interrupted by the bobbing movement of indiscriminate shapes on the horizon.

I am reminded of the opening of Lawrence of Arabia when Omar Sharif slowly appears out of the waves of heat rising up from the desert, riding on a camel.

Only now it's penguins waddling across the Antarctic ice.

NOTRE DAME 14  TENNESSEE 0   5:51  First Quarter TD ND -- Stoval makes a leaping catch from Quinn, then falls down on his back in the end zone.

The Penguins are walking, trudging actually, in a long single file. Summer's over and they're heading to the thick pack ice where they will meet and greet and make babies.

The ice pack is seventy miles away. You try walking seventy miles in a penguin suit.

NOTRE DAME 14  TENNESSEE 3   3:43  First Quarter
Field Goal Tennessee

Other penguins return from their summer of feeding out in the ocean to join the march. Astonishingly the huge group of thousands of birds reaches the deep ice homebase within a day or two of each other. Like college students arriving at Daytona Beach during spring break.

NOTRE DAME 21  TENNESSEE 3   9:49  Second Quarter
Zbikowski of ND [a Chicago area boy] returns a punt for a touchdown like he did against USC.

There is a scene with several penguins navigating the slick ice, when one does a sudden pratfall worthy of the Three Stooges. The penguins behind him chatter as if to say, "Hey, are you okay?" After righting himself, the fallen bird made a sound that I could have sworn meant, "Man, that sucked."

NOTRE DAME 21  TENNESSEE 13   5:14  Third Quarter
Field Goal Tennessee

The courtship of the penguins was very, ah, French, you know, almost romantic. None of the graphic examples of males climbing on top of females that you might expect from American animal epics. The photographers showed what appeared to be genuine affection between the coupling birds. Instead of viewing acrobatic acts of mounting, there were gentle touches and soft carressing between the future mother and father. Awwwwwwww.

NOTRE DAME 21 TENNESSEE 10   3:19  Second Quarter
Tennessee TD pass from Eric Ainge to the back of the end zone -- he should have been sacked before he threw it. I was screaming at the TV.

The male penguins take over the incubation of the egg, but first the mother has to transfer the egg from her feet to the father's feet. They actually practice this move beforehand. We watch as one egg falls to the ice in a bad transfer. The freezing cold causes the contents inside the egg to expand and freeze in a matter of moments, splitting the shell as the bird embryo perishes in the cold. A bunch of frozen eggs dot the ice like giant pearls.

NOTRE DAME 21  TENNESSEE 21 1:49  Third quarter
Tennessee TD pass from Ainge followed by 2 pt conversion [pass]. Ainge is good dammit. His front line gives him all day to throw.

The females walk the 70 miles back to sea to feed again while the male incubates the egg for eight weeks in -80 degree weather, going without food the entire time.

The winter storms are ferocious. The males take turns huddling at the center of the flock where it's warmer. When the chicks are born over several weeks, the wait for the females to walk the seventy miles back from feeding begins. They better hurry. If Mom became a meal for a seal out in the ocean or died on the trek back, her chick will die. Dad can't save it. 

After they're born, the chicks perch precariously on Dad's feet since they will freeze to death within seconds if exposed to the ice.

When Mom returns, parents and chicks recognize each other by their unique vocalizations, which are as different as fingerprints. Then another transfer tales place between the parents. This time it's the newborn chick instead of the egg. And some of the birds screw it up. Mom has to feed the baby. Dad has to get food now. He's already lost lots of weight taking care of the kid.

NOTRE DAME 28   TENNESSEE 21  13:57 Fourth Quarter
Samarzija catch for ND TD -- his 12th TD pass of season, a ND record.  They call him The Shark because he looks like a character in Shark Tale.

More chicks die because Mom or Dad couldn't handle the pass. We watched one female mourn her dead baby, touching it for signs of life while making sounds that clearly expressed sadness and anguish. The sound of grief was so familiar you couldn't help but recognize it, no matter what your species.

A childless mother who lost her chick tried to steal one from another penguin. But she was rebuffed by a whole group of females. The males, who have lost half their body weight while incubating the eggs, have started on their own seventy mile walk back to the sea to get a decent meal. They haven't eaten for almost three months by this time.

NOTRE DAME 31  TENNESSEE  21  7:47  Fourth Quarter
Fitzpatrick field goal ND, Samarzija holding

As summer nears, the chicks start losing their fuzz and their parents leave them alone more and more. The ice breaks up with the warmer weather, making the walk to the ocean pantry shorter and shorter, until the adults only have to walk a few hundred yards to dive into the water for food.

Soon all the adults take off for the summer ocean feeding grounds and the chicks, who have never been in water, seem to realize that if they want to eat they better follow. For four years they stay out at sea. The fifth year they return and join the rest of the penguins to march back to the nesting grounds.

NOTRE DAME 34 TENNESSEE 21  4:06   Fourth Quarter
Field Goal ND

Watching the precarious balance of life on this cold and desolate continent, I realized that if global warming continues, the pack ice may soon not be thick enough to keep the chicks and the eggs from falling into the nearly freezing water.

If that happens, nesting and breeding would suddenly be an almost impossible task. In a very short time the Emperor Penguin could easily become extinct.

NOTRE DAME  41  TENNESSEE 31  3:07 Fourth Quarter -- FINAL
ND TD/Zbikowski again/this time an intercepted Tennessee pass   

After watching the movie, I had newfound respect for the resilience of the rest of the animal kingdom. Anyone who thinks that the human experience entitles us to claim superiority over any other species should try raising kids outdoors in an ice storm, or walking 70 miles any time you want food.

On Danny DeVito legs with bird feet.

Expletive Deleted

i deleted the March of the Notre Dame Game entry. While swearing a blue streak.

Trying to edit using two different browsers pissed me off so much I just dumped it.

I hate AOL softeware for MACs.  Hate it.  It sucks.  

Hope you're having a nice day.

Announcing the VIVIs LIVE?

THIS WAS POSTED AT THE VIVI PLACE

Friday, November 4, 2005
Special Announcement! [FROM PATRICK]

The winners will be announced this Saturday night at 9pm Eastern. Full details are at Betty's journal, here. [SORRY, I DIDN'T MAKE A LINK] Betty has kindly agreed to be our hostess for the live awards chat event. Thanks, Betty, and thanks to all who have participated.

If you do not have a paid AOL account and therefore are unable to attend the live chat, the results will still be posted here, so be sure to visit here throughout the evening to get the latest updates.


As I recall, 900 people voted in the VIVI awards competition. How are they all going to get into a chat room?

If you win something are you expected to give a speech? 

I think I'll just wait for the list to be posted.  

Whatever Happened to Survival of the Fittest?

I was a divorced, fulltime working parent. I raised my children alone from the time they were seven and four and a half.

Somehow I did something right as a parent, and I have two competent, responsible, successful daughters to show for it.

Which brings me to my point -- the son of two long married, devoted, churchgoing parents, whose nincompoopness [his] has left me dazed and confused.

I asked this kid, who works at the production house where I do a lot of editing, to make me a CD for a friend that has all his favorite tunes on it. As technology goes this is a no freaking brainer. But I didn't want to do it myself, so I asked someone who should be able to do it in his sleep.

I made a point of saying I'd pay the buck for each tune he had to download.

I gave him a list of songs and the groups that sing them. I also gave him a list of names of artists without any specific songs. But later that day, I decided not to use any of the artists on the second list. So I told him not to worry about them. Just do the songs by the bands on the original list.  

That was three weeks ago.

Two days ago I called to see how it was coming. Remember he had three weeks.

Oh, I didn't know what you wanted to do with these other artists. You didn't tell me which songs of theirs you wanted to use.

Well, if you'll remember, I said we weren't going to worry about that second list. Asswipe.

Uh, I also have to pay to download some of these tunes, you know.

If you'll remember again, I told you I would cover your expenses, dildo breath.

So it takes him a day. He calls and says I can pick up the CD the next time I'm downtown.

Because he FINALLY got the job done, I asked him what I owe. He says I owe him nothing, because it didn't take him much time. But I insisted on paying him for his time. Not a princely sum, but anything was more than he was expecting.

I picked up the CD this afternoon and he has a playlist printed so I can tell easily what the tracks are. Very nice. The list includes the track number, the song, the artist, and the length of the cut.

I put the CD in so I could to listen to it while I drove home. 

The first thing I noticed was that the CD didn't slide into the holder very easily, because the label he put on it is too thick -- and so unnecessary, since I have a playlist.

The first track is a group I've heard of, but I don't know very well. My initial thought is that they sound a lot like Metallica. And then I realize it IS Metallica. The second song is supposed to be Metallica, but it's Brooks and Dunn, which is supposed to be the fourth song. The cut that was supposed to be Patsy Cline is Journey. And on and on and on. Nothing on the playlist matches what's playing.

And the fourteenth and final tune is not on any list anywhere.

I am so looking forward to the phone call I'm going to make tomorrow morning.