she's just saying...

Another random grammar rant - local dog version

Our local cable company has a pretty good reputation for customer service and innovative technologies. What they seem to be lacking is a sixth-grade grammar education.

Bend has the reputed highest per-capita dog ownership in the state, most of which are black labs, and they're smart and fast and loyal etc. so I get the visual and have no quibble with that.

However, though this will once again label me a grammar prude, the tagline bugs the heck out of me. "We better be good." It's just wrong. "We'd better be good" is the correct usage here. I know, I know, it's ad-speak, informal, colloquialism, etc. but it grates on me every time I see or hear it.

Of course, this time of year whenever I see that particular tagline I tend to follow it up with "We'd better not cry, we'd better not pout." And I'm telling you why.

You know who you are...

To all my blog readers and FaceBook friends:

Thank you so much for the birthday wishes, encouragement and random comments you've sent my way. If I don't personally acknowledge them, please know that I appreciate each morsel and think of you when I read yours. In the ferris wheel of my life, commenting on comments is one task that I have to eschew, along with taking back cans for a nickel, brushing my pets and cataloging my knitting needles. 

So this will have to stand for my personal thank you and tip o' the ol' blogging cap to regulars, occasionals and even the lurkers out there in web world.

[Unless you're Kathi D., a blogger I've never met or spoken to who somehow got her own category for heaven's sake.]

manual red-eye correction

It's your birthday! Take another vicodin!

I can pinpoint the moment birthdays ceased to be exciting. November 13, 2007, when I turned 51.

My fiftieth was fantastic, actually: an all-nighter at a club in San Francisco followed by a tour of the wine country from a little inn in Calistoga. My (younger) boyfriend didn't freak out about my turning fifty (at least not that weekend) and my gal pals took me out for a wonderful dinner and celebration.

51 was unmemorable - I think Henry and I went to Red Robin. And last year on my 52nd I had a migraine and went to bed.

That brings us to this year. It started with an argument and tears about homework (Henry cried too). My eye is blood-filled (sorry), swollen and bruised and I'm spending the rest of the day in bed. Don't worry, I'm not alone: my cats and dog are happily lying on top of me.

But it's really not all bad. A friend came by with flowers, and she and other friends are bringing over dinner tonight. My facebook wall and blog comments are filled with best wishes, another compelling example of the power of social media. And best of all, the entire nursing and office staff at my eye doctor's entered the exam room this morning, sang Happy Birthday and presented me with a brownie and candle.

As my sweet doc said: "We feel like you're part of the family." Hmmm... Is that a good thing?

Potatoes? For me? You shouldn't have!

A birthday song

 

Happy birthday* to me
Happy birthday to me
And what a great present;
More eye surgery!**

*tomorrow
**today

the sweater

Getting back to my knitting

Alright, wallowing time is over. Back to the happy.

Let's talk about KNITTING! Whee!

Here's the finished cable jacket:

So now that I've shown my mad knitting props, I can go back to making cup cozies and washcloths.

Top Ten Tuesday: fine whine edition

Top ten reasons why I'm feeling sorry for myself today:

1. I have to have another surgical procedure on my eye on Thursday.
2. I'll have to do this all again next year with the right eye.
3. It's getting hard to drive at night, which makes me feel really old.
4. I haven't lost the 5 pounds I gained after the first surgery.
5. I have to pay this stupid speeding ticket that will up my insurance.
6. The leaves in my yard are all slimy and I have to rake them tonight.
7. I haven't planted my spring bulbs yet and don't know when I will.
8. I'm finding hard to get any exercise in and am feeling it.
9. I miss my ex-boyfriend.
10. The evil hawkweed is spreading and I have to destroy a lot of plants to eradicate it.

I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
Without ever having felt sorry for itself.

D.H. Lawrence

Everything's more fun with a squirt of liver paste!

I know - that was a really LONG and BORING post. I just had to rant, and that's the beauty of having a personal blog: it's all about me.

It's okay, I'm over it.

So, for all you dog owners, I have to share a new product I found at PetSmart, the SuperStore of pet retail. (Have you seen their fur products aisle?? Amazing. No wonder other countries think we're insane.) Anyway, along those lines, I saw this on the way out and had to have it.

Squirtable liver paste to stuff in dog toys. What will they think of next?

And really, I was comforted by this announcement:

Because I worry about my dog's cholesterol, him being a carnivore and all.

An hour of my life I'll never get back, courtesy of Sprint and Palm

In June I did my early gadget adopter thing and bought a Palm Pre smartphone. I've always had Palms, and this one is supposed to be the iphone killer. (I don't know why Palm never got the credit for touchscreens, by the way. They've always had them, but now that Blackberry and iPhone do as well, they're "hot.")

The Pre is very cool, but there's a bit of a steep learning curve to it. Or maybe a slow one: I still hang up on people regularly when they call 'cause I'm not clear on all the "gestures." But it's FUN: you can teeny-tiny-fy an app card by squeezing it with your fingers, flick it away, use the gesture area, etc. And it looks great - all smooth, black, shiny and curvy. And you know I buy by design, so I had to have it.

I'm also a Sprint apologist. They've worked fine for me and are so desperate to keep their customers that they offer us stuff occasionally. Their customer service is okay, but there's a weird thing between Palm and Sprint about who's responsible for stuff. They tend to send you back and forth to each other, which is annoying.

Lately I've had problems with the Sprint/Pre accessories. My car charger died after four months, and today I bought the very cool "wireless" (although with a plug) Touchstone charger. Got it home and nothing. No charging. So I checked the website troubleshooter and went through all the steps, which ended up sending me to Palm via computer chat. Here is the transcript.

1:35 PM Connected to Rescue Gateway. A support representative will be with you shortly.

1:36 PM Support session established with Sergio.

1:36 PM Sergio: Hello.

1:37 PM Sergio: I understand that you are experiencing issue with Touchstone, as it is not charging. Am I right?

1:37 PM Melissa Hochschild: Correct!

1:37 PM Sergio: I am sorry to hear that.

1:38 PM Sergio: I will help you in this regard.

1:38 PM Sergio: Let me know, what happens when you charge the device with Touchstone?

1:38 PM Melissa Hochschild: Nothing!

1:38 PM Sergio: Is it not charging the device?

1:38 PM Melissa Hochschild: Correct!  [We just spent three minutes establishing the fact that it doesn’t work, which I told them when starting the chat. Was that unclear?]

1:38 PM Sergio: Okay

1:39 PM Sergio: Let me know, the version of Web OS that you are using on the device.

1:40 PM Melissa Hochschild: 1.2.1

1:40 PM Sergio: Okay.

1:41 PM Sergio: Just to confirm, whether the Touchstone™ back cover is installed.

1:41 PM Melissa Hochschild: yes

1:41 PM Sergio: Remove and reattach the Touchstone back cover to ensure it is attached securely at all points.

1:41 PM Melissa Hochschild: [mounting irritation as it becomes clear Sergio can't help] done

1:41 PM Sergio: Now try to charge the device again.

1:42 PM Sergio: Let me know the result.

1:42 PM Melissa Hochschild: nothing happens!

1:42 PM Sergio: Okay.

1:42 PM Sergio: Align the Palm logo on the Touchstone back cover with the Palm logo on the Touchstone™ charging dock. The phone will not charge if it is not centered on the charging dock.

1:43 PM Melissa Hochschild: I did that, and made sure all connections were tight. The charger works on the phone directly, just not through the Touchstone.

1:43 PM Sergio: Let me know, whether the charging dock is connected to a computer.

1:43 PM Melissa Hochschild: no

1:43 PM Sergio: Okay.

1:44 PM Sergio: Connect the AC adapter and USB cable directly to the phone and a power outlet (NOT to a USB port on the computer).

1:44 PM Sergio: Does the phone charge?

1:44 PM Melissa Hochschild: did that and the phone is charging via the USB, not the Touchstone.

1:44 PM Sergio: Okay.

1:44 PM Sergio: Connect the USB cable to the charging dock.

1:44 PM Melissa Hochschild: done

1:44 PM Sergio: Is it charging now?

1:45 PM Melissa Hochschild: NO. I did all this previously!

1:45 PM Sergio: Okay, I understand that.

1:46 PM Sergio: As you have run Interactive test on the device. Let me know, If the  device passes the test or does it produce any error codes?

1:46 PM Melissa Hochschild: It says it passes.

1:46 PM Sergio: That's good. [Why??? It doesn't work!]

1:46 PM Sergio: Are you using the  original battery that came with the phone?

1:46 PM Melissa Hochschild: yes

1:47 PM Sergio: Okay.

1:47 PM Sergio: Center the phone on the charging dock and to leave it on the dock for at least 5 minutes.

1:47 PM Melissa Hochschild: I did that before I contacted you.

1:47 PM Sergio: Okay. I really appreciate for explaining to me in a detailed way. [Is this Sergio's attempt at sarcasm?]

1:47 PM Sergio: Thank you very much.

1:48 PM Sergio: Let me know, the place and date of purchase of Touchstone.

1:48 PM Melissa Hochschild: Today at the Sprint Store in Bend Oregon.

1:49 PM Sergio: So, it is a brand new touchstone.

1:49 PM Melissa Hochschild: yes

1:50 PM Sergio: Okay.

1:50 PM Sergio: Give me a couple of minutes, while I work on the issue. [Right. He probably had five chats going at the same time.]

1:53 PM Sergio: Thank you on hold.

1:53 PM Sergio: Let me explain to you.

1:53 PM Sergio: As we have done the complete troubleshooting steps for the device and the issue still persist. It seems to be an issue with the Hardware of the device. As the device is brand new I suggest you to contact Sprint immediately, so that they can provide the replacement of the device. Also I provide you the chat session ID, which will be a reference for you, so that you can show to the Sprint retailer as a proof.

1:54 PM Sergio: Thank you so much for your patience and understanding in this regard. [More sarcasm?]

1:54 PM Sergio: Can I be of any other help today?

1:54 PM Melissa Hochschild: no [since he was of no help whatsoever]

1:54 PM Sergio: Thank you for contacting Palm and feel free to contact us for further assistance. We rely on your suggestions and feedback to help us provide the best support, so please take a few minutes to complete the customer survey that you'll receive via email. [Believe me, I will!]

You may now close the chat window. Have a great day! Take care. Bye!

1:55 PM Sergio has ended the session. [Twenty minutes later.]

 I won't bore you further with the Sprint phone call, but after another 20 minutes (during which I had to explain what the Touchstone was), they told me it wasn't their fault, it was the manufacturer's. I replied that their brand was on it, but that went nowhere. They finally said to return it at the store. Thank you, I think I figured that out myself.

Have you experienced that surge of anger, frustration and disbelief that occurs during Customer Service calls? Yeah - I had a few of those. I'm now cooled off and resigned, which is even worse.

Why does stuff that should work not work? Where's the problem: manufacturing, quality control, bad design, no one caring? And why is it so difficult to give feedback? How many of these defective things will they sell before they notice they're not working? Where's the satisfaction for the consumer???

Don't get me started again. I'm going to go pour another glass of Chardonnay.

 

Hmm. Where's the cord and plug in this shot? Deceptive marketing at its finest.

I do so know what a chicken gizzard is!

The preteen years have started, for reals.

This morning I emerged from my boudoir and heard Henry talking on the phone, at about 7:30 am. Who the heck are you talking to? I asked. Turns out he called in to the radio station he listens to on his clock radio, one of those inane entertaining local morning shows. Seems they were discussing what a gizzard was (scintillating!) and asked people to call in with their answers.

Henry, never shy, immediately picked up the phone and got on air. Here's the rough transcript:

"Hi there, what's your name?"

"Henry."

"So Henry, what's a gizzard?"

"Um, it's that red thing chickens wear, on their chins."

"Oh, is that what it is? How do you know this - are you a chicken farmer?"

"No, my mom's the vice president of the High Desert Museum."

Outed on air! Though it doesn't say much for the Museum that I supposedly called that red thing a gizzard. Sheesh, everyone knows that's a wattle.

necks of steel

Yes, baseball season is over as of last night. I don't need any unattractive gloating from Yankees fans. Especially since they won by spending the most money. But I'm not bitter. I just miss baseball.

So, the biggest mystery in baseball (other than what the "Day-O!" song has to do with it) is what are those thick necklaces that a lot of players, especially pitchers, wear. I shall now reveal all.

Phiten X30 Necklace

"Phiten products work with your body’s energy system, helping to regulate and balance the flow of energy throughout your body. Proper energy balance helps to alleviate discomfort, speed recovery, and counteract fatigue. Athletes find that they tire less easily and recover faster from intense physical activity. Further benefits of Phiten’s exclusive technology are more relaxed muscles leading to less stress and a greater range of motion that can be of great benefit to an athlete or anyone in any walk of life..."

I got to get me one of these! Red Sox version, of course.

Super Glue my what?

If someone, even a doctor, offers to Super Glue your eyeball, just say no.
I'm just saying.

visited by a bear cat

As my long-time (read: one year) readers know, we used to raise foster kittens here for the Humane Society. It was messy and time-consuming but we loved it. Unfortunately, now that I have a further commute and can't come home at lunch, we can't take care of the little furballs, but maybe again someday.

One bunch stood out because the kittens were so cute -- big and roly-poly. (Of course I love all my kitties equally. Just some more equally than others.) One guy was adopted by the neighbors across the street, who named him Bear. 

He turned into a bear alright, primarily in size.

Because Bear was raised in this house, he enjoys coming over and visiting the old crowd. He especially likes the fact that our cats eat canned food, and likes to drop by for a little snack. During the summer our doors are open and we'll see him walk by on his way to the cat food. Now that it's colder, he waits at the door to be let in just like the resident cats. Henry always lets him in, and occasionally I'll walk into a room and see Bear lounging about. I normally throw him out, as he has a big appetite and cat food gets pricey.

That happens with kids, too. Somehow on Sunday we ended up with seven here. As long as they don't eat the cat food, I'm fine with it.

The morning after the night before

Ooo - a bit of suburban debauchery last night and the headache this morning to show for it. Plus I seem to have collected more boys - at this point seven of them, who I've cleverly locked out of the house. They keep pleading to be let in so I'm staying away from the doors.

Here's the yeti costume - the only photo I could get before the pillaging began.

The scary clown is his sidekick Gavin, mentioned occasionally in this blog.

My friend Amy as the Porcelain Goddess, with her golden toilet brush:

Bob with he-who-should-not-wear-an-afro:

Though the orange stretch polyester disco suit is quite fetching.

That's all I could  get before things started getting out of hand.

Miss Kitty vamping for the camera

  

Covered in steamed milk and Yeti fur

Quick - what's that a picture of?

A yeti in a snowstorm!

We've got yeti on the brain right now, as Henry decided (on Sunday night) that was what he was going to be on Halloween. Not Friday night or even Saturday, when I had time to go out and round up yeti paraphernalia. But if life weren't like a sit-com, who would read blogs?

Luckily Joanne's Fabrics had perfect hairy white fabric, and on sale! After considering and rejecting the hot glue gun or spray mount, I decided I had to bite the bullet and sew. Now, I hate to use my sewing machine, so this was truly an act of motherly sacrifice. Plus, once it's out and set up, I have some hemming I can do.

Meanwhile, at the same time, Mr. G's fifth-grade class was assigned an independent (read: parent-produced) project which involved a speech, audio visual aids and samples of "Our family's favorite snack." Since Chardonnay and olives were probably inappropriate, we settled on Italian vanilla steamed milk, which Henry gets me to make if he gets up before the expresso machine cools.

So, this morning had me sewing up the last seams of the Yeti costume while steaming hot milk for 32. And of course, I was wearing black velvet head to toe for my annual kitty cat costume. The long white fur shed everywhere, the steamer wand popped off spraying sticky milk everywhere, and I was swearing and yelling and generally starting the day off with a (hairy) splash.

How was your morning?

A social caterpillar

I remember a time when I went out every night. Actually it was many times. I remember thinking if I stopped wanting to go to a club my life would be pretty much over. This was when I was in Boston, or NYC, or maybe LA, where that's what you did. Well, those days are long over, though my life seems not to be. So over, in fact, that I can't remember the last time I went to anything resembling a club. (Well, yes I can but that's another story.)

I don't even go out to dinner or drinks any more. Maybe once a month? That used to be a couple-times-a-week kind of thing. Much of that has to do with being single, as in solo. That may be the second thing I miss most about being in a relationship.

This is how I socialize these days: I stay home. Friends come by, usually one or two at a time. My single and even a few married friends love to hang out and drink wine while I cook, eat a grazing meal of cheese, olives, bread, apples and whatever odd sauce or chutney I have in the fridge, chat, watch a ball game or knit or just read the paper in each other's company. This happens several afternoons and nights a week. I like it because I don't have to go anywhere and I can keep some semblance of control over Henry. They like it for the family energy, the nurturing, the wine and of course my company.

I do get antsy, especially around Friday or Saturday early in the evening, when a change of venue would be welcome. But I love my compound, summer or winter, and I love to entertain casually, so it's all pretty good. This is how I've matured: I now know that going-out opportunities will come again, so I'm content to enjoy what I have right now. But I do have some wild memories of late late nights at dark loud clubs. I'd do it again, for sure.

Wordy Wednesday

UPDATE: All's fine with the eye. It's not completely where it should be yet, so we're in the "watchful waiting" mode. Surgery went well - I was awake the whole time which was freaky. Actually, due to the sleepy meds, I experienced a bunch of waking dreams, of which I only remember one which involved cleaning out my refrigerator.

Anyway, wordy Wed: I don't have time to write a whole post, so thought I'd focus on some misused words that bug me. Today's:

Penultimate.

Some folks like to show off their vocabulary by using this to mean the "most ultimate," which is incorrect and actually causes them to look dumb and pretentious. Penultimate means "next to last." That's all it means.

OK, back to work.

At least I get more intravenous drugs

Rogier van der Weyden's Descent of Christ, Proda Museum

Tuesday it's back to the surgery center for another poke in the eye with a sharp needle.

My eye is still not healing, and after 24 visits to my favorite eye guy in the last two months, we've decided it's time to act.

Warning to the squeamish: gory details in the next paragraph!

[The good news is that the "trap door" created by the first surgery (the trabeculectomy) to relieve the intraocular pressure is still functioning well, the point of the whole exercise. But the conjunctiva surface has never healed completely, and my eye is leaking a bit and is in danger of major infection in the inner eye. So Dr. D is going to haul up the remaining conjunctiva and re-suture.]

It's a quick procedure with shorter recovery and my vision should improve, so no biggie. I don't think I'll need to trigger the casserole parade this time. But it's still a good excuse for a pedicure.

Big Steve Weighs In

I love guest bloggers! Here's a post from MyBigBro:

My current situation, illustrated:

My fantasy career:

My goal:

My past:

Where I am now:

 

Next step:

And finally:

My dream date:

Noxious, part deux

Alright, so maybe I poked a little too much fun at the noxious weed police. Possibly I was a bit flippant about the threat of infestation. Perhaps I eradicated only half-heartedly.

For the fact is, the evil hawkweed has gotten a foothold in my gardens and is steadily spreading its voracious tentacles. It still seems weird to me that I admired a little patch of it in the same spot for years when suddenly the invasion was triggered this spring, right after the weed patrol outed me in the media.

It's all very sci-fi and creepy. Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Or in this case, Invasion of the Woolly Thyme Snatchers.

So this weekend I'll be out once again with the industrial jug of Round-Up, fighting back against noxiousness for the betterment of gardens everywhere and the survival of cultivated plant life as we know it. Just consider me your horticultural super-hero.

Long green leaves: bad.