Points to Ponder

They say that exercising the mind helps avert senility. So, as a public service, here's something to stretch your brain around:










If a man determines to fail, and he succeeds, which has he done?

Feel free to send me your $20 co-pay, and I'll submit the bill to your insurance.

Photo source here.

Journey to the Center of the Earth, A Review

With the kidlets off for two weeks of summer camp, Captain Sweetie and I have had to fill the sad and lonely hours, taking what consolation we can from the echoing emptiness of Castle Evil, and desperately filling the long days with what amusement we can find.

HA! Fished you in! We are totally treating every night as Date Night! On Wednesday night, we took ourselves out to see Brendan Fraser's movie Journey to the Center of the Earth. Or rather, Brendan Fraser's FIRST movie in what promises to be the Summer of Brendan Fraser. (The Mummy comes out next week.)

The question arises, "Why is this a movie, and not a theme park ride?" Because frankly, if the seats moved in sync with the action on the screen, and fans blew wind through your hair, you'd think you were at Universal Studios theme park.

To start with, the movie was shot to be seen in 3D, pulling out every 3D trick the film makers could think of. Trilobite antennae wave in your face; a yo yo flies out of the screen at you; a Swiss Army knife hovers in the air--none of which have any point other than to highlight the 3D effect. Some theaters do show this in 2D, which must be even more pointless.

The plot, such as it is, is that Brendan Fraser's older brother Max went missing some 10 years ago after a trip to Iceland. The seismic events he was studying seem to have re-aligned precisely as they were 10 years ago, so Brendan Fraser and his brother's sullen pre-teen kid go up to Iceland to follow his trail.

They meet the incredibly competent and cool Hannah, who is a mountain guide and leads them up to one of Max's sensors. A storm blows up suddenly, and the three take refuge in a cave. Of course, lightning strikes the hill and the cave gets closed off. Our Intrepid Three have to find another way out.

They have some adventures, yadda yadda mine cars, yadda yadda rappelling, yadda yadda follow bio-luminescent birds and they find the other world hidden inside the earth. Our Heroes immediately find a tree-house that contains items from the original expedition (which is chronicled in the Jules Verne book) as well as signs that Max had been there. But time is short, as lava is rising and making the place to hot for human survival.

Cue the Act 2 adventures: yadda yadda build a boat; yadda yadda ugly fish with big teeth getting eaten by pleisiosaurs; yadda yadda parasailing; yadda yadda some nonsense about reversed polarity so north is actually south. We get a very silly sequence involving running from a T. Rex-- which, contrary to any survival strategy that actually works, chooses to turn away from the ocean teeming with life, and chase a kid the size of a single tooth across a baking desert. No, I don't know why either.

Our Heroes get separated, get reunited, and finally escape back to the surface by riding a dinosaur skull up a volcanic tube which turns out to be in Italy. Yay! The End.

Really, the whole thing would be totally pathetic, if not for charm of the principal actors. I mean, how can you salvage a movie that gives us Brendan Fraser brushing his teeth and gargling in 3D? At least Brendan Fraser plays a smart but bumbling nice guy; the character of Hannah is actually tough and resourceful and doesn't scream once; the nephew is attractive and believable, with the added bonus of not being Spencer Breslin. As it is, though, you would probably enjoy this movie more if you chug a couple of margaritas before putting on the 3D glasses.

Love, Prius Style

So I've had my Prius two and a half weeks, and man does it rock! I'm getting roughly 50+ miles per gallon, which is really the only reason I bought it. My 1998 Odyssey is still in excellent condition, and runs really really well. It only gets about 22 mpg, and when gas was hitting its head against $4 per gallon, better mileage was the tipping point to getting a new car.

Although I didn't get a new car so much as I got a computer with four tires and a steering wheel. It seems like every day requires me to program something new. Today, I managed to get the garage door opener (cleverly located on the rear view mirror) programmed.

Did you know:

• That the plural of Prius is Prii (pronounced PREE-eye)?
• That you cannot operate your iPod through the stereo controls? (Boo!)
• That certain touch screen features are disabled while the car is in motion?
• That window controls on the arm rests mean your dog can open his own window to stick his head out?

Blame it on Microsoft

After some quick research, I have come to the conclusion that the reason this blog was not openable on Internet Explorer for the last two days is NOT due to my indifferent posting skill, but is actually a glitch in IE7. It is a correctable problem, but first you have to know that it is there.

At least one fix can be found here. I have not tried this program, and I make no promises that it will fix the problem. What WILL fix the problem is to ditch IE altogether and go with Firefox, which is what I have done.

But for those of you who are still in thrall to the clutches of Microsoft. . .I mean, "still using Internet Explorer" I have replaced the actual Harry Potter 6 video clip with a link instead, which will take you to YouTube where you can watch it in it's spooky entirety.

Reason 4,538,116 To Switch To Firefox

I have just been informed by Captain Sweetie that my previous post cannot be opened in Internet Explorer. There is apparently some problem with the embedding of a YouTube video of the newest Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince trailer.

I am not a particularly savvy programmer, but this should not be! I am therefore posting this in an attempt to make the blog openable in IE. Look quick, or I may have to take down the trailer too.

New Harry Potter Trailer

I don't know about you, but now that Rowling has released the last Harry Potter book, I am less ravenous to see the latest movie. I guess I was always watching them to get a clue about what would happen in the next book. Now that the world KNOWS what happens, the movies seem like more of an after thought.

Which doesn't mean I'm not going to go see it opening weekend, of course.

See it here.

FYI--the boy playing young Tom Riddle is Ralph Fiennes' nephew, so there is THAT creepiness -- it's terribly believable that this little boy will grow up to be this:

Oh Realllllly? Or, Get Smart!

So, you know what is really NOT a good idea for somebody with periodic insomnia?

Drinking half a pot of tea at 9 p.m. at a Chinese restaurant!

HELP! MY EYELASHES ARE GLUED TO MY EYEBROWS, AND I CAN'T SLEEP!!!




(Be alert. The world needs more lerts.)

It's Complicated

Captain Sweetie reports receiving this compliment(?):

If I were straight, I would totally fall for you.

Is it? Is it not? I say--hey! Take it as a compliment and move on . . . .

Nation Relieved: New Timewasting Web Site Launched

Spy Magazine used to have a feature called "Separated at Birth" which took unflattering photos of people and put them next to other unflattering people. Yes, I totally stole this for my Separated at Birth series.

Now the Good Folks who brought you cheezburger cats and hot dogs have a (mostly) human site: Totally Looks Like.


see famous look-a-like faces

Now you have something else to do other than actual work. You are welcome.

So Now I Have To Change My Name

I spent the weekend visiting my sister in her cute new house in Virginia. (Hi Suefunky!) And I'm feeling all cosmopolitan and c to .ool and fabulous as I just ran out for the weekend and came back on Monday morning and I'm all ready to hop in a cab and drop off my bags and go get my dog from the vet.

Except I upgraded to first class on Sun Country (NB: Price has increased from $89 to $99. Do you get $10 more free drink? Discuss) and because it was a morning flight, I drank Diet Coke instead of alcohol. And, due to the frequent patches of turbulence throughout the flight, the "Fasten Seat Belt" sign is on for most of the flight--except it gets turned off just long enough for the flight attendant to get me more Diet Coke.

Fortunately, I'm in the second row, so I can get off the plane pretty quickly and get to the restroom. And I am literally in there for 34 seconds, when somebody comes in and makes an announcement that "Cate Ross left her ID on the plane. Is there a Cate Ross here?" Okay, I'm here, but I'm in no position (ha ha) to go reclaim my ID at this particular moment. So I call over the door, and I am told to go pick it up from the flight attendant.

But! The news spreads! Because why? I don't know! But every damn woman who comes into that bathroom is worried about this whole ID thing. "Did you hear? Cate Ross left her ID on the plane!" "There's a lost ID. It belongs to Cate Ross!" "Do you think Cate Ross knows she left her ID on the plane?"

I have never been so tired of hearing my own name! By the time I emerge, EVERYBODY knows that I am Cate Ross and I have left my ID on the plane! I'm not watching the local news.

(Actually, I didn't LEAVE my ID on the plane--it was inside my bag, and fell out when I stowed the bag beneath the seat in front of me. I could have happened to anybody! Really!)

Craig Ferguson Rocks My World

My newest celebrity addiction is now Craig Ferguson. Something about his delivery just cracks me up. Maybe it's the accent as well--nothing wrong with a sexy Scottish accent. If he wore his kilt instead of a suit, that could increase his viewers.

Last night, he actually forced me to laugh out loud--sure it was a re-run, and as a result the jokes were somewhat dated, but they got me anyway. They went something like this:

Gay couples can now apply for marriage licenses in California. All I have to say about that is. . . George Clooney, call me.

I think, this whole gay marriage thing is a right wing conspiracy to wipe out gay sex.

I may have to add him to my little list of Imaginary Boyfriends.

In Which I Go All Girl Crush On A Prius

According to the Toyota website, I am number 55 inline to get a Prius.

According to my salesman, who called me yesterday, my Prius is actually on the boat from Japan and should arrive before the end of the month. The secret, for those of you who want to get one before 2010, is to be flexible about the color. It might also help to ask for the Totally Tricked Out Package (TM).

And, although I requested only that the interior be grey instead of beige (which makes me car sick), it turns out that MY Prius is silver, which would have been my first choice anyway.

SQUEEEEEEEEEEE! My Brand New Shiny Car Is Almost Here!

Is It, Or Isn't It?

Muttered at me today in Target by a grizzled 70+ year old African American man, missing at least one front tooth:

"Nice tan. You're starting to catch up."

Compliment, or not? Discuss.

New Math?

I went to my local PetSmart today to pick up some Desperately Needed guinea pig litter. And--well, the place was just weird. Picked over in some places, and not restocked. What the heck? I asked myself as I wandered past piles of clearance items and boxes in the middle of the floor.

Oh. See that? Right there? Those ENORMOUS RED SIGNS plastered all over the frontage of the store? Oh, those signs. The ones I didn't see when I came in. The ones that say "We're Moving!"

So, I take a look. "Come join us at our new location!" it says, all jaunty like "hey, stop by and we'll totally open that bottle of Nicaraguan rum we've been saving! " Like your friends back in college who would move from one student dive to another, and have beer and pizza while opening boxes--it's fun! It's friends! It's a chance to chill and josh each other.

But wait. "We are moving" to a "new location"--

where there is already a PetSmart.

So, excuse me if I've not got this right, but if you are moving your store into a location where there is already a store, isn't that just closing a store?

/counting on fingers/ Yep. The result is the net loss of one retail outlet. That is a closing. You can't fool me, because I took math!

Like I Need This!

Barnes and Nobel is having their annual clearance sale. Can I resist the opportunity of picking up books for less than $5?

My already groaning bookshelves vote: NO!

Now Serving Number ****

I have tried to limit myself from checking in on my Prius status to once per week.













I can log on to the dealership website and see how many people are ahead of me to get a Prius. It took about 10 days to even get my data entered, and when I first checked my number was. . .

90.


When I checked in the following week, it was still 90. Well, what did I expect. It's not like cars arrive from Japan in a steady stream. Cars are not fast food, after all. No, they arrive by container ship, which means that a large batch arrives all at once, and get purchased, and then everybody waits until the next ship arrives.

So last week, my number was. . .

Still 90.

I'm totally prepared to wait until December. I'm having a bit of emotional deja vu from those last weeks of pregnancy, when I'd go to the OB once a week, who always informs you that "there is no more effacement and dilation, so we'll see you again next week." I would invariably become convinced that the baby was never going to be born.

Today I am number. . .

67!

And Now An Opposing Viewpoint

Despite having just listed my Crabby Summer list, I do have to point out that although it is June, we haven't had a day that has officially hit 80 yet. Okay, maybe one. We still regularly wear our jeans because the weather at night is so cool that shorts are simply uncomfortable. Overnight lows have dropped into the 40s this month.

So WHY are all the stores on the face of the planet having their Summer Clearance Sales right now? It's still too cold to go swimming outside, for crap's sake! There is no way the population of Evil-ille is finished buying everything that they will need when the real summer weather hits. Sure, it's lovely having 50% off sales, but not when that means that the next time I go looking for patioware for a summer party, all that will be available are brown plates shaped like autumn leaves! Why do you send all the bathing suits back to stock school uniforms BEFORE THE SUMMER SOLSTICE?

I have kids heading to summer camps at the end of July. Let's just hope Target will still carry mosquito spray by then.

Yes, this is proof positive of the existence of parallel universes--the one in which summer is over by June 15, and the one where the rest of us live.

Signs of Summer for Crabby People

I have no reason to bitch about the weather right now. It's beautiful! The sky is clear and bright blue, the temperature is hovering just under 80 degrees, the garden is full of roses and peonies. So, I can't complain, right?

Ho! You don't know me very well, do you?

Because every silver lining has a gray cloud, here are my Crabby Signs of Summer:

1. I have mowed the lawn. Twice.
2. Caterpillars have dropped down my neck while walking the dog today. Twice.
3. I killed my first mosquito, but only after it bit me.
4. Twice.

Happy June!

Something You Don't See Everyday

The kidlets and I went to the zoo the other day, and there is such a decided demographic: namely people with strollers. This encompasses kids in strollers, moms pushing strollers, dads lifting strollers in and out of buildings, strollers used for carrying the diaper bag while the kid walks.

We purposely went a bit late in the day, figuring that the Stroller Brigade would be heading home for naps by then. Yup, it worked. We pulled into a parking spot ridiculously close to the entrance, and battled up the Stroller River to get inside.

I am still fascinated by all the different formats Moms come in. There are definitely 'types" of moms and I am always mentally trying to see where I fit. There are the cute tiny Asian moms, who look all of about 14--not me. There are the short shorts and halter top wearing moms, who are often identifiable in the restrooms by their ridiculous footwear. High heels at the zoo for gods' sake? Nope, not me either. Plus, they are so damn perky!

There are the fun moms, with cute but practical hair, wearing sensible walking shoes that are still cute--a lot of Skechers' cross straps in this group--who are interacting with their kids in positive ways. I want to be one of them, but let's face it--they usually have at least FOUR kids, and I'm just not that organized. Face it--I know they have coolers full of healthy picnic lunches and 100% juice drinks in reusable cups. I'm always the "we can buy something there" mom--my pre-outing packing routine stopped shortly after "Do I have my keys?" and "Did we remember to bring your sister?" Yeah, I wanna be one of that gang, but I don't have the cred.

Older moms? Well, no, and that is NOT just my vanity talking. Broadly speaking, older moms tend to have just the one kid, often adopted from a foreign country. Most of them look exhausted, except the ones who are more Earth Mother-y. You know the type: long curly hair, equal parts brown and salt-and-pepper; ankle length denim skirt; t-shirt with liberal slogan or activist cause on the front; Birkenstocks.

There was an actually specimen from this phylum near the exit as we headed for home. Barrettes clipped into hair? Check. Denim jacket on the stroller? Check. French pedicure?

WHA. . . ?










Who wears Birkenstocks and a French Pedicure? I bet nobody who works at Mother Jones gets French Pedicures! French Pedicures scream "I get pedicures AT LEAST every two weeks which means I have an hour and a half during daylight hours to spend on myself! Plus the ability to drop a substantial bit of money as well!" French manicures say "I pose for J. Crew catalogs for the employee discount on polo shirts."

They do not say "I carry my own reusable hemp backs when I shop at the co-op to save the trees." They do not say "I only eat tomatoes I grow myself in the back yard." They also don't say "long denim skirt with activist slogan on the front."

So now I'm stuck on this. Why would this Older Mom Type have a French Pedicure? I'm just guessing here, but I'm thinking maybe she has a daughter from a previous marriage, or maybe a step daughter, who knocked her over the head with a sock full of quarters, and she only came to sitting in a massage chair with her bare feet in bubbling water.

Yes, I think we have spotted the opening signs of Wedding Season.

Photo source here.

Oh CRAP

I haven't posted about the sleep apnea thing for quite a while. No, I haven't gotten used to the Damn Machine--in fact just the opposite. After about 5 months of using it, my breathing patterns seem to have been significantly retrained, and I haven't used it since about March. Yeah, I love being able to sleep on my stomach again.

But recently, I've been noticing a tendency to be tired again. It creeps up on one, this lack of sleep, and suddenly I heard myself saying something I hadn't said for months. "Gosh, I'm tired!" (I try not to swear in front of the kidlets.)

So I waited for a night Captain Sweetie was away on business travel, and reattached the Damn Machine for the night. God I had forgotten how it makes me feel like an elephant--the long air tube coming off the front of my face and getting tangled up as I sleep. Did the mask used to leak like this? Air is streaming into my left eye, and across my nose. This must mean readjustment. Fine, so I get the air to stop escaping. . .and now I can feel the mask material searing into my skin, so I have to loosen it and the air is escaping again. . .

It was a long night. For the three hours I actually managed to keep the Damn Thing on.

You know the real tragedy? After one night--ONE NIGHT--and not even an entire night with that Damn Machine, what do I get.

Insomnia.

Killer insomnia. The kind where you toss and turn and wake up your bed partner (who falls asleep again in under 0.075 seconds, so he doesn't remember it, but he doesn't hear the scary noises he makes when he is startled from sleep). The kind of killer insomnia where you (and by you, I mean "me") go downstairs and watch the sun come up before feeling the least bit sleepy.

Four hours of sleep for a number of nights in a row isn't good for me. Know how I can tell? Because I can't even remember how many nights it has been.

But there is a silver lining! When I have insomnia, I don't have to wear the Damn Machine!