Categories
Little Bits of Stupid Photography

What to Post When You Can’t Keep a Train of Thought on Its Rails…

Image: Trojan Moose
Trojan Moose
Taken July 7, 2008 with Canon PowerShot A550

Yeah, yeah, I know I said I *hate* these things not two posts ago, but…The Best Memes in Life Are Stolen. Elle said that, so it must be true.

Stole this from Elle, who stole it from Angelika, who stole it from Why Are You Stalking Me?, who stole it from someone else. 😀

1. Do you like blue cheese salad dressing?
— No.

2. Favorite late night snack?
— Mashed potatoes. And beer.

3. Do you own a gun?
— No.

4. What’s your favorite drink at Starbucks or other specialty coffee shop?
— Here in Canuckia, it’s Tim’s, and it’s either a black coffee, or an English Toffee something-or-other.

5. Do you get nervous before doctor appointments?
— Not anymore.

6. What do you think of hot dogs?
— I try not to think of them, or it puts me off them. Have eaten them. Will most likely eat them again.

7. Favorite Christmas song?
— Gramma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.

8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning?
— I wish I had the nerve to say beer. It’s coffee, though.

9. Can you do push-ups?
— I can… but will I? HA!

10. What’s your favorite piece of jewelry?
— It’s a toss-up between my Grandmother’s little silver “broach-watch” thingy, or my father’s wristwatch. I wear neither of them, though. Or any other jewelry of any other kind, for that matter.

11. Favorite hobby?
Digital Photography.

12. Do you have A.D.D.?
— Probably.

13. What’s one trait that you hate about yourself?
— I procrastinate. A lot. I probably stole this meme weeks ago.

14. The last disease you contracted?
— Wrinkles.

15. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment.
— I can’t possibly be expected to untangle THREE of them considering I might have A.D.D.

16. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink?
— Coffee, coffee and beer. Although ‘regular’ on beer has become more ‘few and far between’. And that’s a shame, if ever there was one.

17. Current worry right now?
— None. I refuse.

18. Current hate right now?
— See above.

19. Favorite place to be?
— I haven’t been ANYPLACE, yet. I’ll have to do something about that.

20. How did you ring in the New Year?
— I seriously cannot remember.

21. Like to travel?
— I hope so.

22. Name three people who will complete Sunday Stealing this week:
— No.

23. Do you own slippers?
— Yes, I do.

24. What color shirt are you wearing?
— Black.

25. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets?
— Haven’t the foggiest. Probably not.

26. Can you whistle?
— Can so.

27. Favorite singer/band?
— Impossible to attempt to decide.

28. Could you ever make it 39 days on the show Survivor?
— I’ll betcha I could. But what the hell for?!

29. What songs do you sing in the shower?
— I don’t. The Idiot Child does though. And in the sauna. And in the “bathroom”. And in her sleep sometimes.

30. Favorite girl’s names?
— Kyla.

31. Favorite boy’s names?
— Hmmmmm…. Matthew for my father, maybe?

32. What’s in your pocket right now?
— Nothing right now, but a few seconds ago there was a hand in there!

33. Last thing that made you laugh?
— How fast “Hand in My Pocket” started playing in my head after I typed the above answer.

34. Like your job?
— I do.

36. Do you love where you live?
— If you mean my apartment – yes. If you mean this town – not like I once did.

37. How many TVs do you have in your house?
— 1

38. Who is your loudest friend?
— “Real Life” friends – The Fly-Girl. “Imaginary Friends”, as my mom calls anybody I know online, I haven’t a clue yet. But it’s probably Suzi, now that Sheikh is gone… 😀 / 🙁

39. Do you drive the speed limit or speed?
— I always drive the speed limit. Unless I think I might have cocaine in my pockets.

40. Does someone have a crush on you?
— If so, I hope it’s a movie producer in need of new scripts…

41. What is your favorite book?
— Can’t say… too many. I like anything by Madeline L’engle. Or Douglas Adams. Or Robert Heinlein.

42. What is your favorite candy?
— Just gimme the candy.

43. Favorite Sports Team?
— At one time, it was the Edmonton Oilers, but then Wayne defected.

44. What were you doing 12 AM last night?
— Dancing in the parking lot.

45. What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up today?
— I haven’t yet woken up today.

So, steal it if you want it. 😀

Random Song-for-the-Day: “Gyasi Went Home” – Bedouin Soundclash

Categories
Little Bits of Stupid Radio Les

Guess What I Found on the “Dance Floor”…?

Is It, or Isn't It...?Taken November 7, 2008 with Canon PowerShot A550In a Parking Lot, Wellington St West, Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, Canada
Is It, or Isn’t It…?
Taken November 7, 2008 with Canon PowerShot A550
In a Parking Lot, Wellington St West, Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, Canada

Right, so I worked a night shift today (or last night), and have not yet slept, although I’m working through the night again tomorrow (or today [or tonight]).

You’ll have to excuse me; my brains have had a stir. See above.

It’s a lonely vigil, the night shift. There’s nobody else to dance with, for one thing. Not that I mind dancing alone (and I do dance in the parking lot all by myself, through the long night. I do.), but there are fewer 5-minute conversations, because there are fewer people – which is why I’m alone to begin with; fewer people to deal with means no side-kick for Les to dance with – and those few people tend to be tired and grumpy. Especially when it rains.

Myself, I like the rain in the middle of the night. I don’t have to sweep the “dance floor” in the rain, although I kind of like that part of the job. It’s rhythmic and soothing, and sometimes I find cool things. Like money – in 5 cent, 10 cent, 2-bits, and sometimes (gasp!) even whole dollar increments.

And then there’s that thing at the top of the page, stuck up there before the words start. Yes, it does look like that, doesn’t it? Or what I’ve always imagined that that would look like, if ever I encountered it, and up until I came across that ziploc bag while sweeping prior to the rain in the middle of last night, I had never encountered it.

If that’s what it really is, anyway.

And you know I’m not going to tell you that, at least, until the end of the story, right?

Right.

I’m going to interrupt here, one day later, to add some audio. With thanks to Suzi and Dale, I’ve worked up the guts to record the remaining portion of this post, as practice for The Waitress AudioBook project – you know, test the equipment and software, find my public speaking voice again, blah, blah, blah.

I’m pleased to say, that I dropped back into it with very few mishaps, and no tears whatsoever. In fact, I actually enjoyed myself, which I wouldn’t have believed possible, previously. I may just do this again.

Click the link – have a listen – read along. Sorry about the lack of a bouncing ball to follow, but maybe I’ll work that in when I switch the blog over to flash, which should happen sometime next decade with the flash conversion success rate that I boast…

Introducing…

Radio Les!

Guess What I Found in the Parking Lot? – © Les Becker, 2008
Click it! Click it!

(You know you want to…)

So….

I stand there in the parking lot, broom in hand, staring down at this ziploc bag, and nudge it with the very manly steel-toed toe of my very manly steel-toed boot…. and I look around as nonchalantly as is possible when one comes across what might be seriously illegal ziploc baggie-filler in the middle of the night at one’s place of employment, with Han Solo’s voice running through my head: “I don’t know! Fly casual!” Or, in this case, sweep casual….

Eventually, I get up the guts to pick it up. It’s heavier than I would have imagined cocaine would be; packed into a hard little, perfect little, ultra-thin zippo-lighter-sized rectanglular-shaped brick.

A nasty thought strikes me: Is this some kind of test?!

Not a “set up from the Boss” kind of test… I’m thinking more along the lines of God, or the Universe, or Whomever/Whatever really runs things… a kind of like, “Here! Have some of this. Free, even!” kind of test. I mean, if I had found a baggie of pot in the parking lot in the middle of the night, I wouldn’t be blogging this.

And I’m pretty sure I’d be sound asleep right now, too… 😀

But it very obviously isn’t pot… and I’ve no idea if it’s what I think it might be, which is coke, and on top of that, no idea if, assuming I had the opportunity/nerve to open it up, I would be able to tell cocaine from anything else that might resemble cocaine.

All I really know, is that whatever it is or isn’t, it’s illegal, and I’d better “do the right thing”, or risk arrest, and the loss of my groovy-cool new J.O.B.

So, what’s the “right thing to do”?

Do I sneak off to the bathroom and unwrap the thing…? No. I’m not worried about temptation (although wouldn’t that be a bugger – to crawl out from under, find a job I like for a change, and then get hooked on coke in the employee bathroom the first time out because I found somebody’s lost stash and thought, “Ah, what the hell…?”), but opening it up wouldn’t exactly look good on me later, would it?

Do I take it in to the “inside” side of the parking lot, to Pretty Girl who’s working tonight and Show and Tell it to her? I decide against… Pretty Girl is nice (she dances when I tell her to), but I don’t really know her that well. What if she’s a coke-head? It could happen – maybe she dropped it.

I decide to go inside and call the Boss – yes, wake him up out of a sound sleep, and ask him what to do. That’s the ticket.

At which point, a 5-Minute Conversationalist rolls up to park, grumpy as all hell, and I stuff the baggie in my pocket and go conversate.

And then I forget all about it.

I KNOW!!! Can you imagine?!

But that’s what I do… until the sun rises, and I’m suddenly surrounded by 5-Minute Conversationalists and it isn’t until the Boss pulls up and parks that I remember it.

And then shift-change is upon us, and things go nuts, because we have to shut everything down for a whole minute-and-a-half and all the grumpy 5-Minute Conversationalists are freaking because they have to wait for their conversations, and by the time it calms down and I’m free to talk to the Boss about the baggie full of drugs I found in his parking lot, my Idiot Child (now don’t come down on me for renaming my formerly wonderful albeit sometimes stupid kid – she’s a full-blown teenager now, clinically insane and has recently earned the new name, believe me) comes flying into the fray to tell me she missed her bus, and can I please, please drive her all the way to the far edge of town to school?

To which I find myself driving in a downpour, with a minor child, and me with no purse (hence, no driver’s license), with my pockets stuffed full of cocaine.

I’m certain I’m going to be stopped for driving erratically. I am, in point of fact, driving very erratically, being in a panic about my pending arrest and all. The knowledge that I am about to become the much-honoured Family Cup Holder does not please me nearly as much as I’ve always believed it would.

I’m sure that, even if I don’t get stopped by the police, I’m certain to run a red light, plow through twenty-seven other vehicles, roll the Prissy-van, mow down a whole bloody mess of school-children, and eventually wake up from my coma in handcuffs because somebody is going to find cocaine in my pockets, dammit, and, somehow, I don’t think, “I found it in the parking lot,” is gonna fly… Nuh-uhhh.

I decide to drop my Idiot Child off at school, and then drive to the police station with my contraband and turn myself in. I’m pretty sure they’ll believe the parking lot story if I surrender the goods of my own volition, so I concentrate on not killing anyone, and driving safely, and I must be doing alright, because I turn into my driveway having had only two fists shaken in my direction, and three or four fingers, ummm, fingered at me.

Yes. I turn into my driveway… having driven by rote and gone home rather than the police station.

At this point, I decide, to hell with it all, I’m going to flush it and forget it. I get inside, lock the door, lock the bathroom door, you know, to be on the safe side, and unwrap the hard little, perfect little, ultra-thin zippo-lighter-sized rectanglular-shaped brick.

Which turns out to be a dead camera battery wrapped in a tissue and folded into a ziploc bag for recycling.

Lucky for me… because a few minutes later, I discover that my toilet won’t flush.

Some drug dealer I’d make. I’m disgusted with myself. I don’t deserve The Family Cup after all.

And Google is going to send me some wicked-weird visitors because of this post, I know it.

Not-So-Random Song-for-the-Day: “Cocaine” – Eric Clapton

Categories
Little Bits of Stupid Real Life

I *HATE* These Things…

Peaceful
Peaceful
Taken August 11, 2008 with Canon PowerShot A550

…but Suzi tagged me with a meme, and I’ll do it because she kinda scares me (she drinks MOLD!).

Before I get to that, though, I would like to point out the peacefulish picture above. That’s how life has been lately, although I’m pretty much either at work, or asleep. That’s right – I said asleep. Insomnia no longer plagues me.

I think it helps that I’m outside a lot, running a lot, eating more…. And I get to dance at work (I don’t dance alone – I make everybody dance). I’m finally working a “Dream Job” again…. This is the one I dreamed of having when I was 4. Guess I’m late with pretty much everything.

I haven’t had any time to write – I only just got my little Basement Loft back in order after three weeks of doing NO housework other than laundry. It took me less than an hour. I moved to the right place, didn’t I? 🙂

Okay, so on to the dreaded meme. I’m supposed to come up with 7 random things about myself that few, if any, people know. I don’t think there’s 7 random things about me that *I* know, truthfully, but I’ll give it a shot (I told you that Suzi scares me, right?).

1) I have one eyebrow. Or I would have one eyebrow, if I didn’t delete the bit between what would make two eyebrows.

2) I’ve lived in 22 different places (abodes, not cities) in my lifetime. That’s equivalent to moving house once every 1.9 years. Pretty bad for someone who doesn’t adapt to change easily, huh?

3) I shaved my head when I was 35. I told everybody I did it for charity (which was true, really – hey, I raised $500!), but really it was because I had always wanted to see what I’d look like, and the charity-thing gave me a good excuse to do so.

4) I’m going to shave my head again when I’m 50. You can hold me to that (…and this time, I might keep it shaved.).

5) After I moved into my first apartment here in the Sault, I lived in my claw-foot bathtub. When I wasn’t at work, I was in a hot bath with a book. I even ate my meals in the bathroom.

6) My first marriage wasn’t supposed to be a marriage. I was asked to have a child, not get married. I only got the “married” part because I wouldn’t have a child out of wedlock at the age of 19. My husband never got the child part, so I guess I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain.

7) My one and only child was born out of wedlock. We didn’t get married until two months after she was born, and then we got married through the mail. I’m a bad, BAD girl, I guess. 😉

Now I’m supposed to tag a bunch of other people. I’m not going to, though.

So there.

Random Song for the Day: “America” – Marcy Playground

Categories
Blog-Family Little Bits of Stupid

Bloggers Say the Darn’dest Things…

"Where You Caught That Mystery Virus..."
“Where You Caught That Mystery Virus…”
Taken December 18, 2007 with Canon PowerShot A550

Bloggers are pretty freaking funny. Lucky for me, ‘cuz I’ve been short of time of late, and recuperating after finishing The Waitress, the Whiskey & the Handcuffs. So I spent a little of what time was left over after “re-charging” (ahem…*) picking through my comments of last year. I’m paying homage to a bunch of my Blog Family members and a few others with this list, just because it proves they may be more crazy than I am.

These are great writers, all, and I hope you’ll visit them – ummm… although OldGuy’s site is slightly kaput at the mo’. No, it wasn’t my fault. I don’t think, anyway.

Oh, and Julie may be AWOL. That probably is my fault.

OldGuy of OldGuy’s Tree House:

“Oh, I like Ruby’s mother, I really do. And headless, blood-spurting dancing chickens.”

“I’m getting old and my bladder isn’t what it used to be.”

“Actually I’d like to be there when they replace the skylight coz I wanna make faces and fire paper clips at them.”

“So you walk to the retirement home every time you go out ?”

“Geez, between the powerful zoom and your nifty reshaped eyeballs you must be able to see all the way to Moosonee.”

“Whack job eh ? Well, at least I’m in good company.”

“There was that one year when we didn’t get snow in April … oh no wait, that was in Hawaii.”

“The trick to getting through vacuuming is to imagine the dirt is trying to destroy the universe and you are a hero armed with a powerful weapon that will foil it’s evil plan.”

Mushy of Mushy’s Moochings:

“You must have or witnessed chickens being killed, because I have and you are dead on.”

“You have to love ’em…they’ve been around too long not to.”

“I was intrigued, first of all, that anyone could stay in a bathtub that long!”

Rhea of The Boomer Chronicles:

“I think it was the eggs hanging down, not the hummingbird, that clinched the grand prize.”

“Was it the drugs?”

“It’s a pretty groovy haircut.”

Denise of Not What It Seems:

“I want to know about the donkey.”

“Since I don’t know the whole situation, I will give you a hippie/granola crunching response.”

MotherPie of, well, MotherPie:

“I was the flower girl in the Marlboro Man’s wedding (he was one of the non-smoking Marlboro Men, I think).”

Suzi of What It Shwas:

“I swear I can smell the pee-soaked straw.”

“I sure hope you made a video of the rat vs. cat match.”

“You picked the wrong time to give up booze.”

“Might I suggest cloning yourself?”

“Mmmmmm. I’m suddenly craving eggrolls and calamari.”

“You can’t really consider a camera “tested” until it’s been to Mexico, though.”

“I enjoy the shark’s lipstick, too.”

“It’s so much harder to learn new stuff when there’s already so much stuff packed into your brain!”

“Tell Kyla to quit floofing her kid dander all over the place. Geez.”

Shrinky of Shrink-Wrapped Scream:

“Beer – lots, it’ll help no end.”

“Don’t do it – you know it makes you cranky!”

“So I know you’ve written to me, but I haven’t a clue what..aarrgghhhh!!!”

“Fornicating pigeons are far more my style..”

“Hey, I just won an award today!!! Dead chuffed, I am.”

“I’ve sent the lear jet – but bring your own freakin’ chair!!”

“God my head hurts. I’m gonna be driving around half-pissed for the rest of today.”

“Sure, life is shit at times, we’ve all got to deal with it. I deal with it by drinking a bucket of wine.”

BeckEye of The PopEye:

“I’ve never seen any riding the trains, just walking on the tracks. Oh, and swimming in the nacho cheese at Taco Bell.”

“If I put as much effort into finding paying gigs as I do into writing silliness on my non-lucrative blog, I’d be living in the West Village instead of above a porn shop in Brooklyn.”

“A subway rat would’ve eaten all 3 of you without batting an eye.”

“What happens to a dream deferred? Does it burn like a wicker chair?”

“Your camera needs a name? Uh, Federwhore, maybe?”

“Way to make me feel like a loser!”

“Not gloating or anything. Wait, yes I am.”

“Say ‘feces’ instead of ‘shit.’ It’s such a fun word to say. Or ‘turds.'”

“If someone threw a quarter at my ass, it would probably never be seen again.”

Julie of What They Don’t Tell You in Film School:

“I had a bathroom modeled a few years back, which was around the time I learned to pee in a coffee cup.”

Deni of Last Girl on Earth:

“I just took the test and I’m a purple brain too.”

* * *

Oh, and yeah… I’m employed again. Twice over, as matter of fact. Yes. Two jobs – how the hell did that happen do you think?!

Random Song-for-the-Day: “Good Riddance” – Green Day

Categories
Little Bits of Stupid

You Want Fries with that Burger…?

Les and Goldie, 1971
Ain’t I Angelic… “looking”?

Ah, yes, appearances can be deceiving, though, can’t they? The dog knows differently, you can tell by the look on her face.

This picture was taken by my father in 1971. I would have been around 5 at the time. The dog (her name was Goldie), was 4, and I think my dad might have loved her as much as, if not more than, he loved me. He never once forgot her name, whereas I still get referred to as “Vel-errr…Kar-errr… Lisa! No…. Diddly-Do-Over-There”. He does that to all his kids, mind you, so it’s not like I’m singled out. He had too many kids, and just the one dog.

Goldie is in nearly every photo taken of me by my dad from the time she was brought home to the time she was “put down” when I was about 13.

She was old and had been through some tough times – surgery for removal of an “India Rubber” ball she accidentally swallowed (my dad still has that – ask him where my first tooth is, though) … rheumatism resulting from being accidentally run over (by my dad!!!!)… poor ol’ dog.

My parents didn’t tell me they’d put Goldie down until 4 days after the deed was done, because I was in the middle of a monstrous school project. They were worried I would be so upset that I’d get a bad mark. I cried. A lot. Not because the dog was gone, so much as I felt guilty that I hadn’t wondered where she was for 4 days. Some friend I turned out to be.

ANYWAY…. that’s not what this post is about. It’s about an incident that happened around the year this picture was taken – and probably the reason I hate cooking so much…

I think we were on Cockburn Island (stop laughing, Suzi), but it could have been one of a myriad of other islands in the North Channel that we “boated” to. I know there were other families there –

1) because my dad (along with several other dads) was three sheets to the wind (ummm… for those not in-the-know, “three sheets to the wind” is Sailor-Talk for Drunk.), and it took other dads present for such a thing to happen, and

B) because My Brother the Trespasser wouldn’t play with me, and it took other kids present for such a thing to happen.

So, all the other kids, being older, were… I don’t know…. gone, and I was left all by my lonesome 5-year-oldness to amuse myself. Under the arguable watchful-eyedness of a bunch of drunks. I could hardly help but get into trouble.

We were BBQ-ing that night. Well, the other families were BBQ-ing. Ours was “Hibachi-ing”. My dad loved his little Hibachi, because it didn’t need any dismantling for storage (we lived on a boat in the summer, remember?), or have to be strapped down on the deck.

hibachi
It looked exactly like this.

Yes. Very small. Very low to the ground. About up to a 5-year-old’s shins. Reachable, in other words, to both a 5-year-old girl who only looked like an angel, and a 4-year-old dog who would eat anything within reach provided my dad wasn’t yelling “UUT! Oh, NO YOU DON’T!!” at the time. As I recall, that worked on both dog and girl equally well.

But, as you will recall, my dad was three sheets to the wind. And he did a silly thing. He told me (ME!) to “keep an eye on the Hibachi and make sure Goldie doesn’t get into the hamburgers.” Imagine that! And then he went back to his lawn chair, his rum, his buddies, and Nat King Cole on the 8-track.

So, I picked up the spatula and “kept an eye on the Hibachi”. As well as any 5-year-old who’d never wielded a spatula before could….

Now, this is about the point where the way my parents tell this story and the truth part ways. Ahem…*

To my knowledge, my parents don’t read my blog… in fact, I’m pretty sure that My Brother the Trespasser is the only member of my family who ever has, and I’m not even sure of that, truthfully… but if I get in trouble for the following admission, I will be forced to inform my parents who it was that taught me how to remove a locked wine-cellar door from its hinges quickly and silently, and put it back the way I found it, equally quickly and equally silently. Not to mention the party I swore I’d keep quiet about in exchange for such a valuable education. I swear I’ll tell. Fair warning, oh Brother Mine.

My parents maintain that I was “playing house”. That I “didn’t know any better”. That I just “had quite the imagination as a child”. Ri-ight. Goldie would have ratted me out in a heartbeat if my dad had thought to offer a milk bone. As it was, I think she may have scored the whole meal.

I was trying to flip the hamburgers over. I knew it had to be done; I could smell them burning. No amount of arm-waving, or sleeve-pulling, or “excuse-me-ing” could get my dad’s attention, and truthfully, it never once occurred to me to go to my mother because this emergency pertained to The Hibachi, which was most definitely my father’s turf.

And he ignored me.

And I saw my chance to finally be The Hero, and save supper.

So, I gingerly slid the spatula under a hamburger patty, and attempted to deftly flip it over, whereupon it promptly flipped off the Hibachi. Into the sand. Of course. May I remind you at this point, that I was 5.

You may not be aware, unless you’ve dropped a hamburger patty into the sand, that sand does not scrape off a hamburger patty. Completely.

But it can be disguised.

With more sand.

On all the other hamburger patties.

You can fit about eight hamburgers on an Hibachi grill. It takes approximately ten minutes for a 5-year-old girl-that-looks-like-an-angel-but-who-has-an-imagination to drop seven hamburger patties in the sand (on purpose!), scrape as much sand off as possible, and return them to the grill, sand-side-down.

They didn’t catch on until the second bite, as I recall, but they haven’t let me forget it, since. I believe we had bologna sandwiches for supper that night. Goldie ate sandy hamburger.

Not-So-Random Song for the Day: “Ramblin’ Rose” – Nat King Cole