tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31141318046254077462024-03-13T03:03:47.574-07:00little thingsE. M. Prokophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12395951217528199963noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3114131804625407746.post-28559014680771030382015-04-24T07:41:00.000-07:002015-04-24T07:41:13.185-07:00Lucky Numbers<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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October 3, 2001</div>
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10:49 pm</div>
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I was reading in Rosie O'Donnell's magazine about how to discover your lucky number. Okay, it goes like this.......my birthday is 07/28/1960....so....I would add it all together, and come up with.....1,995?.....what? I must be doing it wrong! Okay, maybe you don't add the whole year, maybe just the last two digits of it.....so......if I do that I come up with.....95...then I'm supposed to add those two digits together, and I get.....14....then I add those and come up with 5.</div>
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So. My lucky number is 5 I guess....??</div>
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It doesn't make any sense. How is 5 lucky for me? God, maybe I did it wrong...</div>
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....hmmm......why is everyone so hung up on lucky numbers anyway?</div>
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Why not lucky words? I'd rather have a lucky word than a lucky number. It would make the lottery a little more interesting! If the 'winning words' were, like, 'almost/crazy/retribution/any/dormitory/elsewhere.....and the bonus word is: bonus'.</div>
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E. M. Prokophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12395951217528199963noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3114131804625407746.post-46673660468639840602015-04-19T11:16:00.000-07:002015-11-04T09:18:19.694-08:00The Queen's Car<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I've been so negligent of this blog lately...many things have happened in the last six months or so....it doesn't matter what, the point is that I'm back to posting.<br />
I'll start off with an old journal entry from about 12 or 13 years ago. It's the story of how my mother, brother and I ALMOST saw the Queen!....a not quite brush with greatness...hope you enjoy it!<br />
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October 7, 2002</div>
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Today I almost saw the Queen. I'm speaking about the Queen of England. The old woman on the twenty....the one whose portrait hangs in post offices across the land... Yes yes. THAT Queen. She of stern expressions and giant yellow hats.</div>
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Here is the tale exactly as I remember it happening, and it was just today, so I'd say my recall is pretty accurate. </div>
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My brother had to go in to Vancouver to get his boat license renewed...he needs this for work, but that's of no consequence to this tale,<br />
Our mother is in town, so he said, why don't the three of us, him and me and our mother go to Vancouver and make a day of it. Show Mom around and whatnot. We were vaguely aware that the Queen was in Vancouver. Or was going to be in Vancouver. We weren't sure which, but we barely thought about that the whole way in to the city.<br />
We were to learn that catching a glimpse of the Queen is pretty much an exercise in futility. They keep her well hidden from the peons it seems. </div>
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We arrived in Vancouver after heavy stop and go traffic, and, as usual, it was a shit show from the get-go.<br />
You know. Regarding the traffic, the parking, the bikes....the traffic.<br />
We're not used to having to pay for parking, and it really struck us that it's unfair to ask us to pay, just to be able to leave the car outside in front of a building....what do they want us to do? Bring it in?<br />
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We spent an inordinate amount of time searching for a suitable, and available, space. We fought the hoards of other cars, bicycle messengers popping out of nowhere just in time to cut us off, and street people displaying signs<br />
...('travelling, out of gas, anything helps. thank you. god bless.')(Does this ever work for any of them? I guess it must or they wouldn't keep doing it)<br />
It seems like we spent more time looking for a parking space than it took us to drive in from the Valley.<br />
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Finally my brother decided on the two dollar underground parking that was within walking distance of the Government of Canada building that he needed to be in to do the whole renewal of launch operator license.<br />
At long last, with the parking complete, he made his way along the sidewalk, and into the appropriate building.<br />
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Mother and I waited for him in a kitschy little coffee shop called 'Death by Chocolate'. We were sipping our coffee and trying to make up our minds as to which decadent chocolate concoction we would die by, when we noticed a small crowd forming on the sidewalk outside.<br />
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All at once a very expensive looking navy blue Lincoln pulled up to the curb, right in front of the coffee/chocolate shop. Up to that moment I'd never seen a more posh car. It looked like it was made of velvet. Another one pulled in right behind the first one. And then another. All together seven navy blue velvet Lincolns were parked right in front of 'Death by Chocolate'.<br />
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With the Lincolns came a heavy police presence, and a septet of spit and polish chauffeurs.<br />
Suddenly it dawned on me. I said, "Mom! I think these are the Queen's cars!"<br />
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She looked at me like I had nine heads.<br />
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"The Queen's cars?! Oh I don't think so! Why would the Queen be here?"<br />
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"She is in Vancouver right now. Logic says that at any given time she has to be somewhere....Oh my GOD Mom! Look at that one!"<br />
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Another car had pulled up and parked in front of the long line of Lincolns, and this one looked like it was made of gold. It made the navy blue velvet cars look like $89.00 beaters.<br />
It was like something out of a fairy tale.....it was car porn.<br />
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I should mention that my mother is a complete nut for the Royals. She has magazines and books and follows all the Royal news that's fit to share. She adores the Queen, thinks Prince Charles is funny looking and cried when Diana died.<br />
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When she saw the magical golden car, she gave me a quick glance out of the side of her face as she swiveled in her seat and stood up, clutching her coffee cup, in one fluid motion.<br />
She was out the door before I stood up, which I did forthwith, also still holding my coffee cup. As I hurried out the door to see if I could spot my mom in the crowd. She had already been swallowed by the throng. I heard the waitress behind me, frantic,<br />
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"You can't take the mugs outside! Excuse me??! You have to bring the mugs back!"<br />
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"Don't worry, you'll get the mugs back. I have to find my mother. She's gone to see the Queen....or try to...look at all these velvet cars!....we'll bring the mugs back."<br />
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I fought through the crowd, which had thickened up quite a bit from just a couple minutes before...and I found my mother.<br />
She was taking picture after picture of the Golden Fairy Tale Car...the Royal insignia in place of a license plate...a very official, stern looking man with a wire coming out of his ear was keeping a close watch on her. I guess you can't be too careful when it comes to 65 year old women with cameras. There's no telling what they might do.<br />
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I found myself suddenly wrapped up in the excitement of the situation.<br />
'What if the Queen came out right now?!', I thought.<br />
It would be something to see the woman who I've been seeing my whole life on the money, on tv, hanging in a frame in the school office, giving her annual Christmas address...maybe she was in the same building my brother was in! Maybe he'd already seen her, in the process of getting his launch ticket renewed....(I don't know why I thought that. Maybe the Queen had some sort of hat license to renew?)<br />
God, I was wearing jeans! I wasn't dressed to meet the Queen, I thought.<br />
The thrill of the situation overtook me and I reached a free hand out and let my fingertips dust across the front of the car.<br />
The stern looking man with the wire in his ear said,<br />
"Don't touch the car."<br />
And to my mother, "Ma'am. That's enough. You're going to have to move back to the sidewalk."<br />
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We took that to mean that the Queen was on her way out of wherever it was that she was. We scampered back to the sidewalk like a couple of giddy teens from long ago waiting to see David Cassidy.<br />
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I heard the waitress through the crowd,<br />
"Excuse me?! The cups??!"<br />
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"The Queen!", my mother blurted out.<br />
To which the waitress replied, "Oh yeah? Where?"<br />
"You can have your cups. We don't need them. We're gonna see the Queen!"<br />
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The waitress grabbed the cups by the handles in one hand. She was not bowled over by the prospect of seeing the Queen...she made her way back to the cafe with the cups as we held firm to our place on the sidewalk, which we felt sure was the perfect spot to not only get a really good look at the Queen, but maybe even say hello. Just then my brother appeared on the sidewalk beside us, wondering out loud what all the commotion was about.<br />
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"It's the Queen!", mother said. She was just about breathless with excitement.<br />
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"No way. Really? The actual Queen?"<br />
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"No.", I said to him. "It must be an impostor...I think it's Freddy Mercury."<br />
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"Freddy Mercury's dead."<br />
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"Yeah I know. It's weird."<br />
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We stood there with the rest of the crowd, speculating amongst ourselves when we would see Her. Finally, after about twenty minutes, and no Queen, the fairy tale Lincolns, one by one, began to pull away.<br />
They left the curbside just as they had arrived. Without any pomp or circumstance or announcement.<br />
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We made our way back to the underground parking, to my brother's 1991 burgandy mini van, disappointed that our eyes had not been laid on Her Majesty.<br />
While weaving through traffic, making our way to the highway, we passed the Hotel Vancouver.<br />
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Being seemingly adhered to the pavement, with traffic moving about an inch an hour, we had more than enough time to notice the same Royal fleet that we had just seen. They were all parked right at the underground entrance, with the Golden car nearest to the entrance.<br />
There was a crowd gathered, official looking suits, some uniforms, a few news crews, and a bunch of RCMP.<br />
The suits were walking in a pack. As if they had something, or someone in the middle of the pack that they were shielding from prying eyes or intruding cameras. Like a herd of elephants protecting their young in the center of a circle made of gigantic, grey, tree trunk legs...<br />
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They walked in a clump to the Golden car. At that moment traffic picked up and we were forced to abandon all hope of catching a glimpse of the Queen, although, we were all three pretty certain she had been in the middle of the clump of suits on her way to her car.<br />
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E. M. Prokophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12395951217528199963noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3114131804625407746.post-74961488780826558672015-02-02T21:15:00.000-08:002015-02-02T21:15:15.141-08:00Odd and Ends<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I have an idea for an app that will read all of your emails out loud in the voice of Gilbert Gottfried. I settled on him when it struck me that the voice of Morgan Freeman is over done. I bet even Morgan Freeman is sick of the sound of his own voice...infact, Morgan Freeman is my first subscriber.</div>
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I saw this woman on tv wearing a dress that had a big stupid belt that looked like a row of books, and I thought....."...wtf's the matter with you?"...and then she said,</div>
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"I'm a scarf collector?" </div>
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She said it in that way where everything said sounds like a question.<br />
.......oh. sorry. I mean...."sounds like a question?"....</div>
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She set women back two hundred years.<br />
Who collects scarves??? And why are they on tv talking about it? Aren't there more interesting collections we could be hearing about than scarves??<br />
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I think that one of the most despicable things about first world countries is eating contests.<br />
Way to sock it to Calcutta!<br />
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Speaking of Calcutta, this is a recipe I'd like to try one day:<br />
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Beet Patties<br />
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~ some grated beets with most of the moisture squeezed out...there will still be some moisture, but the beets should be as dry as is humanly possible..I mean, short of doing something like...say...putting them in the dryer...just squeeze them vigorously between some paper towels and they should be fine.<br />
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Mix together:<br />
~ 2 eggs<br />
~ sprinkle of oats<br />
~ some coconut oil<br />
~ a bit of olive oil<br />
~ feta cheese...put quite a lot of this in....unless you want these to be vegan<br />
~ some sliced up fresh basil<br />
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Mix it all up together and then add the dried, grated beets...get in there with your hands and moosh it all together. (Your hands and fingers will turn purple so don't make these if you're going to be doing something serious and important later on....something for which purple fingers will be frowned on.)<br />
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Fry the patties...(before this step you need to ball up portions of the beet mixture, and flatten the balls to form into patties)...in a little olive oil for a few minutes on each side. They should stay together. If they do fall apart you can turn it into ground beet stew.<br />
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Willie Nelson looks like if Pippi Longstocking was an old man.<br />
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This is what I just heard on t.v.:<br />
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"Tomorrow on City Line...how to decorate a long narrow room."<br />
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...come on people! It's time we moved beyond this drivel! ..at least that's what I keep telling myself.<br />
Then I start thinking about how it actually is that the long narrow room is decorated...and I find myself wondering about what would happen if I ever found myself in a long narrow room with absolutely no idea about where to put the blacklight doodled butterfly poster, or if the couch should go along one of the short walls, or one of the long walls....just how long do the long walls have to be to qualify as a <i>long</i> narrow room... And what about wallpaper? Is that ever okay in any long narrow room? ....I'll never know these things now because I've missed that episode thinking it would be meaningless spittle..<br />
...or, I should say, I'm <i>planning</i> to miss that episode.(?)<br />
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E. M. Prokophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12395951217528199963noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3114131804625407746.post-49901152220337762132014-12-24T17:18:00.003-08:002021-06-05T15:08:59.006-07:00Pearly<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Pearly</div>
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(Sometime in 1994 - November 23, 2014)</div>
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Pearly was my beautiful Ragdoll cat. She was born sometime in 1994, and adopted by our family in 2001 when she was seven years old. I had doubts at the time about adopting such an 'old' cat, but her personality made it impossible for us to walk away and leave her languishing in her SPCA cage. </div>
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The day we walked into the pet store and headed for the SPCA corner we had no intention of bringing a feline into our family. We were killing time, as they say, waiting for something that has been lost to the sands of time...an appointment or something I think. At any rate, the SPCA corner was a place to get a glimpse of dogs and cats, puppies and kittens, all waiting for forever homes.</div>
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That day there were a few grown cats, a lot of kittens, and one black dog that seemed to have springs instead of legs. He was in a fenced in area in a corner of the room, and would jump straight up about four feet in the air, and he did this continuously. </div>
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Pearly sat in her cage and stared down at him like he was some kind of a freak.</div>
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When my oldest son put his face next to her cage to get a good look at her, she walked over to him, put a white paw through the bars and flipped his glasses up. </div>
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When I came to look at this spectacle she broke her gaze at my son and locked eyes with me. </div>
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Her meow was soft and sweet, not at all yowly or horrid. </div>
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She explained to us, in her native tongue, that she was meant to be a part of our family, (at least that's what I imagined her to be saying) and we had no choice but to immediately fall in love with her.</div>
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We adopted her on the spot.</div>
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Pearly was pretty much the boss of the two dogs who were already a part of the family when she came. She would chase them away from food that she wanted for herself, or force them to leave cozy beds when she decided she wanted to take a nap. </div>
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At 20 pounds she was a pretty big cat, but still, the dogs were a border collie/lab cross and a ridgeback/pitbull cross...they outweighed her by a lot. It was her confidence and attitude that made them move. </div>
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In the thirteen years that I knew her, Pearly exhibited that confidence and self assurance always. </div>
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When I'd have guests over to the house she would sit at the table, on a chair, and get in on the conversation. She would softly meow and look around at each person.</div>
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If people were in the living room sitting on the couch, she would pick someone that she especially wanted to get to know, and place a large yet delicate white paw on their cheek and hold it there while staring into their eyes.</div>
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I often heard, from laughing, startled people, "What's up with your cat?"</div>
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She was persuasive and always managed to get what she wanted, which was usually a pat, a kind word, or a piece of cake!</div>
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The years went on and eventually the kids moved out, the dogs passsed, and it was just me and Pearly. </div>
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She would greet me at the door every evening when I came in from work. She was eager to tell me about her day and would do so in the soft voice she always had.</div>
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She learned to walk on a harness and enjoyed outings on days without rain. </div>
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As these fairly recent years passed, she became more and more needy, and would wait for me outside the bathroom door, and sleep curled up on my back at night. She hated to be alone.</div>
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She loved to be held like a baby. I could carry her around on her back all day long and she'd purr and purr, occasionally reaching a soft paw up to touch my face. </div>
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She was an easy creature to love. </div>
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In the end, all the trips to the vet just confirmed one thing...unfortunately there is no cure for being a twenty year old cat. If such a cure existed she would still be here, waiting at the bathroom door, getting in on the conversation and causing a sensation on her harness.</div>
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Pets give us so much in return for what we give them. </div>
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For the first time in years I am totally petless, which is a situation I need to remedy soon.</div>
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I would love another Ragdoll, even though I can't replace my Pearl.</div>
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I'll just have to take a trip down to the SPCA and see who's there waiting with a soft meow and a friendly paw.</div>
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(Pearl gazing at her face in her water bowl two days before she died.)</div>
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Happy Holidays to everyone!</div>
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E. M. Prokophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12395951217528199963noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3114131804625407746.post-41271394983121997872014-12-14T22:48:00.000-08:002014-12-14T22:53:51.532-08:00Favourite favourites...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I finally decided to get in on posting my favourite books!<br />
Of course, now that it's no longer a 'thing' that people are doing, I suppose I'm a little late with it.<br />
Either that or I'm super early with the next 'list-a-thon'. Either way, if you guys enjoy reading lists of other people's favourite things as much as I do......well.....you're in for a treat!<br />
Of course, I know some people think that it's just as exciting to read someones shopping list....and if that's the case, come back next Wednesday when I'll be posting the one where my grandson wrote 'candy' in crayon at the bottom of the list, just below crazy glue, batteries, nail polish remover and vodka.<br />
Until then, I hope you enjoy this list.<br />
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I can't really place these in any particular order of preference, since I really like them all...so, even though they do appear in a particular order, (the alternative being a jumbled mess) that order has nothing to do with how much they are loved by me....<br />
.....here I go....<br />
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1. A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, By Dave Eggers<br />
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"These things, these details, stories, whatever, are like the skin shed by snakes, who leave theirs for anyone to see. What does he care where it is, who sees it, this snake and his skin. He leaves it where he molts. Hours, days or months later, we come across a snake's long-shed skin, and we know something of the snake, we know that it's of this approximate girth and that approximate length, but we know very little else. Do we know where the snake is now? What the snake is thinking now? No. By now the snake could be wearing fur; the snake could be selling pencils in Hanoi. The skin is no longer his, he wore it because it grew from him, but then it dried and slipped off and he and everyone could look at it." ~ Dave Eggers; A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius</div>
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Dave Eggers is exactly my kind of writer.<br />
This book, his memoir, is funny, moving, intelligent, real and raw....and, yes, heartbreaking.<br />
The book opens, (after a list of 'Rules and Suggestions for Enjoyment of this Book') with Dave taking care of his mother, who is dying of cancer. He is twenty years old. His parents die within five weeks of each other, and he becomes effectively, a single parent in charge of his seven year old brother Toph.<br />
Okay, I know it doesn't exactly sound like there's a lot of humour in it, but there is. If you love memoirs, or just a good story, I'm sure you'll enjoy this one as much as I did.<br />
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2. Norman Bray in the Performance of His Life, by Trevor Cole<br />
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Norman Bray is an ageing dinner theatre actor with an ego as huge as his burgeoning financial and personal problems. He has renounced all responsibility, for just about everything, in the name of his art.<br />
Norman Bray is probably the most self absorbed character I've ever read.<br />
It's ridiculous how he doesn't seem to grasp the fact his career has faded and the wolves are circling. He is on the brink of financial and personal ruin, and doesn't get it....he performs his life as though it were a stage play.<br />
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The book starts like this:<br />
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"Watch the man being seated at a table in the middle of the Skelton Arms pub. He has been shown a table to the side, but no, he prefers the one in the middle, so that is where he sits. His name is Norman Bray. You won't have heard of it before, although that fact might surprise him."<br />
~ opening paragraph of Norman Bray in the Performance of His Life.<br />
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3. The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde<br />
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I have been reading this book every few years since I was thirteen years old. It is Oscar Wilde's only novel, the majority of his writing career being padded out with plays, fairy tales and poems. I think everyone is familiar with the story, Dorian Gray retains his beautiful looks and vibrant youth, while every crime and evil deed he does, shows up on the face of his portrait, which he keeps hidden from the world.<br />
The novel was originally published in Lippincott's Monthly Magazine, in July, 1890. It is tame by today's standards I suppose, but back in 1890-91 it was regarded by most as vile and immoral.<br />
This reaction prompted Wilde to add a preface to the next edition, which said, in part,<br />
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"There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written.<br />
That is all."<br />
You said it Oscar!<br />
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4. When You Are Engulfed in Flames, by David Sedaris<br />
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I am mad for David Sedaris! I love this book. It's a book of short, short stories, vignettes and slices of life... and most of them are really funny. The ones that aren't really funny, are still just plain funny.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">“May I bring you a drink to go with those warm nuts, Mr. Sedaris?" this woman looking after me asked - this as the people in coach were still boarding. The looks they gave me as they passed were the looks I give when the door of a limousine opens. You always expect to see a movie star, or, at the very least, someone better dressed than you, but time and time again it's just a sloppy nobody. Thus the look, which translates to, Fuck you, Sloppy Nobody, for making me turn my head.” </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2849.David_Sedaris" style="background-color: white; color: #666600; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">David Sedaris</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">, </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/3255908" style="color: #666600; text-decoration: none;">When You Are Engulfed in Flames</a></i><br />
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5. Diary of a Madman, by Nicolai Gogol<br />
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Here's another fantastically ancient book. This story was originally published in 1835. It takes place in the era of Czar Nicholas 1, and chronicles the descent into madness of one civil servant, who believes himself to be the new King of Spain.</div>
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It is very funny, and very sad...from a perceived love affair between two dogs, to his strange 'coronation', we catch a glimpse inside the protagonist's ever more wobbly mind.</div>
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Here's proof that something written almost 180 years ago is still funny and poignant. </div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">“April 43rd 2000</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Today is the day of great triumph. There is a king of Spain. He has been found at last. That king is me. I only discovered this today. Frankly, it all came to me in a flash.” </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/232932.Nikolai_Gogol" style="background-color: white; color: #666600; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">Nikolai Gogol</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">, </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1308773" style="color: #666600; text-decoration: none;">Diary of a Madman and Other Stories</a></i><br />
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6. The Catcher in the Rye, by J.D. Salinger</div>
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I know, this novel is most often associated with required reading in high school, (at least it used to be) and the book Mark Chapman was reading as he waited for the police after murdering John Lennon. </div>
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My guess is that most of you have read this book at some point in your life, and we've all experienced the confusion of teenage angst, alienation, identity and loss. </div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">"Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them—if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry.” </span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/819789.J_D_Salinger" style="background-color: white; color: #666600; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">J.D. Salinger</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">, </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/3036731" style="color: #666600; text-decoration: none;">The Catcher in the Rye</a></i><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fffcf8; color: #333333; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 24.75px; text-align: start;">This book of hilarious short stories was originally published in 1910, (okay, I can hear everyones eyes rolling at the fact that this is, yet another book from a past century...I can't help it!....and yes, I've read this one many times too....) and sold at CN Rail stations so commuters would have some light reading on their journeys.</span></div>
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Turns out that Stephen Leacock, the economist, was a genius writer of comedy stories, and he is a Canadian hero. His former home in Orillia, Ontario is a National Historic Site, and well worth visiting if you are a fan. I adore him.</div>
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This is from his Literary Lapses story, "How to Live to be 200", about a man, Jiggins, who had, 'the health habit.'</div>
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"...In the evenings in his room he used to lift iron bars, cannon-balls, heave dumbbells, and haul himself up to the ceiling with his teeth. You could hear the thumps half a mile.</div>
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He liked it.</div>
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He spent half the night slinging himself around his room. He said it made his brain clear. When he got his brain perfectly clear, he went to bed and slept. As soon as he woke, he began clearing it again.</div>
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Jiggins is dead."</div>
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This well known quote is from the story 'Gertrude the Governess':</div>
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"Lord Ronald said nothing. He flung himself from the room, flung himself upon his horse, and rode madly off in all directions."</div>
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8. The Stone Angel, by Margaret Laurence</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHx1IjiwgvZG0M4nk4KPV_OjCDU_tHxPJflg7mJK_PrATa_NaeMXDW6JUI-ktD9aPOaspxdhw_XqFbtUSVPjl3kCY7OyBjyTCE19tMAkA-FCwXELDBSUDtRQ2yBSJRJn5yO3ybTC-Syzg/s1600/the+stone+angel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHx1IjiwgvZG0M4nk4KPV_OjCDU_tHxPJflg7mJK_PrATa_NaeMXDW6JUI-ktD9aPOaspxdhw_XqFbtUSVPjl3kCY7OyBjyTCE19tMAkA-FCwXELDBSUDtRQ2yBSJRJn5yO3ybTC-Syzg/s1600/the+stone+angel.jpg" /></a></div>
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This is another book that has been part of my life for years.</div>
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Hagar Shipley will do that to you. Hagar is a 90 year old woman, struggling to come to grips with the fact that her family is thinking that the best place for her is a nursing home. As she reminisces about her youth, her marriage and the childhoods of her sons, she does the only reasonable thing that any nonagenarian in her right mind would do....she runs away.</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">“I can't change what's happened to me in my life, or make what's not occurred take place. But I can't say I like it, or accept it, or believe it's for the best. I don't and never shall, not even if I'm damned for it.” </span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/42354.Margaret_Laurence" style="background-color: white; color: #666600; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">Margaret Laurence</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">, </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/17969571" style="color: #666600; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: #666600; text-decoration: none;">The Stone </span>Angel</a></i><br />
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9. Life of Pi, by Yann Martel</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg35_CL5fr5oQIOa3pGfLvNzMDPMrqtyBNOxnS3K6aGBKXex-3yh7c4bi8i4gGa9cQ0WMcVmwZqvoYsQOEAV94GhI36nwzHzP-t_rXvrSumFeUE9OoNb4t5VHqW4Ycn6KpVKdfbb1mp1CA/s1600/Life+of+Pi.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg35_CL5fr5oQIOa3pGfLvNzMDPMrqtyBNOxnS3K6aGBKXex-3yh7c4bi8i4gGa9cQ0WMcVmwZqvoYsQOEAV94GhI36nwzHzP-t_rXvrSumFeUE9OoNb4t5VHqW4Ycn6KpVKdfbb1mp1CA/s1600/Life+of+Pi.PNG" height="320" width="210" /></a></div>
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This is a wonderful novel, with themes of survival, belief and art. </div>
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Pi Patel is immigrating, with his family, (and half of the family's zoo!) from Pondicherry, India, to Winnipeg, Canada. </div>
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Along the way something horrible happens, and Pi is forced into survival mode, doing things he never thought possible, in a situation he couldn't have imagined in a million years.</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">“Japanese-owned cargo ship Tsimtsum, flying Panamanian flag, sank July 2nd, 1977, in Pacific, four days out of Manila. Am in lifeboat. Pi Patel my name. Have some food, some water, but Bengal tiger a serious problem. Please advise family in Winnipeg, Canada. Any help very much appreciated. Thank you.” </span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">― </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/811.Yann_Martel" style="background-color: white; color: #666600; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">Yann Martel</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">, </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1392700" style="color: #666600; text-decoration: none;">Life of Pi</a></i><br />
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10. The Outsider, by Albert Camus (also sometimes translated as 'The Stranger')</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoTFLP1H4VMRRu1TCot7-oYsomfiR8IXuZfxVBMgPV0JG812fPFQ0gct435-xkKw35nqc1QKt1U2KCsErKj3EWSD9ASdNIb82Tt9kGfB6tFs7wr5le60bfgWw3429wrsoFfScCwaxYVNc/s1600/TheOutsider_Albert_Camus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoTFLP1H4VMRRu1TCot7-oYsomfiR8IXuZfxVBMgPV0JG812fPFQ0gct435-xkKw35nqc1QKt1U2KCsErKj3EWSD9ASdNIb82Tt9kGfB6tFs7wr5le60bfgWw3429wrsoFfScCwaxYVNc/s1600/TheOutsider_Albert_Camus.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Camus was a French/Algerian journalist, philosopher and author who helped the rise of the philosophy of 'absurdism', which states that there is no 'higher purpose' to life, it just is. Just as I am ignorant of most of the universe, so, most of the universe is ignorant of me. </div>
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The book opens with the words, </div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #7b7b7b; font-family: LFT-Etica-Web, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px; text-align: start;">"Mother died today. Or yesterday maybe, I don’t know. I got a telegram from the home: “Mother deceased. Funeral tomorrow. Faithfully yours.” That doesn’t mean anything. Maybe it was yesterday."</span></div>
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That's my list....of course it could change at any moment, there are so many books I love for so many reasons. </div>
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Hope you all are having the best celebrations, feasts and get-togethers possible this year and everyone makes it through healthy and happy....</div>
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.....and, keeping with the theme of favourites, here are two of my all time favourite performers, Barry Gibb and Michael Jackson....I know, who'da thunk it, but never-the-less, here they are singing together for your enjoyment! I hope you enjoy it anyway.</div>
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I once heard someone say that Barry Gibb's voice sounds like ear cancer, so, if you are of that opinion, just don't listen to it. This is, after all, fat, old Barry Gibb..and his voice at this stage had taken on a bit of the oldness, but none of the fatness. None that I can detect anyways. </div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/1Ue3fVxlQus?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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Finally, to paraphrase Aldous Huxley, "Be careful on the roads. It's the Christmas season, everyone's liable to be drunk."</div>
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E. M. Prokophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12395951217528199963noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3114131804625407746.post-23961163481585693332014-11-19T13:36:00.000-08:002014-11-19T13:36:19.505-08:00Technology and My Mother<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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My mother, at the age of 77, has decided to enter the computer age. When I say she's decided to enter the computer age, I mean enter as in walking through the doors of technology for the very first time. She has had no previous experience with, or exposure to, cell phones, computers, smart tv's, or even DVD players. </div>
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Armed only with the knowledge that she wanted to communicate with the outside world in texted words and pictures, she set off to her local 'The Source', and purchased a cell phone, DVD player, smart tv and laptop. She said that I inspired her to engage in such an extravagant spending spree by regaling her with tales of text messages, skyping and instantly received photos. </div>
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Now that she had all the equipment, she wanted my help in setting it all up.</div>
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I don't know if I've mentioned it, but I am no technical whizz. I know the basics of what I need to know to do what I do, and not much more. Besides that, there's the fact that I live approximately 3,000 miles from where my mom lives, and so stopping over to help her out with her new equipment is out of the question. </div>
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The most I could do was tell her to call The Source, and get one of the guys to come out and show her what's what with all her new loot. </div>
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"Oh! Will they do that?", she asked. </div>
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"Of course they will, I assured her.</div>
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"Well. I guess I should give them a call. I don't know what I did with that phone book! I had it around here. I remember I looked up the number of the beauty salon last week....where did I put that thing?"</div>
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While she was lamenting the loss of her yellow pages, I googled the number. </div>
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"Never mind the phone book Mom. The number is 444-3399"</div>
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"Oh. How do you know? Do you have my phone book?" She laughed like someone does when they think they're on to you.</div>
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"No Mom. I Googled it."</div>
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"I've heard of that but it sounds like gobble-d-gook to me. Or google-d-gook."</div>
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" I know it sounds like it's a crazy made up word, but soon you'll be googling things too. Give those guys a call and they'll show you everything you need to know. It'll be great Mom! You'll have everything you want to know at your fingertips."</div>
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Flash forward a few weeks. </div>
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Mom now had her computer out of the box and sitting on the dining room table, the smart tv was plugged in and showing endless reruns of 'The Golden Girls'.</div>
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The DVD player remained in the box, at the back of her closet, because, as Mom said, "I can't figure that damn thing out!" </div>
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Best of all, I thought, the cell phone had been activated and had already sent out it's maiden text. </div>
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"E. va it is. Me. Thsnk. you eva i will phpnw tomorow."</div>
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I was thrilled that mom was expanding her horizons and I looked forward to exchanging pictures and more somewhat cryptic messages.</div>
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I knew it would make her feel closer to all of us here on the other side of the country...that is, it would have made her feel closer to us all if she could remember from day to day, how to turn the cell phone on.</div>
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Which brings us to a couple days ago. </div>
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I could hear the frustration in her voice as she explained to me that she must be stupid because she cannot for the life of her remember how to turn her cell phone on. </div>
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I assured her that she wasn't in the least stupid, and as soon as she got into the routine of using her cell phone, it would become second nature.</div>
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My first mistake was believing that this would be an easy fix. </div>
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She said, "I turned it on but it went off again right away."</div>
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I said, "Yeah, Mom, it's out of power. You have to charge it up."</div>
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She said, "So what should I do though? Should I plug it in then?"</div>
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"Yes. Mom. Plug it in."</div>
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"With that plug in thing? It plugs into the wall?"</div>
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"Yeah that one. Hook your phone up to it and plug it into the wall."</div>
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"Okay. I'll do that now."</div>
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"Okay."</div>
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"Okay I'll be right back. Cause I have to go into the kitchen to get it. I'm in the bedroom right now."</div>
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"Oh I see."</div>
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"I'll go now."</div>
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"Alright."</div>
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30 SECOND SILENCE</div>
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"Eva? Can you hear me?"</div>
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"Yes I can Mom."</div>
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"Oh good. I put you on speaker phone cause I had to put the phone on the counter. The phone I was talking on? So I could get the charger for the cell phone."</div>
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"And do you have it yet Mom?"</div>
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"Have what?"</div>
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"The charger."</div>
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"Oh yeah! I'll get it!"</div>
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45 SECOND SILENCE</div>
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"Okay. It's plugged in."</div>
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"Oh awesome! Okay, now turn it on."</div>
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"WHAT?!"</div>
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"Turn it on."</div>
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"Oh no! I don't think I can turn it on when it's plugged in!"</div>
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"Yes you totally can Mom."</div>
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"Are you sure?"</div>
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"Yes I'm sure Mom."</div>
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"Cause I don't want anything to happen."</div>
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"Mom! The only thing that will happen is the phone will come on and we want that to happen. So press the button."</div>
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"It's the one at the side is it?"</div>
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"Yep. That's it. Okay. You're gonna press it down until you feel the phone vibrate."</div>
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"Oh! Okay....okay I'm pressing it down."</div>
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"Good. Now. Do you see where it says Samsung on the screen?"</div>
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"No."</div>
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"What?"</div>
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"No I don't see that. It did a little something then it quit."</div>
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"Okay. Mom? Is the phone still plugged in?"</div>
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"Yes it's plugged in."</div>
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"And you pressed the button at the side?"</div>
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"I'm still pressing it."</div>
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"Okay.....Mom? I'm sorry I wasn't more clear. Press it just until the phone vibrates, or buzzes, then let it go."</div>
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"Let go of the button?"</div>
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"Yes Mom. Just press it down and as soon as you feel the phone buzz....let go of the button."</div>
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"OH! Okay......."............</div>
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..................................</div>
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.........................................</div>
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"Okay I let go of the button."</div>
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"And what does it say on the screen?"</div>
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"Nothing. I think it's off."</div>
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It's hard to instruct someone on how to make a peanut butter sandwich when they have never heard of bread.</div>
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E. M. Prokophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12395951217528199963noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3114131804625407746.post-15950663579527563992014-10-26T12:48:00.000-07:002014-10-26T12:48:09.929-07:00Autumn, What's My Line, Bears in the Nutyard and a 20 year old cat<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I suppose I should be more disciplined in posting regularly, but for the moment, this haphazard system works well for me.<br />
I think.<br />
I don't know. I will probably review these findings and discover that it's not working as well as I had hoped, or imagined....<br />
(are hoping and imagining the same thing?....I guess you can imagine things that you don't hope for, or hope for things you can't imagine.....so, the answer is probably 'no'. No they're not the same thing. You're welcome.)<br />
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The thing is that a bunch of stuff keeps happening! I suppose that's what life is though, eh?<br />
A bunch of stuff happens. All in a row. For years. (Hopefully).<br />
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At last cooler weather has prevailed here in the valley. The rainy season is upon us, and I am welcoming it with open brolley and bright yellow boots.<br />
I love a slightly chilly, overcast day. The fall weather in all it's aromatic glory makes me feel as if anything is possible.<br />
Unfortunately the physics of the situation reminds me that no, not everything is possible,<br />
(like George Carlin said, "Hand me that piano.") but I tend to lean more on the side of the bare bones poetry of the thing, and ignore reality, indulging my senses in heady autumn breezes and that lifted feeling that comes with the rain.<br />
It's as if all the sweat and grime and decay of the recently deceased summer season is being washed away. Things are clean again, and with the cleanliness comes a renewed strength.<br />
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A few evenings ago, after a full day of chasing my renewed strength all over town and trying to rope it into finding me a job, I discovered that it had been replaced with a renewed sense of calm.<br />
(Either that or I'm too stupid to recognize a renewed sense of defeat.<br />
(I think that Taco guy saw right through me. He knew right away that I have no real interest in making tacos. He was trying to ask how long I would actually end up working for him and by the look on his face, I knew that he knew damn well that it wouldn't be long.))<br />
Anyways, that evening I curled up in my papasan chair, cup of tea in hand, and watched a marathon of that old game show, 'What's My Line?'. If you don't recognize that title, you can be forgiven as the show first aired in 1950.<br />
I found it fascinating to see that what must have been social norms back then, today would be considered totally inappropriate, sexist, racist, or all three.<br />
Still it's not without it's charm, this relic from the past.<br />
At times it's downright super funny.<br />
The premise is that there is a 'celebrity' panel of four that try to guess, using only questions that can be answered with yes or no, what the guest does for a living.<br />
There are times that the whole panel, and the moderator, and sometimes the guest, are smoking. Everyone is enjoying a butt while chortling and guessing.....guessing again... smoking....<br />
They also have a segment where they bring out a 'celebrity' mystery guest. In this case the panelists are blindfolded and are required to guess who the mystery guest is, rather than what they do.<br />
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....the quality of the image is such a grainy black and white, that everyone on the show looks like a drawing come to life.....and not really in the sense of traditional cartoons, but more like a fine art portrait come to life. Also, the people of that era seem way more pretentious than the folks that are around now.<br />
There is a lot of name dropping on the show, and the names they are dropping are not being picked up by anyone in this day and age.<br />
Well, maybe a few people around now will pick up those dropped names, and you can spot those name pickers immediately. They look like fine art portraits, come to life.<br />
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A little while ago I heard a woman telling a story about how this farmer she knows had bears coming out of the bushes and ransacking his nut yard.<br />
I guess this guy raises hazelnuts....anyways, when she told this story she said the words "nut yard" many, many times. So many times that it was begining to make some of the listeners uncomfortable.<br />
And when she said those words, she pronounced them quickly, like they were one word, "nutyard"...(maybe it is one word, I don't know)...and all I could think was,<br />
"I've never been as close to a farmer's nutyard as those bears were that day in the bush....close to the nutyard."<br />
Unfortunately, as humourous as the telling of the tale was, (to me at least) it didn't work out so well for the bears in the nutyard. The 'farmer' shot three of them and buried them in the very nutyard they sought out for sustenance.<br />
I'm not absolutely sure about this, but I don't think you can do stuff like that anymore.<br />
Gone are the days when a person can just go off willy-nilly, slaughtering the fauna at their own discretion....unless they have a license. Which to me doesn't seem exactly fair.<br />
What other animal besides people behaves that way?<br />
Bears have never decided amongest themselves, regarding us,<br />
"There's way too many of those ransacking fucks around....we're gonna have to cull them. Go for the throats of the old ones, and the sick ones."<br />
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Oh, I know there are some people that don't even consider that they are animals. They've removed themselves from the list of known animals. And they've done this willingly.<br />
Some people were dissatisfied with being animals....inspite of the fact that they can't change biology.<br />
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I think that there would be far less cruelty in the world if folks would embrace their animal selves, and realize that we human beings share the majority of our DNA with everything.<br />
EVERYTHING.<br />
Trees, lizards, dandelions, puppies, elephants, those snails people always step on on the sidewalk....we're related to those things!?<br />
I try never to step on them.<br />
.....wait just a minute here! Does this mean I'm related to my cat?! I'm glad I'm not closely related to her, otherwise I too might be dying of old age at the end of my 20th year.<br />
I mean, not that I have yet to reach the end of my 20th year....rest assured I am quite beyond that.<br />
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Twenty years is a good, long life for a cat. And I'm not implying that this is the end for her. I mean, she seems to be having as great a time as a twenty year old cat can have.<br />
I've known this little being for quite some time, and I like her quite a bit. She is a character. She is an individual. Outspoken and not at all shy, she introduces herself to guests and demands that they look her in the eye when they pet her.<br />
At least she did demand that until a few weeks ago.. now she spends most of her time laying low in her basket, emerging to drink (a lot), eat (a little) and get her requisite quota of pets.<br />
She has been a member of our family for a long time and we will miss her terribly when she's gone.<br />
Still, since that day is still at a point in the future....today she will dine on Temptations Chicken treats, her favourite. She has earned a meal of Temptations. She's done her job as my cat well, and for years.<br />
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Finally for today, war, terrorism, school shootings, murder at the cenotaph, assaults, beheadings, cruelties and abominations.....my god, the news has me screaming out inside myself that I've had enough!, and then I discovered this song with that same title!<br />
I wonder, if people did make their voices known, the world over, could that make any difference at all? Could we possibly convince governments and religions and sects and terrorists and garden variety murderers that they are doing wrong and we, the population of the planet, have had enough?<br />
I can hope for it, but I can't imagine it.<br />
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Be Nice. It's That Simple.</div>
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E. M. Prokophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12395951217528199963noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3114131804625407746.post-1371993399504964822014-10-09T19:35:00.000-07:002014-10-09T19:35:35.933-07:00All Those Years Ago<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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If you're a fan of John Lennon, then this post is right up your alley! If you're not a fan, then you might want to skip this one...</div>
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Seventy four years ago today, John Lennon was born in Liverpool, England.</div>
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The rest is history.</div>
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And I just can't picture him at 74! I think he would have been a cool old man though. </div>
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This is George Harrison's tribute to John,</div>
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All Those Years Ago:</div>
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This one is a discussion of one of my favourite John Lennon songs, </div>
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God. </div>
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It's true, in the end, when everything is stripped away, all you have is yourself.</div>
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This one is definitely worth a listen. </div>
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Instant Karma.....classic.</div>
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Notice a blindfolded Yoko catching up on some knitting in the background.</div>
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It's almost like a surrealist painting....Dali could have made good use of whatever gnarled garment it is she's making. </div>
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Maybe she's making more blindfolds!</div>
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And finally, #9 Dream....this does have a dreamy feel, the superimposing of their faces.... I was wondering if this mash-up actually looked like their son Sean when he grew up.....hmmmm.....</div>
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John Lennon was controversial, gifted, and real. </div>
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It's funny that he's been dead for the entire lives of all my children...well, not 'funny', but you know, odd. Odd because I, and I think most of us, remember him being among us....you know, alive, for so long, saying things and singing songs, and to my kids John Lennon has always been 'the dead Beatle'.</div>
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Once someone's been dead for long enough though, the memories of them being alive are harder and harder to dredge up. </div>
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I think that's true even if you didn't actually know the person. Actually, it's probably more true then, because we have no personal memories of them. But still, they can pack a wallop in our lives. And we do have all the music, or films, or whatever it is they left, to look at and listen to whenever we want, thanks to the computer age! So that's a bonus.</div>
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There are those people who's deaths are such a blow in popular culture, that we remember exactly where we were and what we were doing when they died.</div>
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Kennedy has that effect. I was a small child then, so I don't remember the assassination, only the stories and the footage, but the people who were cognisant adults on November 22, 1963, can pretty much tell you exactly where they were when they heard the news.</div>
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John Lennon's death definitely had that effect on people, as did Elvis and Michael Jackson.</div>
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Anyways, I digest. Here's the song.</div>
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That's it for my tribute to John Lennon on his 74th birthday. </div>
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This December 8 will be the 34th anniversary of his death!</div>
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God, are we THAT old?!</div>
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E. M. Prokophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12395951217528199963noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3114131804625407746.post-58361402987366201452014-10-05T09:55:00.000-07:002014-10-05T10:10:16.265-07:00A Great Autumn, Nursery Rhymes and Names<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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We are having the greatest fall here!<br />
I mean the season.<br />
Autumn.<br />
It's been so warm and sunny, but also cool...it's strange...autumn.<br />
It's like the year is at its most beautiful when it's dying....even though that does sound super corny...it seems to be true. Sometimes there's a grain of truth in corny sayings.....(which is a corny saying(!))<br />
I guess the year isn't dying though....the summer is...still.<br />
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You know what no one says anymore?<br />
'Sensational'. As in, "I saw this sensational movie on Friday."<br />
The word 'sensational' is out of fashion. As is the name 'Matilda'. And also 'Myrtle'.<br />
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I just saw on tv tonight that Ashton Kutcher and Mila Kunis had a baby girl, and the couple is "over the moon about it!"....and I thought....'isn't that what always happens?'<br />
You don't often see the new parents go, "Well. Frankly we're not too happy with it. It's got a head like a wedge of brie. We'd like a refund."<br />
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I wonder if they'll name her Myrtle?! That would be great for all those Myrtles who have been left out of the name tag industry. Suddenly Myrtle will be a popular name again.<br />
And when that happens, there will be people who will claim that they've always liked the name Myrtle, even though the evidence will prove otherwise.<br />
~~~~~<br />
~~~~~<br />
Those celebrities always give their kids screwed up names. Like Methuselah. That is most likely some poor kids name. Well, he or she is not really a 'poor' kid. They've got money. What they don't got is a regular name.<br />
And for some of them, I don't mean that they have a super dorky human name..<br />
(although sometimes they do...let's ask Moses Martin about that.)..<br />
(or a name that is suddenly assigned to the opposite sex???? like if a girl is called Cameron or Blake...to me it's like having a boy called Debbie....or ....Louise...I mean, you could do it. You could totally call your son Louise if you want to I guess...but just think it over..)...<br />
..I mean...some of them are named after household appliances for god's sake! Like...Frank Zappa's kids...Moon Unit One and Dweezil...what's the matter with people?<br />
(I mean, not that a 'Moon Unit' is a household appliance or anything...infact, I'm not even sure what it is...I'm pretty sure that it's a 'what', not a 'who' though.....except in the case of poor, unfortunate 'Moon Unit One Zappa'.)<br />
You shouldn't do that to a kid.<br />
It's like calling your kid 'End Table', or 'Grease Trap'.<br />
(Yes, but we call him Greasy, and that's kind of cute.) (Actually....it's pronounced 'Greee-say')<br />
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Of course no one knows who Frank Zappa is anymore, so that's a bad reference I guess...but still...Imagine if your name was Moon Unit...wouldn't you want to throttle the stoner that gave you that name?!<br />
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I was just thinking of that old nursery rhyme, 'Jack Sprat would eat no Fat'.....when I was a kid my brother and I had a book of rhymes and that one was in it.<br />
Each rhyme had a picture beside it, and for this rhyme the picture was a real skinny, nervous looking guy, sitting at the table with a bare plate in front of him.<br />
There may have been a single bean on it, I forget.<br />
And the woman, (Jack Sprat's wife) had huge, billowing rolls of fat all over her, and a plate heaped with lumps of fat. She was greasy and smiling.<br />
Sitting on the floor, looking up at the man, was a super skinny cat.<br />
I always used to wonder about the cat. Like, why was he so skinny? I mean, the rhyme didn't say anything about the cat being skinny.<br />
In fact, the rhyme didn't mention a cat at all!<br />
When I first saw the picture it was a surprise that they even had a cat....but now that the jig was up, and the cat was out of the bag, (so to speak)...I think he should have been fed.<br />
Or maybe run away with Old Mother Hubbard's dog.<br />
It was unsettling for me as a pre-schooler to look at that picture. Nursery rhyme people didn't take care of their animals, or their children very well.<br />
I don't know if nursery rhymes are still in style.<br />
Some of them were pretty wicked....mean witches eating little kids...it was all in good fun I suppose...<br />
These days a lot of people don't like nursery rhymes cause they say they are damaging to the children, but you know, I don't ever remember thinking that nursery rhymes were real. I always knew they were made up stories, even when I was small. I think we should not underestimate the intelligence of children.<br />
I read my kids the 'Fe Fi Fo Fum' rhyme, (sorry I forget what it's called) and that one has a guy talking about smelling blood and grinding bones.....hmmmm......on second thought, that doesn't sound quite right does it?<br />
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Call now! Operators are standing by to take your call!<br />
Call 555-FIVE<br />
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Earlier on the news I heard a guy say, "It's clear that this fellow......(blah blah blah)".....and I thought he said, "...this is a clear fellow..."....and that got me to thinking how weird it would be if there WERE clear fellows....or people.<br />
I wonder what that would do to racism? I mean if EVERYONE was clear, not that the clear people become the latest target of racists.<br />
If we were all clear, all we'd see of each other is what's on the inside...not the 'deep inside' though...we'd see what's just on the other side of the skin...muscle and fat mostly.<br />
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I was just thinking of Ken Kesey, and I'm not sure why. He wrote 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest', which was one of my favourite books, and a damn fine movie too!<br />
I don't think he was clear.<br />
Well, maybe he was, but you had to look very carefully.<br />
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Finally, (I know I know, you're thinking THANK GOD!)...I heard that Chelsea Clinton had a baby girl, and I thought, 'Of course she did.'<br />
I think all the ex Presidents of the USA have daughters, don't they? Well, let's see...Bill and Hilary Clinton have Chelsea, and now little 'grandChelsea', O'Bama has two daughters....who else is there?!?....<br />
OH! I guess Old Bush has a son, doesn't he?<br />
Sounds like a horrible affliction, but sadly, one that awaits us all...<br />
"Sorry Myrtle. There's no easy way to put this. You've got a sensational case of Old Bush."<br />
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And FINALLY....(okay!...I admit the former 'finally' turned out to be a bit of a misnomer as it turns out I have something more to say)...It is a beautiful morning!...it is here anyway...so let's get out and at least take a few deep, full breaths of this sensational, crispy autumn air!<br />
Also, if you're so inclined, try to work the word 'sensational' into a conversation today.<br />
We'll bring it back to its former glory.<br />
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Have a sensational day everyone!<br />
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E. M. Prokophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12395951217528199963noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3114131804625407746.post-1038493651730892682014-09-29T23:41:00.001-07:002021-06-08T18:59:14.617-07:00July 4, 2004 Nights out at the Empress<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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July 4, 2004<br />
2:48 am<br />
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What a crazy night this has been.</div>
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I'll start at the beginning. It was girls night out, so Brenda and Paula and Peggy and I gathered, first at Brenda's house for the requisite Jello shooters, and then, fortified with a gelish courage, it was off to the Empress for the lot of us.<br />
Yes, yes, the Emp.<br />
Queen of dive bars.<br />
Smells like stale beer, carpet stains and spilled piss. Wall to wall caricatures.<br />
Steven, the crack dealer scoping the joint out from the security of a shadowy doorway.<br />
"Cory-oke" introducing the next act, a drunken rendition of Mustang Sally, spewed out by one of the regulars.<br />
It's always Mustang Sally.<br />
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<br />
When we got there, Peggy made her exit into the bowels of the place before our eyes had adjusted to the darkness, muttering something about John having a drink waiting for her.<br />
We found a table on the far wall and set up camp.<br />
After the first pitcher, Peggy reappeared and told us that Eleanor died!<br />
Eleanor.<br />
Eleanor used to sit in the Emp for hours talking to anyone who would listen, about her main obsession, great books and the great authors who wrote them.<br />
She was a self-taught, drunken, bitter, but friendly, literary expert.<br />
She knew everything about the works of John Steinbeck, DH Lawrence, and JD Salinger. She adored Oscar Wilde and Margaret Laurence.<br />
She was one of the people I truly liked. She was interesting.<br />
This shaky, but functional, wobbly old woman didn't give a shit what anyone thought about her.<br />
<br />
The squirrel in the wheel that runs Peggy's mind went nuts and came up with a conspiracy theory in .03 of a second.<br />
"I think someone put something in her beer."<br />
And then she set off again, back to the bowels of the establishment to find the truth.<br />
What 'really' happened.<br />
<br />
Peggy's octogenarian mother in law, who looks like a chemically altered Dame Edna, suddenly stood up and vowed to help Peggy find the truth because,<br />
"Eleanor liked books."<br />
The problem was, that when she stood up to follow Peggy, she spotted across the bar a gigantic woman, shaped like a carton of smokes, who, she said<br />
"...used to go out with my old man!"<br />
Seeing her old man's ex was, on its own, enough to enrage her to such an extent that she had to face the carton woman.<br />
<br />
So they started yelling across the bar about whether or not the 'old man', (who is really super old, so I guess that's not just a nickname) went out with the carton woman, and suddenly the carton woman was at our table screaming into the face of Peggy's mother in law. <br />
it was stupid<br />
the whole time Brenda was talking about 'poor Eleanor'<br />
Bar Stars were brandishing the Eagles and Van Morrison from the stage<br />
<br />
The night clamored on and Peggy came back from her quest before it had sunk in fully that she had left. She was still unable to decipher what 'really happened' to Eleanor, but she told us that her band was playing at Tornado Joe's and she can get us in for free.<br />
Her husband is the relief drummer so she claims ownership of the band.<br />
The actual drummer had a heart attack on Friday, she said, so now it's<br />
"John's chance for the big time."<br />
Yeah okay.<br />
We broke camp and headed over to Tornado Joe's.<br />
turns out that this might be John's big chance to be the second worse cover band in Chilliwack. And there was a whole different drummer!<br />
Either that or the main drummer's heart attack cleared up really fast.<br />
All John did all night was sit at the table and pantomime all the drumming and spill people's beer. It was annoying.<br />
It was like being caught in some strange dream sequence of a bad movie...<br />
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And all I could think was how, one time, a few weeks back, me and Brenda and Dave were at the Empress, waiting for a cab and we met up with Eleanor.<br />
She was all folded up on the ledge at the front of the building and she ended up in our cab. We couldn't leave her there. The three of us sat in the back, and Eleanor sat in the front. The whole way to her building she was babbling about her keys and how she hoped she hadn't lost them.<br />
She hadn't.<br />
She stumbled out of the cab when it got to her apartment and the driver waited till she was in the door before he pulled away.<br />
People always look out for Eleanor.<br />
<br />
The sane people who knew Eleanor said that what really happened, is she dropped dead of a heart attack when she was coming out of her building on Thursday morning.<br />
It was nice to know you, Eleanor.<br />
It's late now. I'm going to bed.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
E. M. Prokophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12395951217528199963noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3114131804625407746.post-34844256249917603972014-09-19T22:28:00.002-07:002021-06-08T18:47:18.724-07:00AGT, John Lennon, Royal Baby and Summer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Quote of the night, "I'm a cuttin' but you ain't bleedin'!" </div>
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~ Foghorn Leghorn to that dog he tortures</div>
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~~~~~~~~~</div>
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So, the results are in.....Mat Franco is the winner of America's Got Talent. </div>
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He looks like a cross between Jon Cryer and a pack of gum....</div>
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+</div>
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Still, he is really good.</div>
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I was happy that he won.</div>
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It's a pretty good show, that AGT. This year was great for talent. I had no idea there were so many people out there with such awesome talent. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Some of them need to just get a frigging grip though... I mean...like the knife throwers?!....come on.. I don't think there's any knife throwing act worth a million dollars, but somehow, they can't be discouraged, those damn guys with their knives.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Every year there's a few old guys trying to sneak past, thinking we won't notice them, with their over filled balloons and 'target girl' dressed in a tutu, with scabs and a frightened look....toting a length of rope.. Some of them actually make it on to the show, but they rarely go far. People soon wake up and realize that it gets really boring, really quick. I don't know. Maybe that's just me. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I think American tv is so much more entertaining than Canadian tv....unless you're really in to period dramas...or shows about orphans in 19th century P.E.I........imagine an entire country watching nothing but Downton Abby or Little House on the Prairie....that's what it's like...or I guess that's what it WAS like. Canadian tv has some good shows now, but I don't know anyone who watches them.</div>
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I remember when I was a kid, we'd be watching tv, and suddenly there'd be little videos of wildlife...</div>
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.....Who's Who in Hinterland.</div>
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Does anyone remember that?</div>
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It was a little wildlife break in the middle of the Flintstones.</div>
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~~~~~~~~~~~</div>
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The National Film Board of Canada used to air little vignettes, some of which were really catchy and cute. </div>
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I found 'The Log Driver's Waltz'. .....memories! I think this one originally aired in the '80's.</div>
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~</div>
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God! The '80's eh?! </div>
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That was a strange decade....people who didn't work out wore neon coloured 'gear'.....every teenager had a 'boombox' that they carried on their shoulders when they went to the alley to 'break dance'....gawd...gag me with a spoon....the decade started with the murder of the most controversial Beatle...and ended with walls coming down.</div>
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I remember the night John Lennon was murdered vividly. For me, the evening started with a toke or two with friends, and listening to Led Zeppelin (betcha didn't see that coming!...),and ended having bran muffins at Bino's. </div>
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The place was packed, It was about 2am. No one could sleep after the news from New York. Everyone I heard and saw and talked to that night was completely stunned. It was one of those situations where we all needed to grieve collectively....none of us knew him, but we felt like he was one of us, and we needed to talk about him. And we needed to speculate on the killer...why he would have done this, and what we would do to him if we ever met him. The place piped 'Imagine', on a loop, through the sadness.</div>
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It was a crazy night. </div>
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Earlier in the evening, before we met with a bunch of strangers at Bino's, I remember looking out the window, and seeing a guy in the twilight, in the entrance way of the apartment across the street. He had been stabbed, and he was pounding on all the buttons at once, with his bloody fists. I could hear all these disembodied staticky voices, saying 'Hello? Hello?', "Who is this?'</div>
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By the time we got outside, the block was like the set of some detective show....during rehearsal. </div>
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There were paramedics tending to the stabbed guy, and there were cops everywhere. Some had dogs, some didn't. We walked right past a cop with a huge german shepherd straining at the end of his leash, sniffing something at the base of a stop sign. </div>
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</div>
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In lighter news, (Yes, yes, I know that wasn't really so much 'news' as a reminiscence, still...) it's nice to see that there'll be a new Royal Baby! That's right, the current Royal Baby will become the old Royal Baby sometime in the spring....I suppose every member of that family, was at one time, 'The Royal Baby'. I don't think there was as much hoopla about it before though....I mean, I remember when Prince William was the Royal Baby, and it was news, but I don't think it was as big a story as it was for this last Royal Baby....or it could be that the sands of time have gotten in my eyes and distorted my inner vision....I think that's what's happened here, because you'd think it would be a big deal whenever a future king is born. </div>
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It's so nuts to me that there are some people, who, by accident of birth, are born to rule over the poor slobs who are, again by accident of birth, born to be ruled over.</div>
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~~~~</div>
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Well, at least the weather's finally cooling off! It's been damn hot here. </div>
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This is the summer that refuses to frigging back down and admit it's over. </div>
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It's grabbing hold of sticks and clumps of grass as it slides down the embankment and into fall...(some people are even stepping on its fingers)...and it keeps pulling itself up again, like Rocky! </div>
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I would like to put forth the idea that we name extreme seasons, like we do hurricanes. </div>
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So, the summer of 2014, (at least in this area of British Columbia) should be known as Rocky.....all in favour say, "Yo! Adrienne!".......</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Hang on.....maybe that's not such a good idea. People might get confused and think it's named after Rocky the Squirrel from the 'Rocky and Bullwinkle Show', and not after Rocky the pugilist from that movie.</div>
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</div>
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You know what no one ever says anymore?</div>
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"Gumption"</div>
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It's gone the way of 'wisenheimer' and 'Sam Hill'.</div>
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They're all sitting around a campfire somewhere, eating beans and telling tales....Gumption, Wisenheimer and Sam Hill.</div>
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'Far Out' , 'Groovy' and 'Bogart' are around a different campfire, behind pull-tab curtains...still distracted by black light posters and finding out the meaning behind everything...</div>
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'Radical', 'Gnarly' and 'Gag Me' are at a Robert Palmer concert....</div>
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</div>
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Another Quote of the Night. (Yes, there can be two! That's my rules.):</div>
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<br /></div>
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"Who did you like the way they acted, that you might act like the way you do now?"</div>
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~ David Letterman to Luke Wilson</div>
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That's all for now. </div>
</div>
E. M. Prokophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12395951217528199963noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3114131804625407746.post-6930233194283098352014-08-29T15:18:00.000-07:002014-09-01T12:07:29.328-07:00Excerpts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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So, I've been working on putting together my old journals into some kind of readable pile of sentences, and I don't seem to have the time to do that AND a new post.<br />
So I've made the decision to use excerpts of the old journal AS a post.<br />
I mean, there's always so much to do outside of time allotted for writing.<br />
Am I right?<br />
~~~<br />
All names have been changed to protect the integrity of the situation.<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
January 10, 2002</div>
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2:57pm</div>
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<br /></div>
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Well, the big palm tree is dead. I really don't know what happened to it. It got some sort of weird spongy fungus and it fell apart.</div>
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For real.</div>
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I was moving it to a better spot in my room and it went to pieces. </div>
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Okay, here's a diagram to explain it better:<br />
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I'm very sad about this.<br />
I guess nothing lives forever, not even potted plants. It was a good tree and I'm gonna miss it. </div>
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Funeral will be held later this evening out by the dumpster. </div>
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In lieu of flowers, please send roses.</div>
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</div>
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September 25, 2001<br />
<div>
7:03 pm</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Exactly three months till Christmas!!!</div>
<div>
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</div>
<div>
September 27, 2001</div>
<div>
8:13 pm</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sally just dropped Joey and Alison off back home here a little while ago.</div>
<div>
They were over at Mike and Sal's for a couple days because Joey and Mike were working for Mike's neighbour, building a cow barn.<br />
I don't even think he's Amish.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, she, (Sally) stayed for coffee. We were sitting here, having our coffee and making small talk..(very small)...and all of a sudden, she tells me that there's a man standing behind me! </div>
<div>
She said, so matter-of-factly, that she can actually see spirits and this guy is some sort of ghost.<br />
She said he was tall, with dark hair and he just looked around, smiled, and left.<br />
(What would be the point of that? What is this? The ghost of a shoe salesman?)</div>
<div>
I actually said to her, "Is he dead?"</div>
<div>
She said, "Yeah he's dead. He's a ghost."</div>
<div>
Thomas called bullshit immediately.</div>
<div>
Sally said that actually it was not bullshit and there are, IN FACT, three ghosts living in Thomas's room.<br />
Thomas just rolled his eyes.</div>
Then she said she'd been abducted by aliens!</div>
<div>
ALIENS!</div>
<div>
No word on why the aliens brought her back.<br />
~~~~~<br />
Here is a picture Joey drew of the barn him and Mike put up:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitjS25EGjgACOawsCipbHfcGaBWsZX0KMBfEOqTJf92Dy4kBBmOYcUPbGn-kp8P9cv-G1vcGXs43Ta94i80ha1IQyWeJ9UFD0beknwF7gd7LKM7xAUpVM-CpgFNGbqOSDsaSXpFLv5Y3M/s1600/20140819_131708.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitjS25EGjgACOawsCipbHfcGaBWsZX0KMBfEOqTJf92Dy4kBBmOYcUPbGn-kp8P9cv-G1vcGXs43Ta94i80ha1IQyWeJ9UFD0beknwF7gd7LKM7xAUpVM-CpgFNGbqOSDsaSXpFLv5Y3M/s1600/20140819_131708.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<br />
Okay....I'm not sure how this is a cow barn....perhaps Joey studied construction under Picasso.<br />
<br />
Joey just informed me that it wasn't a cow BARN, but a cow STALL......okay.....now that that's all cleared up........<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
November 1, 2001<br />
9:21 pm<br />
<br />
I'd love to be a journalist.<br />
<div>
I could just see it. There I'd be, standing infront of whatever was going on.<br />
Stern expression. Holding a microphone.<br />
Blue blouse. Black skirt.</div>
<div>
"I'm Vloorina Sanchez reporting for MCA"</div>
<div>
Of course 'Vloorina Sanchez' would be my reporter name.<br />
And I'd get super bitchy if someone mispronounced it.<br />
There I'd be. All indignant and shit.</div>
<div>
~~~~~</div>
<div>
When I was a kid I thought that the Mayo Clinic was the headquarters of some huge mayonnaise factory. I don't know what made me just think of that, but I originally thought it when I was no bigger that a flea on the ass of a grasshopper.</div>
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~~~~~ </div>
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If you've read this far, you may already be a millionaire.<br />
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October 31, 2001<br />
5:03 pm<br />
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Thomas gave me a piece of cloth with a bunch of strange symbols on it.<br />
Triangles; screaming horses; odd, oblong circles...ovals....it's supposed to be a Tibetan good luck symbol.<br />
I don't know. I don't think it works very well.<br />
The Tibetans haven't been so lucky so far.<br />
Maybe they should think about re-working their good luck flags.<br />
Either that or call them something else. Something without the word 'luck' in it.<br />
Like.....'interesting rags'.<br />
Then when you gave one to someone, and they asked what it was, you could say,<br />
"That's an interesting rag, from Tibet."<br />
~~~~~<br />
I just heard on TV that they took a bunch of gold out of the World Trade Centre.<br />
Thank god the gold is safe!<br />
It's not fair that the people melted and the gold didn't.<br />
If people were made of gold they'd still be here.<br />
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November 11, 2001<br />
12:53 am<br />
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I have an idea for a self portrait.<br />
It would be a self portrait in pieces. Like, one picture would be just the first knuckle of the pinky on my left hand. Another would be a patch of skin on the back of my right knee. Another could be the middle of my right ear cartilidge.<br />
Of course all of these parts would be on the same canvas...just disassembled.<br />
I think it would be cool.<br />
I'll need mirrors.<br />
~~~<br />
I just started laughing out loud, and I'm here all alone, and suddenly I felt stupid.<br />
I think a lot of people do that...like, maybe you're on the toilet, and you think of something super funny and start laughing...and feel stupid because you're all alone.<br />
But no one else is there! That's the beauty of it.<br />
I think we should be okay with laughing because something's funny, and not restrict our laughter depending on how many people are around.<br />
After all, holding in laughter is the number one cause of sadness.<br />
We should quit feeling stupid in front of ourselves.<br />
It doesn't make any sense.</div>
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E. M. Prokophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12395951217528199963noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3114131804625407746.post-66020113201466209322014-08-25T09:23:00.000-07:002014-08-25T09:23:23.742-07:00Getting Away<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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After spending the last few days on an impromptu road trip, I could not get this classic Gordon Lightfoot song out of my head.</div>
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Getting away for a few days is an excellent way to reset yourself.</div>
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Rekindle old dreams, discover new possibilities, add new to the old and shake....okay, I may be placing a lot of pressure on a few short days out of town, but just to breathe different air for a while is some how energizing.</div>
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To see a different landscape makes you appreciate your own even more, whether it's the actual landscape, or the landscape of your life....either that or it prompts you to make a necessary change.</div>
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Here's to summer time road trips, good friends, and change.</div>
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E. M. Prokophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12395951217528199963noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3114131804625407746.post-56149781469899997062014-08-16T14:03:00.001-07:002014-08-16T14:12:18.282-07:00Robin Williams<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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So, I may be a little late in expressing my surprise and shock at the sudden death of Robin Williams.....I don't know. It's crazy. I had heard over the years that he was an alcoholic and prone to depression, but I never would have guessed that he would one day be on the news for having have committed suicide.<br />
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Mind you, none of us actually knew him, (I'm assuming that no one reading this blog knew Robin) so what do we know? I have a feeling his friends and family were a little less surprised than the rest of us were.</div>
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It is shocking to us, down here in the trenches, when we discover that a person's public persona is so much different than their every day life/personality.</div>
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We have this idea that the person we see on the screen, or hear on the radio, or encounter at a public appearance, is exactly as we perceive them, all of the time. </div>
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Even though I didn't know Robin Williams, I know that no one can be 'on' all the time. That would be exhausting, even for the most seasoned performer. Exhausting, unnecessary, and frankly, weird.</div>
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It's really very common for 'out there' extroverts, and highly intelligent, creative people, to suffer the slings and arrows of addiction and some form of mental illness. Creativity seems to go hand in hand with being slightly cuckoo.</div>
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One of the things that I find really upsetting about this whole thing is how his daughter, Zelda, felt she had to delete all of her social media accounts because of trolls posting vulgar and upsetting messages and images. </div>
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Isn't it enough that his children have to deal with the sudden and very public death of their father, they also have to wade through the shit posted by complete strangers? I find the behaviour of these trolls absolutely abhorrent.</div>
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What the hell is the matter with people?! It's one of the down sides of social media, I think, that certain people feel......I don't even know what they feel.....that it's their 'right' or something, to post this shit to people who are only trying to grieve their loss?? </div>
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I wonder what is going through the minds of these idiots.....like, they're sitting there, in their trailers, one morning, over re-heated instant coffee, and suddenly the sticks in their tiny, wee brains start rubbing together, and they get to thinking, "I know what I'll do! I'll tell Zelda Williams exactly what I think of her and her stupid Dad!" </div>
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WTF?!?</div>
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I just don't understand these people. I can just see them, chortling and belching, spilling foul images from their slimy, sad, shrivelled hearts.</div>
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I wonder if these losers brag to their friends and family about what they've done?</div>
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"Yeah, so I really fucking gave it to Robin Williams' kids...."</div>
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I experienced a layman's version of this behaviour after my brother killed himself. I deleted my facebook account because of vulgar messages left on my 'wall', telling me all kinds of shit about my brother, my self and my whole family. It was definitely bizarre and absolutely hurtful, and I can't imagine what it would be like to get thousands of these from complete strangers.</div>
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The thing is that we're all human beings. Even the few among us who have the misfortune to be famous to the rest, are still human, with the same emotions, problems and frustrations. People forget that. </div>
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I mean, money is great and many, many times I've wished (and still wish), that I had more of it, but it does not solve every problem. Most of us may be down here in the trenches, but a lot of well known, wealthy people are 'up there' in their own trenches.</div>
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I've talked to some people who can't believe that Robin Williams took his own life because he 'had millions of dollars'. Well, my sad, unperceptive little friend, having millions of dollars does not necessarily mean that you'll have no issues, or find your life worth living.</div>
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His wife has disclosed that he was in the early stages of Parkinson's, but was not comfortable with making that information public yet. I just can't imagine having to make a public announcement about every major thing that happened in my life....to me that would be a huge burden. Granted celebrities are accustomed to making announcements about their lives, still, maybe being accustomed to something doesn't make it easy to deal with. </div>
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I'm not saying he took his life because of the Parkinson's, but maybe that diagnosis added to his depression. </div>
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Alcoholism and depression are both deadly diseases. They should never be taken lightly because all they want to do is get you in a room, alone, and kill you, no matter your station in life.</div>
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I wish his family the peace, understanding and the togetherness they need at this time, and for the foreseeable future. It's a long, hard process, dealing with the suicide of a loved one. There are always so many questions, so many 'what ifs', so many, many ways to feel like you've failed the person. So many ways to make it your fault, and so much anger.<br />
As time goes on you find yourself dividing your life in to two distinct segments....before the suicide, and after. The initial sting dulls with the passage of time, but the pain remains a constant in your life, even though, in time, it recedes, (I'm told) below the shoreline of your emotions.<br />
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In the way that it's possible to miss someone you never knew, I'm gonna miss him.<br />
Peace.<br />
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E. M. Prokophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12395951217528199963noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3114131804625407746.post-40844984713151748982014-08-09T10:48:00.000-07:002014-08-09T11:16:28.877-07:00Deception<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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"The secret of life is to appreciate the pleasure of being terribly, terribly deceived."</div>
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~ Oscar Wilde (from the play 'A Woman of No Importance')</div>
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It's true that much of life is devoted to the art of deception. Whether we're the deceivers or the deceived, it does seem that we spend an inordinate amount of time dealing with this 'pleasure'. </div>
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Of course there are degrees of deception, although I'm sure some would disagree and say that deception is deception, no matter how large or small it seems.</div>
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We have all experienced the deception of sales people, I'm sure. People who work for commission and fudge the exact truth when regaling us (Joe Meatball and Sally Housecoat) with tales of how</div>
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'this machine dices, slices, purees, walks the dog, makes those calls you don't want to make, deep cleans your ottoman AND comes with ALL these attachments you see here....laid out...on this table....so, yeah...'</div>
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Perhaps we once were (or are now), those same sales people, desperate to make a living. Hoping against all odds that we will earn enough selling stainless steel Japanese Ear Enhancers to make sure little Alphonso can get a brand spanking new Rain Avoider. </div>
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A few of us have had the 'pleasure' of living through the deception of a significant other, who, as in a melodramatic novella, leads a double life and plays us for a fool.</div>
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Maybe we are the ones with the double life. </div>
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Either way, if this happens there is a lot of hurt, loathing, resentment and embarrassment to wade through once the deception is no longer secret.</div>
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The 'being terribly, terribly deceived' part of the Oscar quote will be felt immediately and as sharply as a dagger through the spleen. It may take years to fully appreciate the pleasure of it all.</div>
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Speaking of deception, earlier this year we had the excitement and chaos of a movie being filmed right here in Chilliwack!</div>
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Massive mobile dressing rooms and production trailers were set up in the parking lot of the old Safeway. </div>
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A few of us tried to blend in and sneak some goodies from craft services, but security was on to us from the get-go. I suppose it's fairly easy for American movie people to recognize their own in a gaggle of small town Canadians...Our deception did not stand. But theirs did.</div>
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Two of the film's stars were Danny Glover and Rob Lowe, although I don't think they were ever here in town. The word around the camp fire was that they filmed their scenes in the far from here town of Kamloops. Some of the colourful locals said that that's because they're 'bitches'. Some of the less colourful locals said it was just as well they weren't here. (Whatever that means)</div>
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Still, it was interesting to see how Chilliwack, British Columbia was transformed in to the fictional town of Anderson, North Dakota.</div>
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We saw car chases, and....well, that's pretty much it. Plenty of car chases involving the 'sherrif' and a bunch of monster trucks.</div>
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That's actually the name of the movie...'Monster Trucks'. It's supposed to be released some time next year. I wouldn't normally have any interest at all in seeing a movie like that, but since it was filmed, in part, a few blocks from my house, I will go, if only to witness how the deception looks on the big screen.</div>
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A brief snippet of local movie making:</div>
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Ah the fun of it all! Sometimes deception is a pleasure.</div>
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E. M. Prokophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12395951217528199963noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3114131804625407746.post-80875780473366920692014-08-06T09:26:00.000-07:002014-08-06T09:26:37.765-07:00Voices, Poetry and Fun<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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A few weeks back I saw Vladimir Putin on tv blathering on and on, spinning a tale about how the passenger jet MH17 was not shot down by the Russians, and it suddenly occurred to me that I was not actually hearing his voice. I was hearing the voice of the interpreter. There was a point in the broadcast where the interpreter had finished interpreting, and Putin was still talking, his voice unobstructed, scraping across the atmosphere like a weasel digging itself out of a wooden shoe box.</div>
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(??? Wooden shoe box?!...think of all the jobs that would be created if we would just sign on to the 'wooden shoe box industry'..)...(Who put this weasel in my best wooden shoe box?!)</div>
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When I heard his actual voice, it didn't sound like what I thought it would sound like.</div>
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It seemed softer and more mellow then I had imagined it....(I mean, not that I regularly 'imagine' the voices of evil dictators or anything like that...)...it's just that his actual voice didn't sound as evil as I had assumed it would. </div>
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Sometimes you can't really tell who's evil and who's not by the sound of their voices.</div>
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Speaking of pure evil, every time someone asks me to read their poem(s), my brain glazes over. </div>
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I'm sorry. </div>
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It just does and there's very little I can do about it. It happens automatically and without any prompt other than a voice calling out in the wilderness,</div>
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"Hey, wanna hear this poem I wrote?"</div>
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The thing is that average poetry, written by the average person, is horrible, and taken way too seriously for my liking. Most times I don't feel like these poems are a true representation of the authors voice.</div>
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Just to be clear, you're not the first person to compare the depth and beauty of your love to an ocean...come on aspiring poets...(is 'poet' an actual aspiration of anyone these days?....('aspiration?'....I'm thinking of someone choking to death on their poems!))...(sorry, there's nothing we can do for him...he's got afflatus stuck on his adams apple..)...at least compare your love to something more reliable and trustworthy....(reliable? trustworthy?.....no wonder my poetry is so bad!)</div>
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Anyway, I digress.</div>
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.... I heard fairly recently that it actually rains diamonds on Neptune! That would be something to see. </div>
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Am I the only one on the planet who didn't know this before? It seems that everyone I talk to (in my actual voice...not the interpretation you see here), claims to have already known this.</div>
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This prompts me to ask the question....</div>
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Did you know that there is such a thing...somewhere in the universe...as diamond showers?</div>
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Of course they are uncut diamonds, not polished gems. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrfKir7uM2q2z02D6FoICey_M1b3cf68sO7IzFc8gaoNCbtlSGiJl20NNI8sq9ufuVv9mVYNrubEI3bBHfPsi0ZhkR7dnO8Z3MTmI1azbG93yCqXhlge5iegqPQVrCDxJUxcy3_TSxN-Q/s1600/Photo0540.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrfKir7uM2q2z02D6FoICey_M1b3cf68sO7IzFc8gaoNCbtlSGiJl20NNI8sq9ufuVv9mVYNrubEI3bBHfPsi0ZhkR7dnO8Z3MTmI1azbG93yCqXhlge5iegqPQVrCDxJUxcy3_TSxN-Q/s1600/Photo0540.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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This just in, </div>
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Life long contrarion denies extreme heat wave bothers him. </div>
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"I actually love it when it gets super hot like this", said Robert Thompson, 29, as his feet melted into a bloody, fatty puddle and stuck to the inside of his Crocs.</div>
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Would you drive a car called the 'Ford Ferret'?</div>
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Or the 'Pontiac Gorilla'?</div>
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I don't know about the Gorilla, but I'd drive the 'Kia Hyena'....seems like that would be fun times waiting to happen.</div>
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Imagine the ads....the voice of a disembodied 'Hyena spokesman'.....</div>
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"Where can YOU go in YOUR new 2014 Hyena?..." (stock footage of hyenas in Africa tearing apart a zebra carcass, as their cackling, snapping voices fill the frame)...."...anywhere adventure waits"...(????...of course the Kia Hyena would come in spots or stripes...)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7wIrH1wtfV2QrXBi7WCvNAsqGCkyfNmaiNTBkpKVic5c2uN_3y30bGmKOLXAMN1tHGe0VcvIbsqidTpCT1UDGAQzJcEMyzvDqTd35MTFX95_WH4uUSM45JzJgEKmfbYT2xYcPlIV1YQs/s1600/Kids+at+beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7wIrH1wtfV2QrXBi7WCvNAsqGCkyfNmaiNTBkpKVic5c2uN_3y30bGmKOLXAMN1tHGe0VcvIbsqidTpCT1UDGAQzJcEMyzvDqTd35MTFX95_WH4uUSM45JzJgEKmfbYT2xYcPlIV1YQs/s1600/Kids+at+beach.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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"Look at me!</div>
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Look at me!</div>
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Look at me now!</div>
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It's fun to have fun,</div>
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but you have to know how"</div>
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~ Dr. Seuss</div>
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E. M. Prokophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12395951217528199963noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3114131804625407746.post-59047627051542826062014-07-10T18:29:00.000-07:002014-07-10T18:29:31.319-07:00The Heebie-Jeebies<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Pop quiz:</div>
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Who would win in a fight to the death, Cooties, the Heebie Jeebies, or the Willies?</div>
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If I ever see a flash mob, what I like to do is jump right in there to make it look like they didn't practice enough.</div>
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Hey everybody! </div>
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I'm back!</div>
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Why was I gone, and who the hell AM I, you ask?<br />
These questions will be answered in due time.....and that due time is not now.<br />
Now is the present time. At least right now it is. When you're reading this, it will be some future 'present time' that doesn't exist right now, at this time.<br />
Thinking about all these 'times', (due, present, past, old etc...) got me to thinking about 'past times' and old journals I used to keep.<br />
I've been pawing though these relics of 'old times', and figured upon the idea of sharing some ancient entry or another from 'time' to 'time'.<br />
So here goes:<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
October 8, 2001<br />
<br />
A funny thing happened recently. Well....maybe not funny funny - but funny unusual.<br />
Or maybe not even THAT unusual - but definitely slightly humorous.<br />
Lately I've been having issues with - well - with - let's see - how should I put this? - I've been having difficulty reliving myself of pent up shit.<br />
And I'm NOT talking about some big, emotional convulsion.<br />
I'm speaking about constipation....it's a bastard.<br />
<br />
This was going on (or not going on) with me for a few days and it was becoming quite a pain in the ass. Just the day before yesterday....my son's 20th birthday.....I decided I needed some serious assistance in unclogging my system.<br />
I scurried over to the drug store and plopped down what seemed, at the time, to be a reasonable amount of money.....I mean, I think the anti-constipation industry can pretty much charge what they like for their remedies because people will pay just about anything for a meaningful shit. I mean.....I know it sounds crude but it's true...<br />
......so I picked up this stuff called 'Herbal Colon Cleanser'. I picked it because I thought the 'Cleanser' part of the deal seemed like just what I needed, and the 'Herbal' part of the equation made it seem like it would be gentler than say....a Drano enema.<br />
This 'Herbal Colon Cleanser' stuff comes in HUGE gelatin capsules. You have to take four at a time, three times a day. I began the whole 'Herbal Colon Cleanser' regime immediately, taking FOUR pills on the morning of the first day....washed them down with a litre of coffee and half a cold pancake.<br />
Nothing happened.<br />
I was thinking that maybe I should have gone for something that was non-herbal, cause sometimes you can't really trust stuff marked 'herbal'.....you know. Maybe it's just old hay mixed with cat hair in those pills..how would I know...anyway...<br />
I was expecting the stuff to work immediately. I thought it would be a spasmodic elixir of freedom from being bunged up.<br />
I thought, that since my chosen remedy was herbal it might be super gentle and take longer to kick in.<br />
And it did.<br />
It took so long to kick in that I was taking the capsules as a matter of course, no longer remembering or really caring why I was taking them....and this morning it happened.<br />
The 'Herbal Colon Cleanser' kicked in with a vengeance.<br />
I happened to be in aisle four of Save-On-Foods, scoping out the latest deal on canned ham<br />
............all of a sudden.....BOOM.....<br />
With watering eyes and entwined legs I clambered my way up the aisle and towards the public washrooms, (conveniently located at the very back of the store, in a dimly lit corner, behind a false wall and between stacks of old cheez curlz and new macaroni pizazz.)<br />
Suffice it to say I made it in time. Just.<br />
So, in case anyone in the future is reading this......Herbal Colon Cleanser works, you just have to give it a couple days.<br />
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E. M. Prokophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12395951217528199963noreply@blogger.com8