 | You scored as Peter Pan. Your alter ego is Peter Pan. You are a child at heart. Anything you believe is possible, and you never want to grow up.
Which Disney Character is your Alter Ego? created with QuizFarm.com |
Monday, January 30, 2006
Mindless quizzes...
Apparently because I like wearing pants, I don't have an evil stepmother and I'm only slightly evil... this is my Disney alterego.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Back to school... or, my life as an undercover student
Day One: Mission accomplished. I made it through the day without any of my fellow students suspecting that I have become one of the dreaded "non-trads."
Being a married, 26-year-old student who has already earned one degree, that's my new label. Last time I was in a classroom, I was 21 and I couldn't wait to get that stupid piece of paper that said I was smart and get outta there.
I hoped no one could guess that I had my backpack all inventoried and ready the night before school. I sat in the back of the class and didn't look too eager. And I never raised my hand.
In other words, I did my best to be the exact opposite of the native non-traditional student at Mesa State College. Heck, I still get carded at the movies, so I figured it would be a breeze.
My newly defined "peers" rolled their little wheeled suitcases around Houston Hall, clunking them up the stairs and running over people's feet. They sat in the front of class and tried to butter up the professor by mentioning things only baby boomers would have lived through. And they asked if there were any extra-credit projects they could do. Ugh.
There was one small thing I didn't anticipate that could have blown my cover: Wooden pencils. Apparently no one uses those anymore. Finding a pencil sharpener on campus was as hard as spotting a phone booth around town these days. And then, finding one that actually worked was worse. One sharpener held fast to the remains of the last victim in its rusty jaws - a dangerous stake was jammed in the heart of the ancient gnawing beast.
Those early-20-something whippersnappers pulled out their hip little clicky pencils with the stick lead and kept on writing while I stared at my pathetic, splintered No. 2.
How old school.
Being a married, 26-year-old student who has already earned one degree, that's my new label. Last time I was in a classroom, I was 21 and I couldn't wait to get that stupid piece of paper that said I was smart and get outta there.
I hoped no one could guess that I had my backpack all inventoried and ready the night before school. I sat in the back of the class and didn't look too eager. And I never raised my hand.
In other words, I did my best to be the exact opposite of the native non-traditional student at Mesa State College. Heck, I still get carded at the movies, so I figured it would be a breeze.
My newly defined "peers" rolled their little wheeled suitcases around Houston Hall, clunking them up the stairs and running over people's feet. They sat in the front of class and tried to butter up the professor by mentioning things only baby boomers would have lived through. And they asked if there were any extra-credit projects they could do. Ugh.
There was one small thing I didn't anticipate that could have blown my cover: Wooden pencils. Apparently no one uses those anymore. Finding a pencil sharpener on campus was as hard as spotting a phone booth around town these days. And then, finding one that actually worked was worse. One sharpener held fast to the remains of the last victim in its rusty jaws - a dangerous stake was jammed in the heart of the ancient gnawing beast.
Those early-20-something whippersnappers pulled out their hip little clicky pencils with the stick lead and kept on writing while I stared at my pathetic, splintered No. 2.
How old school.
Monday, January 23, 2006
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Scary stuff...(or) Bird is the word
Edvard Munch (1863-1944). Self-Portrait After the Spanish Flu
Okay, so is anyone else totally FREAKED out about this avian bird flu stuff?
Our local city council got an update last night from the county health folks about it. Okay, I was bored and I was watching it on the cable channel. I admit it. I watch channel 12 and I'm a news junkie.
Then I spent way too much time on the CDC web site today and I'm ready to go out and buy face masks and stock up on everything I could possibly need for months just to avoid contact with any other humans. Or find a way to transport me and my family to solitary confinement in the desert, away from germs.
In case you haven't heard already - this avian flu could be the next flu pandemic, meaning it could be a global outbreak that kills a lot of people. The last time something like this happened, "La Gripe" killed more than 500,000 people in the United States, and up to 50 million people may have died worldwide. According to the CDC, many people died within the first few days after infection. Nearly half of those who died were young, healthy adults. (Aack, I'm one of those!)
The ubiquitous "they" are saying that it's a question of when, not if, this avian flu will morph into something we humans can pass among ourselves.
I don't think anyone has a clue how fast this could spread, considering how global our world really is now with transportation making it easy to import germs. I also don't think we have a clue how this might change our everyday lives. Schools will shut down, hospitals will be packed with dying people, people will be wearing masks to go to the grocery store, if there's anything left on the shelves and people dare to go out in public.
I don't think I'm being the least bit pessimistic about the horrors that could come with a pandemic. Look for yourselves.
http://www.cdc.gov/flu/avian/
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Break off another piece...
I lost a piece of youth last week.
No, my big 2-6 was a few weeks ago. I'm so over that. This is about my earring.
I was sleeping in a hotel and got mad at the stupid staticky sheets that were creating a crackly blue lightning storm in my bed at 3 a.m.
In the middle of the Eye of the Storm, I jerked the blanket back and caught my hair in my earring - the tiny silver hoop in the cartilage of my left ear - at the same time. I ended up jerking the stupid earring apart but couldn't get the bent metal out of my ear.
After two days of my ear turning red and throbbing, I made it home and got out the pliers to extract the offending bling-bling. As I wrenched the mangled silver hoop from my ear, I thought about the day I had it pierced.
I was working election night 2000 at the local news/talk station as a reporter. It was all so exciting and plus, I found out that the local piercing joint was offering half-price body decoration if you brought in the "I Voted" sticker. So I voted (not for Bush OR Gore) and went down to the parlor by the college.
It seemed perfectly normal to commemorate my first opportunity to vote in the presidential election by punching a hole in my head. The act was quick and painless ... but I spent the rest of the night holding the headphones away from my left ear, trying not to let the foam pad touch the crusty blood.
Okay, so an extra earring isn't exactly what some juvies today would consider rebellious. But when I got it, it was a rite of passage. Something I knew my parents would try to ignore because they thought I did it to bug them. Something my grandpa would ask me about every few months for years.
"Where did you get THAT?" he'd ask, trying to point at my ear but having his finger veer wildly off because of an accident with a table saw years ago.
"What, Grandpa?" I'd pretend I didn't know and casually pull out my hair tie to cover my ear with long hair.
"That hole in yer head there. You kids. Why would you want to ruin your ears like that? You've got my bey-oo-ti-ful ears," he said, fanning at his much-larger, sticky-out ears. Then he'd grab me in one of his arm-crushing hugs.
The hole is nearly closed now.
I suppose I could get a needle and try to open it up again. But Grandpa's gone now. I don't really care about bugging my parents. And I have a mortgage, a husband and a dog. I think I'll just let it go...
No, my big 2-6 was a few weeks ago. I'm so over that. This is about my earring.
I was sleeping in a hotel and got mad at the stupid staticky sheets that were creating a crackly blue lightning storm in my bed at 3 a.m.
In the middle of the Eye of the Storm, I jerked the blanket back and caught my hair in my earring - the tiny silver hoop in the cartilage of my left ear - at the same time. I ended up jerking the stupid earring apart but couldn't get the bent metal out of my ear.
After two days of my ear turning red and throbbing, I made it home and got out the pliers to extract the offending bling-bling. As I wrenched the mangled silver hoop from my ear, I thought about the day I had it pierced.
I was working election night 2000 at the local news/talk station as a reporter. It was all so exciting and plus, I found out that the local piercing joint was offering half-price body decoration if you brought in the "I Voted" sticker. So I voted (not for Bush OR Gore) and went down to the parlor by the college.
It seemed perfectly normal to commemorate my first opportunity to vote in the presidential election by punching a hole in my head. The act was quick and painless ... but I spent the rest of the night holding the headphones away from my left ear, trying not to let the foam pad touch the crusty blood.
Okay, so an extra earring isn't exactly what some juvies today would consider rebellious. But when I got it, it was a rite of passage. Something I knew my parents would try to ignore because they thought I did it to bug them. Something my grandpa would ask me about every few months for years.
"Where did you get THAT?" he'd ask, trying to point at my ear but having his finger veer wildly off because of an accident with a table saw years ago.
"What, Grandpa?" I'd pretend I didn't know and casually pull out my hair tie to cover my ear with long hair.
"That hole in yer head there. You kids. Why would you want to ruin your ears like that? You've got my bey-oo-ti-ful ears," he said, fanning at his much-larger, sticky-out ears. Then he'd grab me in one of his arm-crushing hugs.
The hole is nearly closed now.
I suppose I could get a needle and try to open it up again. But Grandpa's gone now. I don't really care about bugging my parents. And I have a mortgage, a husband and a dog. I think I'll just let it go...
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Spicy soup for the hacking lungs
I have so many friends who are hacking up lungs right now with various forms of the crud. So here is a recipe for a remedy to try. It's less popular than chicken soup, but I think it's more effective.
New Mexican Posole
1 3-lb. pork loin
64 oz. hominy, drained
1 large onion, diced
2 tsp. oregano
1 1/2 tsp. garlic powder
1/2 tsp. thyme
2 TB salt
1 tsp. black pepper
16 oz. canned green chiles, chopped
Boil the pork loin in water until it's tender. Cool it and cut it into 1-inch cubes.
Put the hominy in a really big pot with 2 quarts of water. Add pork, onions and seasonings and simmer 1 hour.
Add green chiles and simmer for 1 hour.
Adapted from Green Chile Bible: Award-winning New Mexico Recipes
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Fairy Smurfland, aka Goblin Valley
In our latest venture to bizarre places, Mike and I drove through the Utah desert to reach Goblin Valley, a spooky little land with lots of mushroom rocks on the edge of the San Rafael swell.
As childish as it sounds, we found it was especially fun to run around the rocks and hide in the shadows. Goblin Valley would be the most incredible place to play nocturnal hide-and-seek. It's amazing to explore the valley, especially when a rainstorm has washed away everyone else's footprints recently and you feel like maybe you're the first person walking among the hoodoos.
The other amusing thing to do at Goblin Valley is spotting rocks that look like other things. We found and named Hamster Rock, Gorilla Rock, Scary Neanderthal Rock, Turtle Rock and even this one, Shrek Rock.
Check it out at www.utah.com/stateparks/goblin_valley.htm. It's about 2 1/2 hours driving from GJ.
As childish as it sounds, we found it was especially fun to run around the rocks and hide in the shadows. Goblin Valley would be the most incredible place to play nocturnal hide-and-seek. It's amazing to explore the valley, especially when a rainstorm has washed away everyone else's footprints recently and you feel like maybe you're the first person walking among the hoodoos.
The other amusing thing to do at Goblin Valley is spotting rocks that look like other things. We found and named Hamster Rock, Gorilla Rock, Scary Neanderthal Rock, Turtle Rock and even this one, Shrek Rock.
Check it out at www.utah.com/stateparks/goblin_valley.htm. It's about 2 1/2 hours driving from GJ.
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