I am milquetoast, hear me roar (maybe)

It appears the saga of the stove on our back porch may soon have a happy ending.

No, I can't quite believe it, either. In fact, I'm almost afraid to note this possibility here, for I am so sure the owners of the appliance store will change their minds back to "Hell no, the stove won't go!" again.

My last salvo in the stove situation was on Thursday, when I sent the store a copy of my SuperPages.com and Better Business Bureau reviews, along with a note quoting Dale Carnegie (one unsatisfied customer = 10 lost sales). But I had sent similar "inspirational" missives to them before--and even had the dear people from the consumer affairs division of the District Attorney's office calling on our behalf--and they were unmoved.

So, when I listened to our voice mail yesterday, and one of the messages was from the store--asking to schedule a time to pick up the stove and drop off a check--I had Linda listen to it, too, for I couldn't quite believe my ears.

Truly, I have no idea if my latest letter did the trick--perhaps they heard from the credit card company, perhaps someone called them to say they heard about our situation and it kept them from shopping at the store.

Who knows?

It doesn't matter. What does matter is that our back porch may soon have a lot more room in it, and our kitchen might soon have a new stove that actually fits in the old stove's spot, not to mention matches the rest of the appliances. Woo!

And what has been a thorn in my side may soon be an accomplishment of no small measure. To me, anyway. (We Midwestern types don't get our assertive on very often, and do so at great peril to our agreeable little psyches.)

Being a rather cynical sort as well as Midwestern down to my marrow, if this does come to a good end...no one will be more surprised than I!

On other fronts, we went to a Don McLean concert last night, a reward courtesy of Big Company (it's a big sponsor of the local symphony, so has season tickets to spare). We went largely because it was free and offered a good excuse to eat at Cafe Lebanon--not because we're big fans of Mr. American Pie. When his band came out--all late middle-aged men in suits, except for the drummer--I was a little worried. And when the drummer--who was dressed like a 20-year-old, but with a full mane of silver hair--had to put on his glasses to read the introductory music, I thought to myself, "Oh goddess, what's this going to be? Lawrence Welk for Boomers?!"

Well, I was mistooken. We had a great time. Don M. is a tremendous performer, even though he is definitely on the wrong side of 50. His voice was perfect, and his lyrics as evocative as any I've heard in ages. And he has the sort of self-deprecating wit that makes his genius less daunting. True, he has a worrisome comb over that suggests a vanity at odds with the wonderful human being he seems to be, but who doesn't have an inconsistency (or several) in this life?

The song about Van Gogh, "Vincent" ("Starry, starry night....") was a highlight, but then, his rendition of "Crying" was a killer, too.

This weekend has been full of surprises, eh? Will keep you posted regarding the stove--it's supposed to happen Wednesday afternoon. We shall see....

Dander. Up. One more time!

The review has landed on SuperPages. Oh, happy day!

Ambrosia....

Almost forgot to mention the ice cream at Jennifer's latest Best Party: D-I-V-I-N-E, to put it mildly.

Herrill's ice cream. Herrill's hot fudge (in a crock pot). Real whipped cream.

Need I say more?

Dander. Up. The Sequel.

The quest to spare other appliance purchasers our fate (of having a stove on their back porch since February 15, 2007) continues.

Hold a grudge? Moi?!

As my dear departed mother was fond of saying, "A little bit of Irish goes a long way...."

Anyway, today I submitted a complaint to the local Better Business Bureau (BBB) and an appropriate review to SuperPages.com. The BBB will contact the store (for all the good that will do), but SuperPages will post my review tomorrow. Will link then, if the fates (and technologies) allow. The gist:

by AP from Northampton, MA Mar 29, 2007
Caveat Emptor: No-return policy
We bought a stove at [name] at the suggestion of their salesman--but it was the wrong kind for our kitchen. [The store] refused...
(Full Review) We bought a stove at [name] at the suggestion of their salesman--but it was the wrong kind for our kitchen. [They] refused to take it back, saying it was a "special order." NEWS TO US! To install the stove in our kitchen will require a carpenter and mess--not to mention expense--that is only necessary because [the store] made a mistake and will not make it right. Buy there at your peril! (P.S.: The stove has been sitting on our back porch since 2/15/07.) (Hide)

Goddess bless the Comedy Studio

Had a good set at the Studio Thursday night, including a compliment from a very attractive member of the audience (not that I wouldn't be thrilled by a compliment from an unattractive member of the audience, mind you) that made my day. That certainly helped repair some of the damage of the week's events (otherwise known as the Froze My Keister Off for No Good Reason debacle).

Endured some very good-natured ribbing from Rick regarding my failed attempt at fame on Tuesday night. Apparently, such madness is the act of a new comic, so I am (pathetically, perhaps) finding a little solace in the fact that I am "new" at something. (Teetering on the brink of 50, one isn't new at much.) Also enjoyed a chance to catch up with the multi-talented and politically endearing comic/actor/poet Chris O'Carroll, who had just finished a run of "Romeo and Juliet" in Maine.

One of the other comics (who turned out to have some of the creepiest "jokes" I have heard in a long time--but then, I have good reason to not find pedophilia funny) complimented Chris on one of his poems. Intrigued, I rummaged about on our friend the Internet to find some. My favorite is his poem about not wanting his obit to feature anything about his resisting his fate, but I don't want to violate copyright law, so will only post an excerpt from a list of some of his fabulous limericks instead:

Said a therapist from Waxahachie,
“Because every man lacks a snatch, he
Is bound to have issues
About female tissues.
Venus envy -- that sounds pretty catchy.”

What's not to love about that, eh?

On other fronts, while walking the dogs this morning, I saw that a neighbor was accepting delivery of an appliance from the store that sold us the stove that sits on our back porch to this very day. I was upset at first, but then realized said neighbor has a nasty German shepherd who has threatened our dear Linus on more than one occasion, and I thought to myself, "Couldn't happen to a nicer neighbor."

Petty, I know. I'm only human, people--and I am still recovering from the Froze My Keister Off debacle. As I've said many a time, the carcass is very unforgiving at this stage.

Now I must go exercise, so I can eat Herrell's ice cream and hot fudge at Jennifer's Best Party Ever tonight without worry. Woo!

Exercise in futility wins!

Well, that was a gigantic waste of time and energy. Stood in line over 13 hours, but didn't get a chance to audition. The rumor going in was that the line would begin forming in earnest around 2:00 a.m. We got there "early" at 1:30 a.m., and saw the line was already snaking around the corner from the entrance.

Apparently, the reality was the line began forming a little before midnight.

As the organizers of the audition offered no concrete information, rumor and speculation (the information vacuum's constant companions) swept through the ranks of comics like The Wave at a football game.

And it was cold. Freezing, in fact. If my boss hadn't lent me a sleeping bag for the occasion, I may be missing a digit or two right now.

"Last Comic Standing" would be more aptly named "First Comic Standing," IMHO, for it was more of an endurance contest a la "Survivor" than a comedy contest.

And the elements were only part of what needed to be survived. There were hoards of young white men in the line--scads, gads and buckets! And those I could hear (or could not help but hear, I should say) seemed to be quite obsessed with not looking/sounding gay.

In Chelsea! (Good luck with that.)

Seriously, there was an advert on the side of a phone booth for a gay dating service, and I (couldn't help but) overhear one herd of young bucks critique the ad: "Why do they have to look like that!? Why does his finger have to be looped in the other guy's belt?! IT JUST LOOKS SO GAY!"

I repeat: In Chelsea!

Rather like obsessing over burkas in a strict Muslim country. Could only imagine these boys saying things like: "Lookit that girl! She's covered up! She's got nice eyes--why does she have to look like that? She's probably a hottie!"

Methinks the days of seeking out exercises in futility are now behind me. Enough creep into my life without my bidding--why go looking for disappointment? (Not to mention situations that guarantee an extra-creaky carcass for the next week!!)

Sigh.

But I'm home. And I took a shower and will soon be going to bed.

Ready for another day--with a show in Cambridge at its end. At last--a chance to perform--and Chris O'Carroll is in the lineup! This could be fun!

Wish me luck...or whatever seems appropriate!

Am off to the wilds of New York City for the Ann Podolske Freeze Your Keister Off Tour.

Actually, I'm heading south to stand in line (or "on line," as New Yorkers are fond of putting it) in the wee hours of Wednesday morning for the honor and glory of an audition for "Last Comic Standing." Am supposed to get two minutes to show my stuff, but am realistically going to get more like one (or so I've been told).

Have to say, I'm a little dubious about this enterprise (it's going to be freakin' cold down there--20 degrees with winds up to 30 MPH), but the support I'm getting from folks who know I'm doing this (including my gal Linda) has been tremendous. Enormous, even. I wish I were as enthusiastic about this endeavor as my peeps are, but then, I also wish I could wake up as happy about a new day as my lab mix Shwea, and that's not going to happen any time soon, either.

Part of the problem is fatigue. I'm feeling tired, and I don't know why. Jennifer, coworker and Comedy Buddy extraordinaire, says nerves are the likely culprit. That makes sense--when the going gets rough, I do tend toward the sleepy.

Flight or fight? Nah, I'd rather nap, thank you.

And you know, this may be an exercise of futility the likes of which I haven't seen since I was trying to be a straight girl, but then again, it might not.

So, off to NYC I go. I'll let you know how it goes, not to worry....

Another customer service triumph!

Okay, I think I've taken the anonymity thing far enough, at least where the manufacturer of our back-porch stove is concerned. Besides, one can only appreciate how ridiculous the following response--from a complaint about a stove entered on the Frigidaire website--is, for they not only got the appliance wrong, they offered advice that falls clearly under the heading of "Unhelpful." "That ship has sailed." "Too late baby." (Or am I missing something here?)

For your able consideration:

"Thank you for contacting Electrolux Major Appliances. Did the salesman know what dimensions you were working with? Unfortunately, we cannot make [local appliance store] take the unit back. Our independent dealers make their own policies and regulations that we have no control over. In the future it would probably be safer to deal with a larger retailer such as the Lowe's store in Springfield, MA. This way, if there is an issue with the product they can exchange it immediately. We apologize for the inconvenience you have experienced."

And do the "Be a Local Hero" people need to be alerted of this "advice"?

In case you're wondering, I responded to this e-mail thanking them for their "help" and the very clear warning that I should never buy a Frigidaire appliance for the rest of my natural life. And perhaps future lives, should reincarnation turn out to be a fact and not a theory....

Door #2

We didn't get any farther with the appliance folks by complaining to the District Attorneys office, but that's not the end of our attempt to get that darned stove off our back porch and back into their showroom, where it belongs.

Today, I sent an e-mail to the stove manufacturer's website, which may or may not result in action, but it just might get their attention. If they know the only dealer of their product in town is ticking people off, they may do something.

Of course, they may not, but it's another step taken toward getting the appliance people to do the right thing.

If I somehow find the time to do this next week, I am also going to try to find the name of the local distributor of said stoves, in the hopes that maybe this person will help make the appliance people see the light of reason.

Or forces them to do the right thing--it doesn't matter how, it just matters that it happens.

Anyway, we know of two families who are not buying appliances there because of this idiocy, so we're making some progress, anyhow....

Winter decides to get busy--in March?!

We're being buried in snow here, more snow per hour than I've seen all winter--maybe since I've lived in Wisconsin, for pity's sake.

Driving home from work was fraught--like a bad video game featuring idiots with 4x4s who thought they were somehow immune to the forces of nature, including ice (the phrase, "Another dumb f*** in a truck" came to mind repeatedly) and poor pathetic peeps trying to get their small, lightweight, and oh-so-inept-in-snow cars to go in a straight line. My favorite sighting of this type--a car with the brand name "Aspire" trying to get up a very slight incline in my neighborhood.

One can "Aspire" all they want, but if you have a car that weights 2-1/2 pounds, you probably should not try to drive in heavy snow. Poor little engine...that couldn't.

Happily--perhaps miraculously--I arrived home safe and sound, but for frazzled nerves. It is very good to have a warm, comfy home any day, but on a day like today, it's a gift of no small proportion. Need to get in some bad TV and then a lot of rest, which it looks like I'll have time for, since even the dedicated team at WW wouldn't have a meeting the day after a blast like this.

Or would they?

On other fronts, it seems the jury is still out on my eyes. May be just that I have a congenital defect in my optic nerve, or may be the beginnings of glaucoma.

Life's just full of choices, ain't it?

And despite a very cordial intervention by the local consumer affairs department, the appliance people are sticking to the premise that if they say "No" enough times, I'll go away happy with the wrong stove.

Silly appliance people!

The carcass is very unforgiving.....

Tomorrow, I get to bring myself in for an eye test with a new eye doc, since my "old" eye doc isn't covered by my "new" insurance provider, which is darned inconvenient (curses on Big Company for dumping my old reliable provider, is all I have to say).

And that's my second eye test in less than a year, thanks to my old eye doc worrying about my eyes looking a little "different" from last time. The word "glaucoma" was touched upon, but ever-so lightly. She just wanted to "make sure" that my peepers were a-okay, is all, and scheduled exams this year that I couldn't follow up on, thanks to the Big Company forcing me to choose a new and (right now, I'd say inferior) carrier.

Anyway, I'm choosing to use my finely-honed (by years of Catholicism and life in the Midwest) skills of denial to remain calm about this, but not allow my skills to keep me from actually following-up and seeing the proper professional. Seeing is rather pleasant, don't you know--as is breathing, something else I go to great pains and expense to be able to do on a regular basis, thanks to being allergic to the planet and most of its denizens.....

Beyond the eye exam, in the late afternoon I bundle up both dogs to go to the special vet, for they are both well into their Golden Years and need all the help they can get.

And my sister-in-law is recovering from having a new hip installed, and my sister awaits word on whether her recent blood clot-related near-death experience was caused by cancer.

For pity's sake!

This aging business? Crazy! The alternative? Not terribly appealing.

Still working out details for next week's silliness--spending the night freezing my keister off on 23rd Street in NYC for two minutes (probably one) of audition time.

I know what you're thinking: Perhaps I should have my head examined instead of my eyes?

Maybe later. We'll see (or so we hope) how it goes....

So-so to SPECTACULAR!

Friday night's show at The Studio is the sort that makes me regret my promise to report on every show in this blog (to the two people who read it, besides me 8-). Not that it was a debacle, no--it was just one of those nights where the audience just wasn't with the comics, you know?

Let's just say that when the master of ceremonies asks the audience, "You folks know this is a comedy show, right?", you know you're in for tough sledding.

And that it was. Sigh. Gave me a lot to think about on my solo drive home from Cambridge, but I try not to despair over one tough show. A long line of tough shows--yes, that would give me pause--but one after a couple of keepers? Nope, not going to sweat it.

However, I am wondering whether I can find myself in front of more GLBT/liberal audiences somehow, instead of doing the equivalent of pulling comic teeth from the straight and narrow (yes, even in Cambridge) set. And it wasn't even the audience who seemed to have trouble accepting the fact of folks like me--a couple of the comics seemed very pleased with themselves, and felt they had found rich comic gold in those wacky faggots/dykes.

I know, I know--can't help but get my back up when straight people opine on the queer set, for I don't think it's their row to hoe. But really, straight comics do find the GLBT set a source of amusement, so I have to toughen up.

Or keep the heck away from straight venues. Which means I'll work even less than I do now. Horrors.

Linda thinks I should trim back the anti-homophobe stuff and do more "mainstream" material. Dredge up some old non-gay stuff I used to do, and save the political material for friendly audiences.

She may have a point, especially as I am contemplating the humiliation that is trying out for "Last Comic Standing." Don't think they have a spot for a political lesbian on the show--they had a couple (or at least one) lesbian(s) on last season, but they never mentioned their sexuality. Rather the comic equivalent of Liberace.

Oh well. So yes, we are pondering our comic future here, and wondering what makes sense.

As for the SPECTACULAR part of my title, I cannot say enough about the unbearable sweetness that was watching the latest documentary on the Young at Heart Chorus. Linda and I went to a benefit screening of it last night, and we were just overcome.

Watching the Chorus always makes me laugh and cry, and the documentary is no exception. If you have the chance, GO SEE IT!

What a world....

Of all of the Republican candidates for president, only the Mormon has one wife to his, er, credit?

And of course, Newt went after Bill while he was having an affair as well, but no hypocrisy occurred.

Right!

Time to engage the professionals....

My apologies. My last few posts on the matter of the useless stove sitting on our back porch are not my idea of fun--and not yours either, I'm sure. Methinks I have found a way to not have to write about this debacle for a little while, at least.

After yesterday's phone conversation with one of the owners of the store that sold us said stove, it seems clear that what the customer wants doesn't amount to a hill of beans to this guy. The stove may have been recommended to us by their salesman and doesn't fit in our kitchen, but they're not taking it back. His latest offer involves installing the stove that doesn't fit into our kitchen himself--with us paying for the privilege. And what if he does as good a job at that as he has with the rest of this debacle?

I don't want to think about it.

So, he won't take the stove back, and we sure as heck don't want him hammering and sawing away at our kitchen, so what's next? Are we stuck with the stove, end of story?

Perhaps. But then again....

This morning, realizing I've gone about as far as I can go with this misadventure in buying local for now, I called the local consumer protection line. Surprise, surprise--I was soon talking to a person who made no promises, but who gave me hope that perhaps she would be able to reason with the store.

I wish her luck with that, I really do.

At the very least, once I've submitted my complaint and she's made her attempt, if the store doesn't come through, the complaint will be on record with the Attorney General in Boston for a number of years. I'll also file a complaint with the Better Business Bureau and any other consumer-esque outfit in the area I can find.

Perhaps, at the very least, we'll protect some other family from the indignities of doing business with these people.

But perhaps more will come of it as well. Stay tuned....

On other fronts, I have a spot on the roster at the famous Comedy Studio tomorrow night, and promise not to say a whit about major appliances. If you somehow find yourself in Cambridge without a thing to do, take yourself over to the Hong Kong Restaurant, climb the many stairs to the third floor, and enjoy yourself some of the finest comedy around.

Lastly, my friend and comedy buddy Jennifer Myszkowski was also supposed to be on the Comedy Studio stage tomorrow night, but she has fallen ill with either whooping cough or bronchitis. Yikes! Either way, she's in no shape do The Comedy, no matter how fabulous the venue may be. Here's hoping she's all better soon!

Well, what do you know?

One of the perks of working for Big Company(TM) is that we can give blood right in the building--every eight weeks or so, the Red Cross sets up shop downstairs in a couple of conference rooms. While it's jarring answering questions such as, "Have you ever had sex with a man who used intravenous drugs or had sex with other men?" at work, it's a convenience.

It's also been a source of rejection, however, for the last three times I tried to give blood, I was told I didn't have enough of the right kind of red blood cells for the job. Sent back to my cubicle with a pricked finger and nothing to show for it.

Well, today was another story. I passed the red blood cell test with flying colors, and was able to give blood for the first time in months. The person registering me thought it might be the diet--excuse me, lifestyle change--I've been engaged in for the past nine weeks, thanks to WW. "You're eating better."

Really? It wasn't like I was eating sweet rolls and pie filling for breakfast, lunch and dinner before WW and its "lifestyle" food approach.

But then, the proof is in the blood test.

That's cool--I've lost over 15 pounds and I can give blood again. Not bad, not bad at all.

On the appliance front, the manager now wants to install our stove himself--with us paying for the supplies.

Considering the integrity of his business practices, does he seriously think we'd trust the integrity of his carpentry skills?

I mean, REALLY!

Just got off the phone with him, and I gotta tell you--if I tried to give blood right now, I would be refused. Not for my red blood cell count, but for my blood pressure.

ARGGGGGGGGGGGGGH!

A Tale of Two Cities....

Last night's show in Westfield was a successful, if relatively subdued affair, particularly in comparison to last week's Girls! Girls! Girls! blowout in Easthampton.

Of course, I didn't have any expectations of a repeat--I have performed in Westfield before, and know the lesbian and liberal population there is marginal, to put it mildly--but the show was a good reminder that a comic's material is only a fraction of The Comedy. The audience plays a tremendous part--the most important part, certainly.

And in Westfield, the likes of me can do okay, but not tremendously. Whereas in Easthampton with a room full of lezzies and liberals, I can have the time of my life. Peak experiences can also be had in a room full of just the GLBT set (as in Provincetown) and in a room full of just liberals (as I learned thanks to Laughing Liberally).

Not to say one can't do tremendously in Westfield: Jennifer and Linda did great, and were both a lot of fun to watch. Jennifer had her feisty on, which always makes for great comedy. Linda's married-with-children business was pitch perfect for this crowd--they loved it! While New Englanders can be a fairly restrained bunch, this crowd was losing their marbles all over the place, thanks to them.

Am glad the show turned out well, for a lot of people from Big Company (TM) and a dear couple of dykes I've known for years showed up, and from all reports, they had a great time. Well, except for the couple--one of the gals had an asthma attack, likely due to the ridiculous fragrance-to-humanity ratio in that crowd. (What is it with humans and their need to radiate smells other than their own?)

Anyway, it was a good show but not a great show, and that's okay.

On other fronts, yesterday I learned that a great gal I've run into around town and dog trails for years, Victoria White, died of breast cancer just a couple of days ago. She and I weren't friends per se, but we've chatted amiably on and off over the years, for we both had a devotion to dogs, being out dykesauruses, and to humor. I loved talking to her, for she had a sharp intellect that made for great conversation--and laughs. She was also one of the ranks of lesbian business owners who supported the short-lived Amazonian, and even offered to give me work in her dog business when I was marginally employed over a year ago. What a sweetie. Generous. Nutty about dogs. Smart as can be. And just 51.

What a loss.

Dander. Up.

Dear Sirs [SADLY, THIS IS THE CASE]:

On January 27, 2007, at the confident recommendation of your salesman [NAME], we purchased a new drop-in range from [STORE NAME]. Though we inquired as to whether the salesman should send someone to our home to ensure we were getting the right model, [NAME] told us that a drop-in was the way to go.

As you know, that wasn’t the case. In fact, you had three people in our home to install the stove, and they were unable to do so. The obvious response was to replace the wrong stove with one that would fit our kitchen, but you refused to do that. You told me our stove was “special ordered,” so could not be returned.

This was news to us: Neither [NAME] nor our receipt (see attached) made any mention of this “no returns” policy for this $1,037.45 purchase. To “remedy” the situation, you told us to get a carpenter to get an estimate of the cost to build a cabinet to fit our new stove. We did that, and were told it would cost between $450-$500.

A little under half the cost of the appliance.

We are not going to pay a premium for your mistake, and insist that you do the right thing: Take back the stove and issue us a full refund, so we can purchase a stove we can actually use. We have made an effort to support local business, and have done so successfully—until we went to [STORE NAME]. In your case, we have been rewarded with poor service, buck-passing and no stove since late January. This is made even more galling by the fact that if we had purchased a stove that didn’t fit from a national chain, we would have been able to return it without question.

Your response to this situation is unacceptable, and we believe others would agree.

This letter is notice of your last opportunity to do the right thing. Contact us at [PHONE] by [DEADLINE] to schedule the pickup of your stove. If you do not, we will explore whatever remedies are available to us, starting with the Better Business Bureau and Attorney General’s office and ending with whatever we can legally do to protect other local consumers from your way of doing business.

We hope to hear from you soon,

Ann and Linda
[AKA TICKED-OFF HOMOS]

What would you do?

We still have a stove on our back porch that doesn't fit our kitchen.

Had a local carpenter look at it, and her estimate for fitting said stove in our kitchen is approximately half the cost of the stove.

Yes, this is getting out of hand, all because a salesman won't admit a mistake and the store itself isn't terribly interested in making things right with us.

Ah, the downside of "buying local" is becoming more clear every day. At least with a MegaStore, one could voice one's displeasure via an impersonal 800 line, write the CEO of the company, and beyond.

What can we do with these "Buy Local" bad boys? Call the Better Business Bureau? The Attorney General? Their mothers?

What?!

Thank goddess Linda has a seemingly endless array of crock pot recipes....something tells me we're going to need them.....

P.S.: If you want to know the name of the local store that's giving us the run-around, give me a call. I'd post it here, but my experience is that bad companies tend toward the touchy. And have lawyers on retainer....

One of the best shows E-VAH!

Wow, did the "Girls! Girls! Girls!" franchise ever hit a new high last night. The room was packed to the rafters and just about everyone was there to laugh themselves silly.

Even the mayor of Northampton, M.C. Higgins (almost sounds like a hip-hop moniker, but trust me, she doesn't roll like that...at least she doesn't appear to roll like that 8-).

From what I could hear in the "green room", Jessie, Arielle, Erin and Jennifer had great sets--Jennifer in particular (she's my comedy buddy, true, but I know when the people are having the best time ever, and Jennifer took the people there early and often).

I, personally, was particularly taken by her new material on Big Company (TM), though must say I feel a little guilty for playing a small part in her working for BC. It it appears to be a source of tremendous pain as well as tremendous material. (But is there ever material without pain? Perhaps this is a ponder for another time.)

Anyway, my set went just about as well as it ever has in this life. The folks roared at things that usually get mild chuckles, but then, they were strangely reticent about some bits that usually score big. But overall, the crowd was with me the whole time, almost overwhelmingly so.

But good overwhelming, don't get me wrong.

It sure didn't hurt that there was a sizable lesbian contingent in the room,and the straight-but-not-narrow population was there in force, too.

Afterwards, while we were waiting for our checks, a nice lady came by to congratulate us on the show, noting the courage it takes to do what we do. Once she was out of earshot, the comebacks began, something like this: "Courage? It's a sickness!" "It's not courage, it's a compulsion!" "Thanks to my abusive childhood, I need affirmation every breathing minute!" And so on. Ah, la vie comedienne--it's not for the well-adjusted.

So, last night's show was one for the record-books, and also featured a little comic camaraderie and a check.

Could I ask for anything more? Can't imagine. Just hope I remember this night the next time I have a show that saps my will to live, much less to do The Comedy.

What'll they think of next?!

Just realized the irony of something I wrote about recently at work. Not that each day at Big Company (TM registered to Jennifer Myszkowski) doesn't drip with irony, but this week's "find" really hit a new low.

I've been rather disgusted by how little the Bush Administration has been doing about global warming. They won't require automakers to increase fuel efficiency, turn up their noses at alternative fuels (unless the alternative fuel is called "coal," of course), and have refused to sign on to the Kyoto Protocols, among other things.

However, that's not to say they're doing nothing about global warming. They are.

Just this week, in fact, I learned that the Administration is requiring manufacturers of albuterol inhalers (mostly for folks with asthma, like yours truly) to make inhalers all of their products without nasty fluorocarbons by 2008.

And here I am, liberal tree-hugger of the Western World, who realizes I've been carrying around one of these deforesting, sea-level raising tools of destruction for years now. Every time I took a puff, apparently, I was making one more polar bear swim for his life.....

Who knew?!

Thanks to the FDA, all of my fellow asthmatics can breathe easier now--once the new inhalers get in circulation, we won't have to choose between filling our lungs or ruining the environment.

Whew!

Of course, the beauty part is that not only can the Administration look like it's doing something about global warming with this idle gesture, it's also making its pals in the pharmaceutical industries happy. For of course, the new "green" inhalers may be free of fluorocarbons, but they're new, so they're not free of patents. As a result, they'll be a lot more expensive than the old, generic polluting albuterol of yore.

Ah, the GOP. Can't help screwing the American public--asthmatics, for pity's sake--even when doing "good."

This was the week that was....

Well, we're both recovering nicely from the past week, which has been one of the archives--the archives named, "Please God: Don't Make Me Go Through Anything Remotely Like THIS Again."

Having to help Oatmeal into the Hereafter was the worst part of the week, but certainly not the only bad patch. On the same day we took the long drive to Springfield, Linus got himself stuck down in the basement. Trust me, you haven't lived until you've tried to get an arthritic and anxious animal to go up a flight of stairs.

The petsitter was called in (Saint Melanie is how I think of her lately), and together we carried him up the stairs--wrapped in a blanket. It all happened so fast, he forgot to struggle (haven't seen him look that surprised since he got his temperature taken).

We also had a stove delivered from a local shop (who shall remain nameless and therefore blameless for the non) and after three men puttered and muttered over it for about an hour, I was told we had bought the wrong kind of stove for the space in our kitchen. And since we had "special ordered" said stove (news to me, but nevermind), we were stuck with it. (That we chose this particular model on the advice of the salesman at said shop mattered not as well--it was a "special order" and they were not taking it back.)

They said we needed a carpenter to reconfigure our cabinet, but had no idea as to who to call or what it might cost.

Isn't that just special?

Not the usual Buy Local success story, to put it mildly. (If we wanted crap service, we could have ordered the wrong stove from a Big Box store that likely would have taken it back--we would have been charged for the exchange somehow, I'm sure, but not as much as we're likely gonna get stuck to get the appliance off the back porch and into the kitchen where it belongs.)

But don't worry, we're not soured on the Buy Local premise entirely. Yesterday we blew a nice chunk o' money at a local women's clothing store, courtesy of Linda's mother. Thanks, Mom!

That bright spot aside, what I have to say about last week is unprintable, but I'll sum it up, simply, with PHOOEY!

As for good news, there is some on the horizon. The Girls! Girls! Girls! show of shows (see below) is next Saturday, and I, for one, am looking forward to it. Haven't seen any of the Boston crowd for a while, and I am looking forward in particular to seeing what Erin Judge is up to, comedy-wise.

Methinks a hoot is in the offing--hope you can make it!

Oatmeal, 1990-2007

Oatmeal (shown here in happier times with Shwea, a fellow sun-worshipper and avid napper) was convulsing when we checked in on him last night, so we did what we had to do. Visited the local emergency shelter and had him put down. He was 17, and died after a short and unsuccessful fight with kidney disease.

Poor kitty. Am hoping that if there is any Hereafter for Oatie, it involves lots of head scratches, tap water running 24/7, commodious laps, and beings who love him without reservation--and without allergies. Maybe even old Butler boy as well (though he was grouchy; but then, perhaps eternity agrees with him).

On other fronts, I was forced by Blogger--today of all days--to adopt the dubious Google approach to this site, and I am not happy about it. The only upside is that I found about five reader comments that I was supposed to moderate (who knew?) but didn't, since I had no idea I had requested the privelege.

File under: Oops!

Even have a cranky message, which is rather funny. Honey--I can't be accused of not posting you, for I didn't even know you were there! (But why rain facts on a good rant, eh? Pardon me.)

Nursing cats = Herding cats

Linda and I have been endeavoring to treat her cat--okay, our cat--Oatmeal's kidney failure for the past week. To do this, each morning we put a needle under his skin and watch ringer's solution drain into his body.

How is it going? Neither of us are morning people, so mornings have never been a time for jubilation around here. Adding this procedure to our a.m. has added a new level of suck to each day, there's no pretty way to put it.

However, it is making Oatie better, which has been proven by the growing resistance he's putting up, which makes keeping said needle in his skin and so forth that much more challenging. He doesn't know that what we're doing is saving his cookies, but sees it rather as a very rude--and likely painful--process he'd rather not endure. And who can blame him?

Believe me, I'd rather not endure it, either, but it's the only thing we can do for him at this stage of his illness, so off we go....

Linda had me doing the sticking part, but today she did it--and I couldn't be happier. I'd rather deal with a bucking bronco than puncturing a puddy-tat. Any day o' the week.

Not that I expect to have to make this choice any other time of my life, but life's crazy like that. Crazier.

Heckle and Jeckle stayed home!

The show at Goomba's went well, praise be to Whomever. I was braced for a heckle-a-thon, but happily, the two people who might have qualified were in a back room, where I could neither see nor hear them.

According to reliable sources (okay, my Comedy Buddy Jennifer), a man and woman (married, most like) got their grump on every time I mentioned anything with a positive gay spin or about the Democratic Party.

In other words, they must have been sputtering and muttering throughout my set.

(Of course, I couldn't be happier about that.)

I did hear them later, when the headliner performed. The man of the couple bellowed "NOOOOOOOO!" in response to his question, "Did anybody see 'Brokeback Mountain'?" as though his very humanity was at stake. They seemed quite amused by the comic's sometimes stereotypical musings on the differences between men and women--but then again, so did everybody else there (even a couple of guys who read gay as the day is long). Amused isn't quite the word. They roared.

Whoa. Granby, CT sure isn't Northampton, MA--in case you're wondering.

Actually, most of the audience was happy to go along with my comic attempts, and laughed generously--just not as much as they did for the headliner, but that's why he's a headliner. A few folks even thanked me afterwards. So while I was braced for a night of heckling heck, I actually had a pretty good night of it.

And a free dinner--how can you beat that?

Girls! Girls! Girls! Read all about it!

Girls! Girls! Girls! is guaranteed entertainment
Popular all-women comedy show features talent from the Valley and beyond

Mid-winter doldrums be damned! Girls! Girls! Girls! (a night of women comics) is back, and just moments before cabin fever drives us all mad. On Saturday, February 24, 2007 at 8 p.m., feast your eyes on Jessie Baade, Arielle Goldman, Erin Judge, and Ann Podolske as each takes to the stage to tickle your funny bone – and your fancy. No stone will be left unturned! No cow is too sacred for these rapier wits. Local comic Jennifer Myszkowski hosts, produces and gets altogether too worked up over this recurring series at the Pioneer Arts Center of Easthampton (PACE), 41 Union Street in Easthampton.

Tickets are $10 in advance, $12 at the door and are available by calling 413-527-3700 or logging on to www.pioneerarts.org.

Artist Bios

An actor, comic and writer, Jessie Baade has been plying her comic arts for more than fifteen years all over the eastern seaboard. Some recent highlights: Mamapalooza (Momedy Comedy) and the Nick at Night Funniest Mom contest. Pregnancy, epilepsy and N.Y.C. – it’s all fair game. Jessie earned her SAG card working commercials, so in addition to Girls! Girls! Girls!, you can see her on a television near you.

Arielle Goldman has been performing sketch and stand-up in and around Boston for more than three years, turning her need for constant attention into quality entertainment. Her life goal is to be creative AND have health insurance. At the same time. She’ll settle for nothing less.

Erin Judge has red hair and rocks. By "rocks" we mean "is awesome," not that she has rocks. Although it certainly takes rocks to get up on stage and perform the way she does. Erin was recently named one of "Six Breakout Boston Comics" by the Boston Herald. She hosts every Sunday night at the world-famous Comedy Studio in Harvard Square. Learn more at erinjudge.com.

Whether discussing her misspent years as a straight girl, her non-PC Peace Corps experience, or the regressive right’s most cherished illusions, Ann Podolske proves the personal is political—and pretty darn hilarious. Born in Wisconsin, Ann has lived all over the world, and now calls Northampton home. And that’s lucky for us. Her milquetoast-y exterior belies her “understated, but lethal wit” (Somerville News, 6/24/2006). She’s performed as part of the Laughing Liberally tour, can be seen regularly on stages around New England and is a regular Girls! Girls! Girls! performer.

Jennifer Myszkowski grew up in Springfield, lives in Holyoke and performs all over the place in front of sober people who laugh and drunken people who heckle. Or should we say, “try to heckle,” because, brother, those people do not succeed. Tune in to Jennifer’s Weekly Radio Address (also known as the popular call-in show, Bear Swaps) on Bear Country 95.3 FM every Saturday morning from 8-10 a.m., pick up a copy of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun to read what she's thinking, or log on to her Web site jennifermyszkowski.com to learn more about her than you’ve ever cared to know.

(Courtesy of Jennifer Myszkowski, in case you were wondering.)

Goombas, anyone?

Yes, I'm performing at a club called Goombas this Wednesday night, and from what I've heard, I will be praying quite a lot during my performance.

People have been known to heckle there, and hecklers just don't give me the warm fuzzies, you know?

True, some comics relish the opportunity to rip into heckle hounds, but I'm not one of them. I don't rip. Into. Anything.

With the possible exception of a bag of baked chips. (I'm on WW, remember?)

So, if you can't make it to Goombas this Wednesday--and it's a school night, so I perfectly understand if you can't--please do think kind, heckle-free thoughts for yours truly.

I'll report on the show Thursday, unless it requires more than one day to digest....

On the home front, on Saturday we received some bad news regarding our last cat, Oatmeal. His kidneys are failing, so tomorrow we're learning how to give him fluids in a procedure that will also entail quite a bit of conversation with a higher power of some sort. (It involves a needle, need I say more?)

This cat has been a source of frustration as well as sweetness, as anyone who knows me can attest. I've never been a cat person (I'm very allergic, for one thing), but have made strides towards being more cat-friendly in the name of serenity--Oatmeal and I have lived together for over 13 years, for heaven's sake, so I had to get over myself or be in a snit that entire time. Even I--Grudge Master of the Universe--find that prospect exhausting.

Oatmeal, for his part, has worked on me patiently and persistently, to the extent where I now pick him up a time or two each day, just to say hello.

No small thing, that.

But he also poops behind the furnace, throws up on rugs (never hard surfaces) with regularity, shreds our worldly goods to bits, and knocks over water glasses every chance he gets, so living with him has had its downsides, too.

The reality is, the little guy is dying, so all the downsides have to be put aside for the time being. Every living creature deserves to be treated as humanely as possible when facing the great What's Next, so we're going to keep him going until it's clear he doesn't want to go any more. Butler did a good job of letting us know he was done--here's hoping Oatie does too.

And once Oatmeal goes, we won't be a cat family any more. Am a little sad about that for no good reason--I'm allergic, remember?--but Oatmeal is the sort of cat who can inspire devotion despite irritation, bless his heart.

Which reminds me of a number of people I know, come to think, but that's a topic for another day.

Go get squished!

A woman I did some freelance work for in California sent me news of Molly Ivins' death from breast cancer yesterday, with just one note: "Do get a mammogram." Molly put it a little more colorfully, as was her style, and I hope you don't mind my jumping on the mammo bandwagon:

If you are of the female persuasion and you have breasts that haven't been put through the wringer for over a year, get thee to a radiologist!

Common Dreams has a good obituary of her, and the reader comments pretty much sum up my feelings about Molly. She was brilliant, biting, and suffered no fools gladly--and used the language she learned growing up in Texas to tremendous effect. She was, in a word, a hoot.

Learned that she went to Smith, right here in Lesbianville, and that her mother went here as well. Love that she once had Northampton as her stamping ground, yes I do.

Also can't help but love the fact that her greatest wish was to die sober. And she did just that. Would love to follow her footsteps there as well.

But she was just 62, and you have to be young indeed not to be sad about that. What a loss...

Musings on "cripes"

My Comedy Buddy and coworker Jennifer noted the use of "cripes" at work lately. Seems she's not the only one musing about it. The following is from My Little Sister's Humorous Sayings site:

On Cripes:
My wife's from the Midwest. Very nice people there. Very wholesome. They use words like 'Cripes'. 'For Cripe's sake.' Who would that be, Jesus Cripe's? The son of 'Gosh' of the church of 'Holy Moly'? I'm not making fun of it. You think I wanna burn in 'Heck'?

Me neither!

On other fronts, that may be the root of a problem I'm having today. My dear brother's 60th birthday is coming up, and I am having a Heck of a time writing an appropriately snarky birthday card for him. Even though he would definitely have no qualms doing the same for me.

My attempts have ranged from twists on classic song lyrics ("He ain't elderly, he's my brother...") to mild encouragement ("But Eric Clapton and Susan Sarandon are in their 60s, and they're still cool"), but none of it is working.

I've also contemplated a "remember the time you" approach, but we have almost 50 years of history, so that would get out of hand in a nano.

Oh well. The card must get in the mail, so I'm just going to have to run with something, and soon. It ain't easy being mean.....

Started out well....

Though I usually spare myself any exposure to the Prevaricator in Chief, I couldn't help but see the first few minutes of the State of the Union address.

Couldn't believe that it began with a moment of grace--his acknowledgement of the historic nature of his uttering, "Madame Speaker."

I was stunned. Was this the same GWB I've endured lo these many years? Where's the snarl? The smirk?

They were both disabled. Just temporarily, it turns out, but hey--it was a moment.

Then he proceeded to lecture the Congress on the need for bipartisanship (now that the GOP is no longer in power, it's time to play nice), to stop adding set-asides to bills under the cloak of darkness (now that the GOP is no longer in power, it's time to be above-board), and to generally start doing the opposite of what the GOP has been doing for the past several years.

With the possible exception of supporting the President in everything he does. No matter what.

Anything less is giving aid and comfort to the enemy. Terrorists. 9-11.

(You know, the usual suspects.)

Sigh.

But he did open well, didn't he?

Oh, happy day!

After thinking I had somehow messed up with the man himself when actually I was just using an old e-mail address, Rick Jenkins just gave me a nice round of new dates at his legendary club in Cambridge, The Comedy Studio. Woo-eee!

I've been in what can charitably called a dormant period where the comedy is concerned, so this is a wonderful development. True, I've done a show or two here and there, but not much has been really shakin'. Methinks the no-longer-new job was partially at fault--it's taken quite a while to adjust to this getting-showered-and-dressed-and-driving-to-work business, I'm embarrassed to say.

The ridiculous amount of dental work I've had of late made life less than funny, too.

And while the dental work is ongoing (and I believe will now be a recurrent theme, if I truly face facts), my will to do The Comedy is coming back.

Besides, Linda has been giving me comedy ideas lately. She seems to think I should be writing new material, and has been shopping ideas with me for the past few days (she took the week off, so has had time to think about such things).

Am trying to be charmed by her interest, but not always successfully.

But I do agree I've had enough time to adapt to being a corporate commuting drone. Comedy, watch out!!!!!

Gird your loins....

Whenever I hear a comic say something along the lines of, "You know, I have nothing, nothing at all against gay people, but..." I know I'm about to hear gays mocked, mimicked, defiled and generally put through the ringer.

It's as though saying, "I have nothing against [fill-in-the-blank]" offers a comic carte blanche to say anything, anything at all about whatever group is in the blank.

Not that one hears, "You know, I have nothing against black/Jewish/Asian/Mexican/Your Ethnicity Here people, but..." much anymore, at least not up in this supposedly liberal neck of the woods, but the fag card? It's played early and often, mostly by male comics.

Desperate ones in particular.

Like the man I heard use the "I have nothing" defense last night. The fact is, he was African American, and that made it particularly hard to take. If a guy like that doesn't grasp bigotry as a concept, who the heck does?

But perhaps it's only bigotry if it applies to him. In these "What about me?" times, that's probably it. Some days, it seems most of us only have compassion for what we see in the mirror, and then, only if we're lucky.

I'm as guilty of self-centeredness as any human, though I try each day to expand my circle of concern and compassion to include all I meet, at the very least. Not always successfully, this I know.

But you know, the comic last night was struggling, and perhaps his shtick was that of a desperate man. He did a lot of crowd work, which usually signals a comic without much material. And what he did have wasn't working. I can have some compassion for that, for I know that feeling all too well.

Still, last night I did what I haven't done to a comic since I started doing comedy myself. I walked out in the middle of his set, never to return. He was trashing what had been a nice night out for me and my gal, and we have both worked too hard to be who we are to put up with that kind of nonsense.

Kinda makes a gal wish she lived in lesbianland.

Oh, wait a minute--I do! That's what I get for venturing out of town, eh?

It's not a DIET, it's a LIFESTYLE

Yes, I've returned to the hallowed halls of the weight loss kingdom, and no, it wasn't my idea. It was Linda's. However, a recent photo (see above) made me see the wisdom of this quest.

Cripes!

Now I'm not trying to get fit and trim--deprivation is involved in that look for me, and I don't do deprivation (obviously). The thing is, I don't want to get too big for my britches, and that is starting to happen.

In other words: My fitness is not an issue, but as a person who (a) hates to shop and (b) hates to spend money on corporate drag, my burgeoning, increasingly uncomfortable middle is becoming an issue.

A shopping issue.

So, back on the WW wagon I go, fully expecting to lose enough weight to feel less pinched. Here's hoping I meet my goal before the slogans (see above) send me screaming for the door.

True, I belong to another program that clutches tired old cliches to its bosom, but somehow WW is different. Not quite as reality-based. It's not a diet, it's a lifestyle?! I'm not going to WW to change my lifestyle, honey--it's just fine.

To be fair, a person can go years--decades, even--without drinking alcohol, but not without eating. Perhaps a little denial makes sense under this condition. I dunno.

But I do know I don't want to spend any more of my hard-earned moolah on easy-care slacks, so off to WW I go.....

Happy New Year!

I think it's safe to say the new chaise is a hit. The new camera's not bad, either! (Though the photographer could use some work.)

Merry what-have-you!

Well, this is one of the oddest Christmases on record, if only because it's December 25 and we haven't had a hint of snow. As a result, even though we exchanged gifts and have consumed enough baked goods to sink a tanker, it's beginning to feel a lot like something, but Christmas, it ain't.

It probably doesn't help that Linda and I have been glued to LOGO--the all-gay all-the-time cable station--all weekend. Even though I live in the most lesbian of lesbianvilles, I still can't get enough entertainment with GLBT written all over it. It reminds me of the time we saw the Bill T. Jones and Artie Zane dance troupe at the Academy of Music, and found ourselves blubbering over a romantic duet performed by two women. We had never seen ourselves reflected in dance before, and it was the most moving dance we had ever seen.

Not that I'm bah-humbugging the Season, mind you, it's just been a subdued holiday. I have nothing to complain about on the gift front: Santa and Linda were very good to me this year, and as soon as I figure out the new camera Linda bought me, I'll provide pictures of some of my favorite goodies. The camera is amazing--my former camera was an enormous early-edition digital from the late '90s that used floppies, for pity's sake, so the sleek Coolpix I now have in my possession is a revelation.

Far too cool for the likes of me, but it will just have to cope. Poor little Coolpix, not attached to a sleek Russian tennis player, but a large, middle-aged dykesaurus who won't use 1/36th of your features. Life's like that, eh?

Happily, Linda enjoyed her gifts muchly, especially the little electronic surprise I foisted upon her, an iPod Nano. I thought she had dropped hints the size of boulders regarding this gift and expected a little iPod action this holiday, but she was genuinely surprised. What a hoot!

You have no idea how rare it is for me to pull anything like a surprise off with this woman--she had 90% of her 50th birthday presents figured out weeks before the event, including a hot air balloon ride. The only surprise? I had a chauffeur-driven '50s era Cadillac drive us to and from dinner.

Yes, one must go the extra mile when living with someone who was a private detective in a past life....or simply hyper-vigilant in this one.

The gift that hasn't arrived yet, however, is the most eagerly awaited. An answer to the alarming decline in our dear Linus' ability to walk. His rear legs have become unreliable, and increasingly so. We have an appointment with an alternative vet next week who has worked wonders with dogs in similar binds, and are hoping he'll be able to do the same for our Sonny Boy.

I must take comfort from the fact that our Shwea woke up unable to walk a year or so ago, and is now running around like a lunatic. Just needed to lose some weight and take a better grade of glucosamine, and she was good as new.

We just have to hope that a similar answer awaits for Linus, and we find it soon.

Now, I must go exercise--I have expanded my horizons beyond all reason in the past few months, and as I have no money left for a brand-new wardrobe, I'd better work it, as dear Ru Paul used to say....

To Sir With Disdain....

Thinking of writing a letter to Mitt Romney. He's supposedly my governor, but recent events suggest he's only the governor of straight people. Straight, homophobic people, that is.

I realize he's running for president, and running for office makes otherwise reasonable people do unreasonable things. This I understand. But it sure doesn't make me happy to hear he's leading rallies to whip the populace up into an anti-gay frenzy.

Well, fooey on him. May he and his campaign enjoy the success they so richly deserve....

Sorry, I had a nice young-sounding lesbian from a GLBT-friendly group call me today to solicit funds for her organization, and even though she was fighting the good fight and all that, she was discouraged. She had been to a number of Mitt's anti-gay rallies, and well, the people just bummed her out (my words, not hers). "They were so mean, and they brought their children," she told me.

Nothing like seeing a small child holding a sign saying, "God Hates Fags" to show one the power of God's love.

But I digress...

I tried to give her a little pep talk about how misguided and fearful these poor souls were, but I realized I wasn't really making a dent in her despair. In her work, she's just up against it all the time, and I'm living in nice, safe and sequestered Northampton, where the homophobes are few and viewed with pity and contempt.

As it should be, of course.

Maybe I did help a little. We somehow got on the topic of Wisconsin, and how it was too bad that the Cheeseheads passed their own "anti-gay" initiative this past election. I told her that I wasn't surprised, but that things were changing--as witnessed by all of the rainbow stickers I saw on cars in my home town of about 11,000. She had been to Wisconsin and had an idea of what that meant.
So, there's hope, or something like it.

Still, my mood is dour, but considering I had the first part of a root canal this morning, I'm not surprised. It was simply dreadful, largely because the tooth was a touchy creature, and regular shots of Novocain were required to keep me from leaping from the chair. It still hurts, but regular handfuls of ibuprofen are helping, and I can only hope that this was the worst phase of the process.

If you know differently, please allow me my denial.

Now I must go walk the dogs. In the dark. Woo!

Things could be worse...

I admit I have been feeling a bit at the mercy of the aging process of late, and may even have allowed myself a whine or two. Sorry.

Heard something today that made my petty dental complaints seem, well, petty. A member of my family is facing a hip replacement. This would not be major news if said family member were in my parent's generation, well into their 80s, but unfortunately, said family member is a fellow Baby Boomer. Not even 60 yet. Sheesh!

Can't help but observe: These days, we're going from the "hip" generation to the "hip replacement" generation.

My apologies.

And I also heard that another canine member of the family is having hip trouble--yes, this canine is under the same roof as the family member who is facing hip replacement. The irony? An office visit and x-ray for the human with the hip problem was $15. For the canine with the hip problem? $500.

Our Linus is still struggling with his bum/arthritic leg. We have added vitamin C to his diet, as that's supposed to help. And a low dose aspirin, once a day. FYI, in the off chance it might help, we're looking into doggie acupuncturists--so if you know any in Western Mass, do tell.

On the good news front, I shipped everything that needed to be shipped this weekend, sending parcels to our nation's capital, a small town in Wisconsin, and Detroit. Sleeze, cheese and "Freeze!"

The humor gods are not smiling today, this is obvious. The only merciful thing to do is to stop. Now.

A reprieve of sorts

I was supposed to have my "good news" root canal today, but my endodontist got food poisoning and cancelled on me. Well, his tech cancelled, and promptly rescheduled my two-appointment procedure for the next two Thursdays.

Was really and truly relieved, until I realized we were invited to a holiday party next Thursday night, and as a result of this development, I may not be fit for said party. I might just be too dentally-impaired to go.

Isn't that a kick in the what-have-you?

Speaking of kicks, today I found out the hard way that I don't have a mute button on my phone. I called into an online training session for work and it was interrupted about halfway through by Oatmeal howling as though he was breathing his feline last.

As if. He's probably going to outlive us all.

But things are looking up on other fronts. Was here to sign for a Christmas gift for Linda, which was a real stroke of luck, since I work from home only one day a week--what are the odds? Plus, I finished shopping--including wrapping and shipping--for my sister in a matter of minutes, all online. (That's no small relief, let me tell you.)

My brother, sister-in-law and furry nephew still have gifts outstanding, but there's still the weekend, so I'm not going to panic.....

Still have to get something worthy for my aunt and uncle, but there's still time.....right?

Well, must go. She who must be obeyed is home, and that means it's dog-walking time. Till next time, my dear friends....

Humbling? You betcha!

What American accent do you have? Your Result: The Inland North You may think you speak "Standard English straight out of the dictionary" but when you step away from the Great Lakes you get asked annoying questions like "Are you from Wisconsin?" or "Are you from Chicago?" Chances are you call carbonated drinks "pop."
The Midland
North Central
The Northeast
Philadelphia
The West
Boston
The South
What American accent do you have? Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

How a written quiz could indicate my accent is pure Wisconsin is a bit baffling, as is the fact that it's been over 20 years since I lived in that part of the world, and I still have an identifiable Wisconsin accent.

As my dear departed mother was fond of saying, "T'is a puzzlement."

But perhaps the most perplexing thing about today is that I found myself saying to a coworker, "The good news is I'm having a root canal."

This is what my life has come to: The GOOD NEWS is I need a root canal. (The alternative, in case you're wondering, was to lose yet another tooth and get yet another implant.)

Cripes! From here on it, it feels like it's all carcass maintenance, all the time....

On other fronts, a dear college-era friend sent me an envelope with snapshots from the year of 1978 that she found while cleaning up her archives. Back then, I was 19, going to school in Milwaukee--art school, no less--and good golly, was I ever young. And did I have any fashion sense? None to speak of, really. And I now have visual proof that I was once the proud owner of an eight-track tape player.

It was all quite humbling, in other words. The worst part, though, apart from the fact that most of the snapshots were taken in the campus IHOP, was this: I have no idea who the other people in the photos were. None. I had breakfast with these people--hell, I could have been ROOMMATES with these people, but do they register in my cranium? Nope.

Good grief!