speedometer alert

Gretchen Pugliese, my Toyota, has reached 272,031 miles this trip.

Every time Maria sees the commercial on TV for Toyota, with the people spilling out private details of their own Toyotas, Maria starts chanting, "Sheila, Sheila, Sheila." Do you think if I talk enough about how fantastic my car is on this blog that I can get Toyota to give me another Toyota (maybe one with four wheel drive?) just in case my fantastic Toyota stops being likeso?

what's the score?

In case any of you were wondering why I would participate in such a spit-fire event as a poetry contest about Dick Cheney can look here.

I have tried to ignore, understand, deny, wonder aloud, ignore, think about for a minute, on the goings on in the Republican party because, basically, there's nothing else to do on that end. I guess it's always evolving, because people are involved in politics, and people are always changing, even to change back before changing back back. But I really do not understand the Republicans' appeal.

Which then makes me think about being an American in the US. And an American in Canada. Which then means being a North American. I have found Anglophone Canadians always talk about Canada as North America. Or maybe they refer to North America a lot lately because of the Olympics in Turin.

Maria spent a few HOURS on the phone this morning trying to understand what we're paying to Bell Telephone. No one could answer more than one answer before passing her on to some other expert for what I thought were business as usual-type questions. Which is typical here in Quebec/Canada. I have dealt with phone companies and utilities and businesses in the US, and had my share of trouble with customer service. But never for so long for so small a request as "please tell me what is on my bill." If you want to open a bank account in Canada, you have to make an appt. I've opened many a bank accounts in the US as a walk-in. I've grumbled this way in public while in Canada. Which then made me feel like ... a Republican.

Why is it that good business practices and good service are linked in this non-Repub mind to Republicans?

Dear Mom. Sorry. I know I'm not supposed to talk about politics or religion. But it's not Christmas.

Club 852: Not just for Lisle anymore

Club 852: Not just for Lisle anymore Oh the elusive sleep that comes with voluntary motherhood.

Better than tuna

Every once in a while I catch myself with compromising thoughts. For instance, I was watching the movie with Harrison Ford playing a cop who went to an Amish community ..and had something to do like hide from his fellow officers. I know there were beards without mustaches. Plain was the theme. And barn building only took a day. As I watched this delightful film I became more and more Amish in my desire to be Amish. I did not realize this at the time, of course. I was just enjoying a film. But at some point toward the end I came back to the living room where I sat, noticed the empty Milky Way wrapper and cold cup of tea next to me and recognized that I was in the living room with my accoutrements. I was not actually pulling flour out of wooden drawers to make the infamous Amish treat kerspliegendoilen. The shock probably lasted longer than a breath, but long enough for me to acknowledge it.

Years later, along comes along my computer. It has all kinds of nifty features that let me watch TV shows downloaded from iTunes. Say I get holed up at work. Say I have to spend a dull weekend reading font requirements, looking over forms asking if research will involve Agnatha (Hagfish! Lamprey! The form explains to me, not the blonde singer in ABBA). I know every page has to be numbered. I know that 12 people have not given me all of their forms. I think to myself, paper shuffle? Or music shuffle?

I go to iTunes and download a delightful terrorist network show called Sleeper Cell, and watch it on my computer, on my lunch break. It is actually muuuch better than the 24, a show critics have apparently compared to Sleeper Cell. Yes, they had barns in this show too, but they also had dogs. And Muslim terrorists in LA. The head leader, who I think was a friend of Osama bin Laden (in the show. I cannot claim to know this man’s life outside of work), tells this Mexican drug lord guy who owns a dog race track, something to this effect: “The prophet, may his name be blessed, says there are no dogs in Heaven.” Don’t quote me on that because it was probably something like, blah blah blah Heaven blah blah NO DOGS blah. This startled me. For half of that breath I shook my head and realized that there was, therefore, no way I was going to become a Muslim. Which startled me all over again. I have no interest in becoming Muslim just like I had no intention of becoming both Harrison Ford and an Amish barn builder, but I keep finding myself pretending these far out scenarios.



Better not start watching Flipper, I guess.

A Public Service

OK time to get that dancing cat out of your system.

I've just gotten through a grant proposal that I'd been working on at MIT for one full month including all of last weekend and we submitted it last night at 4:59pm. I awoke this morning at 5am because I realized that I'd forgotten to add a section to the proposal. I am cooked.

But I cannot do anything until 9am when I start begging various people to help me out, and Martin Polz, the professor whose proposal went out, starts begging people at the National Science Foundation for mercy.

So what catches my eye? This poetry contest on the latest events of the past few days that I'd missed. Two that made me laugh out loud:

Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
Dick Cheney shot a man in the face. (27)

Guns Don't Shoot 78-year old Men in the Face,
Dick Cheney does. (28)

I think it's horrible that Dick Cheney shot that guy. I hope the guy recovers fully. And I was at first surprised at how quickly and ferociously this issue has hung on. But then I thought back to when Howard Dean gave some pep speech after losing Iowa and gave that yell at the end. The reporters at the event thought nothing of it. But their editors took it and then gave it that special overkill touch, and wa la, Howard Dean is now a frothing maniac. When he governed in Vermont he did so as a moderate Democrat.

So now I'm thinking that what's good for the goose is... good for the quail hunter.

I can't decide which of the two to vote for, though.

Dancing Queen

I swear I'm done for today...

It really is time for me to go to bed, but not without posting this quite hilarious little comic. Oh, the things they have out there on the internet!!!

Oops

I forgot to include the thing...one of these days I'll get it right...

Your Hillbilly Name Is...

Goober Walker

Hillbilly Name Generator

Too Much Time...

What's your hillbilly name? I mean, besides Suzy Judy Gloria and Eunice...

Check it out

I forgot to say...
What's your muppet personality? Take this quiz!

Muppet Personality

You Are Fozzie Bear

"Wocka! Wocka!" You're the life of the party, and you love making people crack up. If only your routine didn't always bomb! You may find more groans than laughs, but always keep the jokes coming.

The Muppet Personality Test

Valentine's in Sunny Santa Barbara

This picture is from last month, a friend's (Steven's57th) birthday, at a winery in Santa Ynez Valley. This are 2 golfing buddies, Evelyn on left and Norma on right.

Had a hard time getting to my keyboard today, with all the chocolate wrappers lying all over my desk. It was the only place I could leave those little pieces of paper that protect my Leonidas treats. I couldn't see the trash can because of all the wrapping paper that the dozens of roses came in.!!! It has been a while since I sent back flowers (to the scum that 'retired' me from my job here) and I am off the 'watch' list posted at every florist in Santa Barbara!

A little too warm to play golf today, don't want to get too sweaty before I go to friends (Carol and Steven) for dinner. ( I would have to take my Saturday bath so early.....holy cow).

Adios por ahora.

Ain't"B"

Which one?

Which one is a little brother, worthy, NAY I say, deserving of teasing?

Tap, tap, is this thing on?

Tap tap, is this thing on? What a great idea! I am bummed cause I just got back from picking up photos from "the store" and they neglected to give me my cd!! So I can' t post latest shots of "shortys." Drat. Maybe next time. Call me.

who are they, and what do they want?

Take these three people. They are out for a walk at night. They are not carrying flashlights or baseball bats, so clearly they are not in the woods. There appear to be artistic designs on what looks like brick walls behind them. Is it a nightclub? A really long art gallery? One is smoking and one is biting her nails. The two images, combined, could mean that they've just come back from dinner, and the nails serve as a quasi-dessert, the cigarette a tabacco aperitif.

Then, you could consider that, if people are walking at night just having had dinner and are lacking baseball bats (for the moose and bears), they are most likely in a city environment. But which city...which one...could be Berlin or Montreal, say. But can we tell whether or not these people are frauleins or madames? Leather jacket, pockets on the front of one's pants, the glow of tail lights from an SUV...can't be sure, can't be sure...but then there are sleeves that are cuffed. So the answer is: Montreal.

(Note: if it were Paris, one of the people would have a banana hanging in a pocket of her blouse.)

mad dog hindu alert

Am reminded of this pic of the Tookster because I'm here in Cambridge, MA for a rare USA weekend. Had to see the neurologist today to find out that my bad headaches can be helped with a good prescription, head and neck exercises, and a few deep tissue massages. It's supposed to snow like MAD tonight on the US East Coast. I heard that people in Boston were scrambling to secure a place to park their cars to wait out the storm.

The pic of Tookie is on our trail in the woods behind our house in the Laurentides, Québec. I had to make the trail using snow shoes, but then someone with a ski-doo came with an electric saw and cut away parts of trees that keep falling on the trail, and now it's easier for feet and paws to trek. Note the spaghetti sauce spot on Tookie's forehead. He loves loves loves Maria's spaghetti sauce. Won't eat it cold. Has to heat up and infiltrate the house with smell-o-rama, and then he comes and begs, quietly and politely, but oh so persistently. I thought it would be a gas to annoint him with it, to take the smell with him, but I saw in the pictures I took that day that he just looked like a weird married Hindu....dog...without the sari. OK. Well it was funny indoors.

The snow on the trail is now up to mid-thigh level, if you happen to veer off of the trail made by either ski-doos or by yours truly. Melba, aka Grandma Corkery, used to have people proclaim to her that she always brought the weather with her, no matter what country she was in, no matter what season it was. Weather in her case meant 'good weather'. I suppose, with the impending graying of sky and utter stillness in Cambridge that I think accompanies a major drop-off of snow (you know, like dropping off your laundry), that people could make the same claim about me but mean it in a very different way.

What in the sam hill...

How do you become...well...a name...without making up an entire blog page? Sara has one, and apparently either/or sheila and maria....but i had to make a page. Hmmm....

Club 852: Not just for Lisle anymore

As it turns out, I just clicked on "blog this" and I was able to post that way. Blah, blah, blah... something new I learned today.
Club 852: Not just for Lisle anymore

Blog-a-licious

I just have one thing to say:
Who let grampa Joe outta the old folks home?

He's mad because he can't find his cane!

The Illinois Bandito

I laughed really hard at this. Maybe some of you Illinoisans will too....

"While giving the [State of the Union] speech, President Bush was interrupted more than 50 times by applause and once by a Dennis Hastert Dorito fart."
---Tina Fey

Viewer Discretion is advised.

About rules for this family-style blog. My thinking is that posting should be up to the post-er. It might be nice for some family members to be warned about a certain posting, that what they are about to read is not shorty-friendly.

A note to the uninformed: shorty = a child.

Shortness = unbearable lightness of being (a shorty)

Short of breath = too much yelling at said child

shortcomings = watch out, here comes a shorty

shorts in a knot = grundy drive somehow caused by an adult child

You should note that if you don't want, say, your mother to think you use certain kinds of language, perhaps you should not post it in this blog. But if you are willing to face a parent at Club 852 or other places, you should be allowed to post whatever you want.

Please, no chough jokes though.

852 Blog-tastic idear!

I think this is a great idea! Lovely, lovely. I have a question about the content we'll be allowed to post...Does it have to be shorty-friendly? Some of my accounts of various Mike Anderson stories contain strong language and adult situations and may not be suitable for all audiences.

Welcome to my castle, bwaha ha ha!

Hello Anderfamily,

I've started this blog to keep up with news of us Andersons, Corkerys, Rollers, Laskars, Andersons, uh, Corkerys, um, I know I am forgetting a few names. You all are implored to join. I'll send youse directions and other vital recipes soon. I'm hoping that we can keep up with daily events that are important or at least funny with this blog, because a bunch of us Anderphiles are not in the vicinity of Club 852. It sounds much better than saying Lisle, I think. So, onwards.

News from Ste Agathe des Monts. I told Maria the story about Black Mariah, you know, it being Melba's purse and all, and Maria claimed that she was the new and improved Black Mariah. She's done it so often now that when we visit the little restaurant in the next town where all the smooth people hang out, people nod their heads at her. Yes, they agree. You are Black Mariah. Now will you please get off of the table top?

The restaurant in question is called Arthemesia, located in the town of St Adolphe d'Howard. An awkward sounding name. But a town that is vastly vastly different than ours, even though it's only a ten minute drive away. A lot of musicians from elsewhere come to play at Arthemesia. And other artists too. So much so that after a few of us made a count of the variety of weirdos, excuse me, artistes, who are regulars there. We discovered that we had enough experience, chutzpah, desire and lack of money to start talking about making a movie (rather than actually doing so). The featured character? Black Mariah. So far we've got a cameraman, editor, director, sound person, musicians galore, a PR/marketing person, one artisan / woodworker, a few songwriters, a few technicians with their own studios, a few actors, a caterer, a dishwasher (yours truly), a couple of writers (see: dishwasher), a guy with a fat pinkie ring, two photogenic dogs, two bilingual children who look like pirates, and a cast of others. We even have a French girl from the Alps.

Details to follow. After we finish praying to St Jude for hopeless causes.

The picture from left to right is Valery (singer who I'll be giving links to her songs in a later post), Kristeen, the Director, and Neil (another musician who I'll post links to later). They stand outside Arthemesia just after making their first prayer to St Jude, and some other faux-saints (does St. GetMeAnotherBeer count?).