Momnesia

AUGUSTA, GA. - It's always interesting to see the new Google keywords report. It's kind of like getting a peek into people's minds. For example, why - in 2008 - are people still searching for "Weekend at Bernie's?" Is Andrew McCarthy back in the news? Did he get arrested for sex with underage midgets or something? And why do so many people suddenly care about barramundi? It's just a fish, people. Also on the list:

at No. 25 - syphillis
at No. 28 - Flugtag, Portland
at No. 74 - 1978 Tony nominations
at No. 84 - racoon skull

Man. The Internets was so cool and sexy just a few years ago. Now it's like sitting around watching your dad read the paper in his boxer shorts.

In case you're wondering, this giant hair dryer is part of Flugtag, which I translate from the Swedish to be a compound word: "flug" + "tag." Alone, they mean "foolish drunkard" and "attempt to touch." Together, the word translates into: "Drowning wish."

From the New York Times: When the economy entered an unmistakable slump last year, economists quickly began a lively and jargon-filled debate about whether a recovery would be U-shaped (mild and slow) or V-shaped (sharp and quick). But there was always a third possibility that would be especially painful for the White House: the W-shaped recession -- a double-dipped downturn. The economics of it would be bad enough, but the perils of political parody would be even more nightmarish for President George W. Bush. The Dubya recession. The Dubya-dip.

So I went to look at a living room suite that a couple had posted on craigslist. I was hoping it was a beautiful blue sleeper set that I had been admiring, and on which the price had been dropping since they first posted it.

It wasn't the same set. It was a nice Lebanese couple in Martinez who were ridding themselves of a hideous turquoise velour set with lovely end and coffee tables. The wife wasn't home, and she was the only one of the two who really spoke English, so I tried to make some small talk. The set wasn't really going to work for me, but I took a photo of the set with my camera and said I'd show them to my husband for approval. Then the man calmly reached over and squeezed my ass. It wasn't subtle; it wasn't accidental. It was deliberate and unapologetic. Yet, somehow there was a gentle nonchalance to it that threw me more than the actual grab. I felt kind of like a cantaloupe in the grocery store.

Knowing that different cultures treat situations like this differently - and recognizing that I was dressed in a manner that highlighted my two best assets, if you know what I'm saying - I chose not to respond, thanked him for his time and left quickly, bidding him "Have a nice day!" Then I called my husband to chortle over the experience. He told me to stop going over to people's houses just because they post something I want on Craigslist. "People have been killed," he warned. "Let me go with you." Agreed.

"At least you know you still got it," A.W. said, when I told her later.
"Well, I'm pretty sure he took a handful of it with him," I replied.

I don't have a Facebook or myspace account - well... actually, I do, but I forgot the passwords and the old e-mail accounts I used aren't active anymore, so basically there are some dead pages all about me just hanging out in cyberspace all lonely. I just find the sites clunky and slow, and I absolutely hate the load-time some of the amateurish page designs suck out of my computer. I have to sit and stare at the spinning pinwheel of death so that your sad obsession with World of Warcraft or Lara Croft Tomb Raider can load in all of its high-resolution glory?!

Anyway. If one day I decide to use the dreaded social networking sites again, it will be with the help of some of the new streamlining companion applications that have been released. For example, there's an app called Festoon. While you browse the web using Firefox, you can easily access other pages and discussions posted by all 23,761 of your online "friends" related to the topic of the page you are viewing. It does require a Facebook account and the Firefox browser - but if you're still using Explorer, you're not on my friends list anyway.

AUGUSTA, GA. - The Metro Spirit newspaper shocked the community by NOT laying off anyone, unlike other papers in the region. Despite the rampantly spread rumors - that seemed to accelerate after running into a certain former employee last night (you know who you are, you dork!) - Associate Publisher Amber Carlson is leaving the newspaper for personal, medical reasons. We're sad she's leaving, but we expect she'll be back when her issues clear up. Or, at least, she frickin' better!

Another zombie infestation has been contained and covered-up by the unlikely partnership between the Canadian government and Greyhound bus lines. Go for the head or it might come back. Read more here.

Hey, Joe White, it was nice to see you at the White's Building today! It made me happy, and I'm sorry for the Kid n' Play reference. But, really, the flat top... I'll admit it was poor planning for to have worn a sweater in the middle of an Augusta summer day, but at least I wore a sweater from the 00's, and not hair from the Cosby show. It makes me think you inspired this scene with Jean Claude van Damme. Happy viewing.

S.S.: "Did my phone ring while I was gone?"
Me: "Yes. It played Ozzy Ozborne very loud and scared me out of my chair. I was like this..."
[jumping down and taking what I intend to be a kung fu stance]
SS: [laughs]
Me: "I was looking for ninjas to take on in battle."
SS: "Oh, in battle - not in a dance?"
Me: "Well, it would be a dance-fight. Lots of high-kicking."

"Toilet has to have proper suction to work correctly"
Augusta Chronicle, Sunday, July 20, Page 5E

Thank you, Captain Obvious.

I traded some computer tinkerage for some fresh squash and zucchini. I haven't had fresh zucchini in forever, and it's so good just raw that I want to write an ode to it.

Things that rhyme with zucchini:

• genie
• meanie
• weenie
• teenie
• bellini
• bikini
• fellini
• houdini
• linguine
• mancini
• martini
• mcsweeney
• puccini
• rossini
• rotini
• Yemeni
• Benito Mussolini
• lamborghini

This person was just so much fun to be stuck behind all through downtown Augusta. So I put the "Pass" in Passat. Or... the dodge in Dodge... or... The "sphere" in stratus? Mmm.... maybe not.

AUGUSTA, GA. - Morris Communications employees load up the street boxes that held their latest failure: the second coming of the former-glossy-turned-"mostly-online" pub Lounge. With millions of debt to pay in a mere few months, it looks like they're cutting corners wherever they can.

Is the New York Times trying to tell us something?

Hi. This is the qmail-send program at gamera1.phoenix-inter.net. I'm afraid I wasn't able to deliver your message to the following addresses. This is a permanent error; I've given up. Sorry it didn't work out.

: 207.159.120.164 does not like recipient.

Well, I'm sure that recipient jaymoney1@excite.com doesn't like you either, 207.159.120.164.

Looks like the Chronicle has come down with a serious case of Obfuscationitis.

"Proposed tax increase questioned"
Has anyone ever said, "Those politicians know exactly what to do with our tax money. Let 'er ride!"

"Sport bike riders often go too fast"
Kind of like saying, "Birds often fly."

S.S.: (looking at telephone handset in irritation) "I hate it when people don't say 'Bye.'"
Me: (articulate as ever) "What?"
S.S.: "You know. When you finish your conversation on the phone and you say, 'Okay, thanks, bye,' and they just hang up. They do that a lot in movies and it drives me crazy. They'll be on the phones like, 'I'll meet you there at 7. See you then.' And then..." [click] "I mean, even if I was a bad-guy, I'd still say 'bye.'"
Me: "It's the little niceties that get us through life."

AUGUSTA, GA. - J.C.: "So, are you gonna buy, like, a boat and gold dubloons and stuff with all your mad sales money?"
Me: "No. I don't want a boat."
J.C.: "Salespeople always end up with stuff like that."
Me: "We should probably buy a house before we buy a boat."
J.C.: "You could buy a houseboat."
Me: "Could. But we're not gonna."

Today I'm driving down Riverwatch to pick up Emmie and my husband calls on my only extravagance, a new cell phone. It was free, and the plan is actually cheaper than my old one, but I felt all reckless, splashing out $16 for a memory card upgrade so I can add more songs to it... if I ever figure out how to add songs to it at all, that is. Anyway, so I answer the phone.

Scott: "Guess what I'm going to get right now?"
Me: "I dunno. Crunk?"
Scott: "What?"
Me: "Nothing. What are you going to get?"
Scott: "A boat."

Aw, man...!

As it turns out, some dude was giving away a 44-year-old boat on craigslist, and my husband is just the kind of guy to see that and think: "How practical! A half-century-old broken-down boat!" To which I reply: "For me to poop on." I mean, he got irritated that I bought a fireplace screen for $5 at a yard sale because we might one day have a fireplace... and it was pretty. And he goes and buys a broken boat in anticipation that we might one day fix it.






Yet here it is, in our backyard - the backyard that we only rent - sitting on a trailer that my car might be able to haul if it's in a good mood that day. It has no lights, no seats and a hole in the windshield. The throttle hangs from a wire on the side of the boat, and the trailer is coated with rust. The motor works, though, and the fiberglass is in good shape - but I'm pretty certain that the yard sale we had on Saturday was for the explicit purpose of ridding ourselves on junk... not making room for bigger and badder pieces of junk.

I'm sure this will be a 2-year odyssey of biblical proportions. But I'll be honest: no matter how hard my husband works on it, I'm not getting into it until I see with my own eyes Moses part the Red Sea... or, in our case, Clarks Hill Lake.

Due to scheduling difficulties, I had to pick Emmie up from school and take her with me to the Augusta Harley Davidson dealership for a little photo session. We're waiting at the front desk with the lovely Miss Bebe, who looks and acts like a sweet woman in her mid-60s, but whom I've dubbed The Velvet Hammer. There is no screwing with Miss Bebe. She controls all situations and no one questions it.

Miss Bebe has plied Emmie with fresh popcorn and questions, given her a (highly age-inappropriate) Harley Davidson calendar, and chatted comfortably with me. Just then, the side of Miss Bebe that I secretly covet for myself peeks out.

"A man with no shirt on just rode past the doors," she said. "Go take a picture of that!"
"Take da picher, mama!" Emmie orders me, picking up immediately on Miss Bebe's tone and mannerisms.

And I do. I peer through the glass and get a shot of an older man with no shirt and a pot belly dismounting his bike. Seconds later, he walks in the door, fully clothed. I say nothing. Miss Bebe is unconcerned.

"Did you just ride by here without a shirt on?" she asks him.
"No," he says, in a way that lets us know that he totally did. But now he is wearing a grey T-shirt and a bandana over is silver hair. I hear Emmie gasp, and turn, seeing her grinning a huge, popcorn-revealing open-mouth smile, eyes wide and pudgy little hand to her cheek in a cartoonish version of delight.

"Are you a pirate?!" she asks.

Oh. My. God. I consider laying down to die right there on the concrete floor of the dealership, but at the last millisecond it occurs to me that I would then miss the joy of giving her a time-out for hurting someone's feelings.

But the guy just laughs: "No, but I am an 81," he says. I have no idea what that means. But at least he didn't get mad.

more graph humor and song chart memes