Why Computer Searches Aren't All They're Cracked Up to Be

Dogs/Hams Pt. II: Revenge of the "Awwwww"

Are Dogs Hams? You Decide.

This is just so... wrong on so many levels...

And if you watch it without the sound on, you'll swear it's gay porn.

Happy Birthday to Hank Azaria...

Though I still think he bears an uncanny resemblance to G's dog, Bronson (or is it that Bronson bears it to him?).
It's really a compliment. Bronson is quite the chick magnet.

No animals were harmed in the writing of this post, but the author may have suffered irreperable damage to her self-esteem (or as one of her students once wrote, her "self of steam.")

Long Overdue SBC Phone Pics

No, not pics of the phone... SBC pics from my phone...

(hey, it only took me six weeks. Not bad for me!)

You Know You're Old When...

You can't remember which concerts you've been to.
I went to see Billy Joel at the Civic Center on Saturday (perhaps I'll remember to post on that during this lifetime) and one of the people I went with proclaimed that it was the best concert she had ever been to. It was a great show, but I wondered... the best?
I went to the bulk of my concerts from the ages of 15 to 20. Despite the abundance of metal bands I have seen, I was not under the influence of alcohol or any other substances at that time (though I did breathe in the tainted oxygen of the various concert facilities). These are the shows I have attended... the good, the bad, and the downright terrifying.
Do you care? Probably not. I know what blogging is.

1. U2/ Lone Justice (Apr. 1985): the first, and probably the best
2. Paul Young / Nick Kershaw (1985)
   
3. Power Station / Erasure: Spandau Ballet was supposed to open, but Tony Hadley (I think) broke his leg. Michael DesBarres sang lead for P.S. The concert info I found online said the opener was OMD (Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, but I don't think so)
   
4. Whitney Houston / Kenny G.: Pre-Crack days/daze, this is not a show I cheerfully admit attending, but, it was all for Momma.
5. Motley Crue/Whitesnake (1987): Yes, the concert in which the stage background was a 50' tall set of woman's legs.
   
6. Whitesnake/ Great White
7. Great White / Tesla / Badlands
8. Bon Jovi / Cinderella: The only concert at which I fainted-- no, not out of passion, but the more mundane heat stroke from standing outside all day (festival seating) in a black mini-dress with Aqua-Net'd hair and little actual H20.
   
9. Duran Duran/ Erasure: Post "fracture" DD
   
10. David Lee Roth / Poison
11. Ratt/Poison (that just sounds too good to tour together)
12. SOMEONE with Skid Row (I think it was Aerosmith)
    
13. Sting (Nothing Like the Sun)
14. Huey Lewis & the News (Sports Tour)/ Tower of Power
15. INXS/ Ziggy Marley and the Melody Makers: I had loved INXS since Shabooh Shoobah. I was supposed to see them again, but came down with strep. One of my favorite shows.
    
16. Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers: Strange Behavior
    
17. Robert Plant / Alanna Myles
18. Eric Clapton
    

Since turning 20, I have attended far fewer concerts (mostly as favors/gifts for friends, but with the understanding that I like/tolerate the music):

1. Indigo Girls
2. Neil Diamond (LONG story, but it was actually a good show)
3. Annie Lennox (2003, Forrest Theater, Philadelphia-- good show, but yes, a favor)
4. Annie Lennox/Sting: Foxboro (see above)
5. Annie Lennox/Sting: Mohegan Sun (see above, and above)
6. Billy Joel
   

The math:
in five years, attended 18 concerts.
in fifteen years, attended 6.

The realization:
Now I know why I say, "what?" a lot.

Scary closing thought:
I don't know if I've seen Aerosmith live. I think I did, but I'm not sure.

Harlan McCraney

Is it live or is it satire?
The scary thing is, I'm not sure.

Ante-Poetry

We returned
from the club, a little wild
and flush with excitement;
Mom called us all in.
My, what a full house!
We ran inside, straight over
and checked the pot:
"it's just like Jack's--or better!"
Always the joker,
I took all the chips--
but I couldn't hold'em.
I didn't have the heart to say
that there was nothing for the table.
Too late; Mom called my bluff.
"What the deuce?" she exclaimed,
ready for a showdown.
"Oh well," I sighed,
"it takes all kinds."
What a raw deal.

Oops.

So I managed to delete 600 emails today, despite the fact that the system I use usually transfers deleted emails to a delete folder, this seems to have bypassed it altogether.
Grumble.
So get 'em while they're hot: the blog entries I have not as yet deleted that I actually kind of like...

• Ten Terrifying Things About Turning Thirty-Five
• The Spamalot Photo (ok, not actually something I've written, but definite "woohoo!" value)
• Incipient Literacy (the Academic Wannabe Entry)
• Am I The Only One Who Sees This?
• Synchronincidence
• Homage to Griffin

Yeah. Easter is a time of renewal.
I'd rather lose 20 lbs. than 600 emails.

Yeah, Though I Walk Through The Valley...

Made my reservations for Lubbock.
I haven't flown in 20 years. You know, if I were going to tempt fate with a 2,000+ mile plane ride, I wish I were going somewhere a bit more exotic (apologies to Texans).
And, as I am searching for comfort, what's the main attraction in Lubbock? Click here to find out.

Auto-Neuroticism

Blogging Is Like...
Masturbation.

• If you have the equipment, you're probably doing it.
• You're usually doing it in secret.
• Does your significant other know what you're blogging about?
• You do it because it feels good.
  
• Too much blogging will give you a hand cramp.
• If you blog on the job, you could get fired.
  
• If you blog too long, you may go blind.
  

But I Decided to Bid on the eBay auction instead.

A little something for your internet bookmarks

No Gifts? Cheap Date.

The Five Love Languages

My primary love language is probably
Acts of Service
with a secondary love language being
Quality Time.

Complete set of results

Acts of Service:		10
Quality Time:		8
Physical Touch:		6
Words of Affirmation:		6
Receiving Gifts:		0

Information

Unhappiness in relationships, according to Dr. Gary Chapman, is often due to the fact that we speak different love languages. Sometimes we don't understand our partner's requirements, or even our own. We all have a "love tank" that needs to be filled in order for us to express love to others, but there are different means by which our tank can be filled, and there are different ways that we can express love to others.

Take the quiz

What Dreams May Come

Seeing as you find the workings of my subsconscious so entertaining...
Ok. No cast of stars (no, Matt, no Hank Azaria; no, Sheri, no Tim Curry; no, not even a cartoon character or an infomercial has-been or wannabe).
This time I dreamed that my mother called me. I knew something was wrong, and asked her what happened to the dogs. The sound went out in my dream. She started to tell me that my dog Dudley had died; she was exercising in the living room, accidentally kicked him in the chest (then the sound went out and we had pantomime), and he had a heart attack and died.
Next thing I know I'm at my house and I have to get out because it's flooding. For some reason, this woman named Marty that I knew of from the Mark Twain House was there. She talks about us going to see her house on Bloomfield Ave. that she is trying to sell (it's one acre, but it could be more if she gets her friends to give up her garden space). My mother says it sounds like a good idea. Marty wants us to agree upon a price sight unseen. I was trying to evacuate her as well; kept getting weird things, like blankets. We get into my (old and no longer) RAV and I check if my mother has Hilde, who is now the size of, oh a guinea pig.
I was really upset that I had to leave the fish there, and realize that I didn't feed the fish before going.
Water is rushing over the roadway. Eventually, I return home and my fishtank is boiling over, but the top of it looks like the steaming broth of Ivy Noodle curry soup (but not white coconutty). The fish was hanging out at the bottom of the tank, just fine.
* * * * * * *
When I woke up, I was soaking wet with sweat. I thought the fever had come and had broken, but it keeps coming back. So I guess I'm not headed for the loony bin... yet.

Hoping Freud Is Wrong.

Friday night, I had one of those kaleidoscope dreams.
It began with me losing my (red) wallet, which became my (red) purse, at Digger McDuff's (though DMD's now looked like my grandmother's basement decked out for one of her wild 1970s parties, complete with the [red] shades on the lamps and that crappy musty smelling dark moldy green upholstery).
Next thing I know, I'm playing what I think is video poker, but it's actually pinball, and I think I'm at the BigE (the game is a lot like this quarter sucking game I'm addicted to). I'm getting furious because the controls aren't working, until I realize that my controls actually affect the machine two players down.
As I'm getting ready to leave, I start talking about pinball-poker-playing strategy with Tim Curry. We decide to go, so I collect my token, which is actually a Big Y Silver coin.
Now "Tim" (like how we're on this first name basis?) and I are in my cellar, and we're defrosting my freezer. I'm chipping away at the ice, which is actually the color of beer, and we're talking about gardening.
======================
No, no drugs were involved.
Any arm chair psychiatrists want to take a stab at this one?