So I woke up this morning and looked at the clock. Yikes! Ten til, already? That's terrible news! Little Smoot should already be at school... we're late!
I hopped out of bed and ran over to wake Little Smoot this morning, while wondering why my alarm failed to go off. She bounced out of bed like a trooper, and managed to be ready to head out the door within literally three minutes.
I grabbed my keys and started for the door, and I glanced up at the clock again. And just as I was turning the door knob, it occurred to me: It's nearly 8:00, not 9:00, you dork.
My wonderful brain has failed me once more. For whatever reason (NyQuil, probably), my brain decided that we were late for school, and it didn't realize that I was off by an entire hour. So I apologized to Little Smoot, and we took our good ole time finishing our preparations for school. I do seriously hope that she ultimately did wear pants this morning.
I can remember one time when I was in high school that my brain tricked me like this before. My brain got me up literally in the middle of the night and decided it was time for school. My dad came staggering out to the kitchen to inquire as to why I was eating Raisin Bran at 2:00 a.m.
Stupid brain. I'm guessing this was my brain's way of playing an April Fools Joke on me... a couple days early.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
Brookville Bruce?
Being a native of Punxsutawney, PA, it's only natural that I often catch grief from people because our community happens to be the home of a specially-abled groundhog with weather forecasting abilities.
Of course those of us from Punxsutawney see nothing unusual about this; we've been celebrating Punxsutawney Phil's amazing abilities for well over a century now.
Not only that, but we have seen numerous pretenders crop up over the years. There are groundhogs in Atlanta, GA, Dunkirk, NY, Quarryville, PA, and many others who have tried to latch onto Phil's popularity by claiming that their own groundhogs have these special powers.
Naturally, they do not. Phil is the only groundhog with time-tested, accurate weather forecasting abilities.
Even closer to home we have had trouble with people trying to come up with their own ripoff animal prognosticators. In the very nearby community of Big Run, for example, there's a guy who claims that his backyard frogs can predict the start of spring. They have a banquet and everything (the townspeople have a banquet, not the frogs. At least as far as I'm aware).
And now, just within the past couple days, we seem to have another potential fly in the ointment. Not a literal fly, although I'm sure someone will come up with a weather forecasting fly soon enough.
Some idiot from Brookville (about 20 miles north of Punxsutawney) was caught trying to revive a road kill possum last Thursday. There can only be a couple logical explanations for such a thing. A Pittsburgh Post-Gazette article suggests that alcohol may be to blame. Well, duh... if you're going to try to give mouth-to-mouth to a possum, one would think that alcohol may be a necessity, indeed.
I would suggest that the suspect, Donald Wolfe, had reason to believe that this was a weather forecasting possum, and he just wanted to get in on the action. I mean, let's face it... Brookville doesn't have a whole lot going for it, so why not recruit a weather forecasting possum to boost its popularity. They could call it "Brookville Bruce," and have a special event for it every year so it could announce its forecast to the world.
It's only a matter of time before DuBois, Indiana and yes, even Sligo, try to hone in on the action.
Of course those of us from Punxsutawney see nothing unusual about this; we've been celebrating Punxsutawney Phil's amazing abilities for well over a century now.
Not only that, but we have seen numerous pretenders crop up over the years. There are groundhogs in Atlanta, GA, Dunkirk, NY, Quarryville, PA, and many others who have tried to latch onto Phil's popularity by claiming that their own groundhogs have these special powers.
Naturally, they do not. Phil is the only groundhog with time-tested, accurate weather forecasting abilities.
Even closer to home we have had trouble with people trying to come up with their own ripoff animal prognosticators. In the very nearby community of Big Run, for example, there's a guy who claims that his backyard frogs can predict the start of spring. They have a banquet and everything (the townspeople have a banquet, not the frogs. At least as far as I'm aware).
And now, just within the past couple days, we seem to have another potential fly in the ointment. Not a literal fly, although I'm sure someone will come up with a weather forecasting fly soon enough.
Some idiot from Brookville (about 20 miles north of Punxsutawney) was caught trying to revive a road kill possum last Thursday. There can only be a couple logical explanations for such a thing. A Pittsburgh Post-Gazette article suggests that alcohol may be to blame. Well, duh... if you're going to try to give mouth-to-mouth to a possum, one would think that alcohol may be a necessity, indeed.
I would suggest that the suspect, Donald Wolfe, had reason to believe that this was a weather forecasting possum, and he just wanted to get in on the action. I mean, let's face it... Brookville doesn't have a whole lot going for it, so why not recruit a weather forecasting possum to boost its popularity. They could call it "Brookville Bruce," and have a special event for it every year so it could announce its forecast to the world.
It's only a matter of time before DuBois, Indiana and yes, even Sligo, try to hone in on the action.
Friday, March 26, 2010
How To Bake a Cake
Since Mrs. Smoot had her birthday earlier this week (notice that I didn't bother to point out that it was #40!), I took it upon myself to make my first-ever attempt at baking a cake to mark the occasion. I thought I would pass along some instructions in case any of you in the vast viewing audience wish to attempt this feat in the future.First, you need to go to the store and buy some stuff. I made a list at the house so I would know what I needed to purchase, and I made this shopping trip a day ahead of time. After all, you want to be sure to have this kind of thing organized so you don't need to make multiple trips to the store!
My list looked much like this: "Cake mix. Frosting." So Little Smoot and I headed off to the store. I chose a chocolate cake mixture that looked like it would be within my baking abilities, and I put Little Smoot in charge of selecting the frosting, which is why we had a chocolate cake with "triple chocolate" frosting.
If you're going to bake a cake with plans on celebrating with it that same evening, I would recommend beginning the process at about 3:00 a.m., or perhaps sometime during the previous week, by the way.
Anyhow, I began the process late after dropping Little Smoot off at school on Mrs. Smoot's birthday (which was her 40th, by the way). I carefully read the instructions, which said something about greasing the pan. First, I had to locate a pan that was in the appropriate dimensions (allow two hours for this), and then deal with the grease (add another hour). I considered WD-40 as an option, but later went with Crisco, or some such thing.
Back at home, I added the oil to the mix, and had to figure out where our mixer was, and how a person uses such a thing. I was apprehensive, but after fiddling with the knob and getting it to work, I successfully had a bowl of brown glop in front of me, so I was happy (allow three hours for figuring out the mixer, and actually mixing stuff).
I carefully poured the brown glop into the pan, and I was pretty excited to see what looked like the beginnings of a cake. I had pre-heated the oven to 350 degrees, and I popped the pan in. It was a couple minutes after this that I happened to glance at the box and see that I was supposed to have sprinkled flour into the pan before pouring the glop in.
So, I poured the glop back into a bowl, and of course headed to the store to get flour.
Upon arriving back home, I poured the glop back into the pan (which I had to wash and re-grease), and then back into the oven. I spent the next half hour or so nervously pacing back and forth, wondering if this would actually turn into cake, or if this was merely a practical joke of glop that the cake people thought they'd have me create.
Oddly enough, it turned into cake. When Little Smoot arrived home from school, I let her apply the frosting because I knew I'd make a mess of it.
Then I realized that, as tradition, some people like to have candles on the cake. So back to the store I went.
Well, thankfully everything worked out for the best, and we actually ate the cake with very few fatalities involved. Even more strange, after a few days we finished the whole thing! In 40 more years or so, I may even attempt to make another one.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Time for Some Disinfecting
I would say that I am 97.6% better, having been ill for the last week or so. It had been a long time since I had a cold, so I was definitely due for one. And I was glad to get it out of the way with now so that hopefully I can be good and healthy for our vacation next month.
Mrs. Smoot and Little Smoot are now also under the weather. Mrs. Smoot has virtually no voice, which is nice in the sense that I know I can get away with anything without being yelled at (ok, she doesn't normally yell at me for things, but I had to say that anyway).
The worst thing about this particular cold wasn't my scratchy throat, or my stuffy nose. I didn't cough a whole lot, so that wasn't so bad. No, the worst thing about this cold was reasonably disgusting, and I'm not terribly proud of it.
This cold was unique because for many nights in a row, I would wake up in the middle of the night and make the lovely discovery that I had been drooling all over my pillow. How wonderful!
So I would do what any normal person would do. Namely, I'd think about how gross this was for a few seconds, and then I'd flip the pillow over to the other side and hope to God that the other side had gotten dry since the last time I flipped it. And back to sleep I'd go. Yuck.
Some people would probably have gotten up and changed pillow cases, I suppose, but we only have so many of them. Maybe I should keep a bottle of Febreze by the bed, or something. I dunno.
Mrs. Smoot and Little Smoot are now also under the weather. Mrs. Smoot has virtually no voice, which is nice in the sense that I know I can get away with anything without being yelled at (ok, she doesn't normally yell at me for things, but I had to say that anyway).
The worst thing about this particular cold wasn't my scratchy throat, or my stuffy nose. I didn't cough a whole lot, so that wasn't so bad. No, the worst thing about this cold was reasonably disgusting, and I'm not terribly proud of it.
This cold was unique because for many nights in a row, I would wake up in the middle of the night and make the lovely discovery that I had been drooling all over my pillow. How wonderful!
So I would do what any normal person would do. Namely, I'd think about how gross this was for a few seconds, and then I'd flip the pillow over to the other side and hope to God that the other side had gotten dry since the last time I flipped it. And back to sleep I'd go. Yuck.
Some people would probably have gotten up and changed pillow cases, I suppose, but we only have so many of them. Maybe I should keep a bottle of Febreze by the bed, or something. I dunno.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Mrs. Smoot Hits a Milestone!
Go ahead and mark Monday on your calendar. If you have a modern calendar, you'll probably find that "Monday" is already on there. But this coming Monday is Mrs. Smoot's 40th birthday!
She doesn't seem to be particularly thrilled with this milestone. And I can't really blame her; I remember being a little depressed about the whole thing when I hit that mark two years ago. Age 40 is definitely another step on the path to elderlyhood.
We were talking to a woman at a restaurant the other night, and in the course of the conversation we learned that she was 43. This was a woman I had met at an event a few weeks back, and I would have assumed she was waaaaaaay older than I am, not just by a year. She used a CANE for heaven's sake. I dunno.
Mrs. Smoot has already been suffering from a variety of pre-40 Imaginary Illnesses. I did the same thing when I was turning 40. When I was getting close to hitting the big 4-0, I spent a lot more time being extra aware of my health, as though we start falling apart limb for limb at the stroke of midnight on a 40th birthday.
I remember worrying about every little "symptom." Was this spot here before? Say, I don't remember having this much nose hair. And let's not even speak of the issue of gray hairs.
It definitely doesn't help that we are avid viewers of the TV show House, either. From watching that show, we know that it's definitely possible to be feeling perfectly normal one moment, and then have blood shooting out of our eyeballs the next. Probably Sarcoidosis.
So I would expect that Mrs. Smoot will have some number of imaginary health issues for a couple months, until she settles in with the whole 40 thing.
Mrs. Smoot is also not too fond of having people make a big deal out of her birthday, so whatever you do, try your best to keep it our little secret (I'll give you her cell phone number if you ask...).
She doesn't seem to be particularly thrilled with this milestone. And I can't really blame her; I remember being a little depressed about the whole thing when I hit that mark two years ago. Age 40 is definitely another step on the path to elderlyhood.
We were talking to a woman at a restaurant the other night, and in the course of the conversation we learned that she was 43. This was a woman I had met at an event a few weeks back, and I would have assumed she was waaaaaaay older than I am, not just by a year. She used a CANE for heaven's sake. I dunno.
Mrs. Smoot has already been suffering from a variety of pre-40 Imaginary Illnesses. I did the same thing when I was turning 40. When I was getting close to hitting the big 4-0, I spent a lot more time being extra aware of my health, as though we start falling apart limb for limb at the stroke of midnight on a 40th birthday.
I remember worrying about every little "symptom." Was this spot here before? Say, I don't remember having this much nose hair. And let's not even speak of the issue of gray hairs.
It definitely doesn't help that we are avid viewers of the TV show House, either. From watching that show, we know that it's definitely possible to be feeling perfectly normal one moment, and then have blood shooting out of our eyeballs the next. Probably Sarcoidosis.
So I would expect that Mrs. Smoot will have some number of imaginary health issues for a couple months, until she settles in with the whole 40 thing.
Mrs. Smoot is also not too fond of having people make a big deal out of her birthday, so whatever you do, try your best to keep it our little secret (I'll give you her cell phone number if you ask...).
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Ok, I'm Back
I officially survived our trip to Louisiana last week, and I am back. Actually, I've been back since Saturday, but I brought back, as a souvenir, a nasty head cold. I've spent most of the week hacking, snorting, sniffling and wheezing, and in general being fairly miserable to be around. More miserable than usual, even.
The first couple days of our mission trip involved a lot of sweeping at a building where they hope to one day host future mission trip visitors. I eventually succumbed to peer pressure and wore one of those stupid dust mask things, but I'm sure I had already inhaled plenty of nasty stuff by then.
I'm finally to the stage where I only need a normal night of sleep, instead of getting up in the morning to get Little Smoot off to school, and then going back to sleep until the time I need to pick her up from school.
I'm pretty sure it was the dust that made me sick, but also may have been my exposure to an excessive amount of Frank Sinatra, too. My car companions on the trip were significantly older than I am, and they have a fondness for Ol' Blue Eyes. They also had satellite radio in the car, and Channel 73 is "Siriusly Sinatra," which we listened to for the majority of the ride home.
I can be very happy to go years without hearing Frank Sinatra, but we listened to it from Northern Alabama all the way back to PA. I'm pretty sure that I was the only one in the vehicle who was getting a nervous twitch after being subjected to him for that long. I can normally drive long, long distances without getting tired, but I could feel myself swerving around a bit, thanks to Frank lulling me to sleep.
Anyway, I think I'll avoid dust AND FRANK for a while. Maybe I need a nap.
The first couple days of our mission trip involved a lot of sweeping at a building where they hope to one day host future mission trip visitors. I eventually succumbed to peer pressure and wore one of those stupid dust mask things, but I'm sure I had already inhaled plenty of nasty stuff by then.
I'm finally to the stage where I only need a normal night of sleep, instead of getting up in the morning to get Little Smoot off to school, and then going back to sleep until the time I need to pick her up from school.
I'm pretty sure it was the dust that made me sick, but also may have been my exposure to an excessive amount of Frank Sinatra, too. My car companions on the trip were significantly older than I am, and they have a fondness for Ol' Blue Eyes. They also had satellite radio in the car, and Channel 73 is "Siriusly Sinatra," which we listened to for the majority of the ride home.
I can be very happy to go years without hearing Frank Sinatra, but we listened to it from Northern Alabama all the way back to PA. I'm pretty sure that I was the only one in the vehicle who was getting a nervous twitch after being subjected to him for that long. I can normally drive long, long distances without getting tired, but I could feel myself swerving around a bit, thanks to Frank lulling me to sleep.
Anyway, I think I'll avoid dust AND FRANK for a while. Maybe I need a nap.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Headin' South!
Yes, I know I haven't been super religious about posting to ye ol' blog lately, but I will definitely be disappearing for the next week or so. I figured I had better alert everyone so you can mark your calendars. Feel free to do whatever productive thing you would normally be doing instead of using the time to read this jibberish.
Early tomorrow morning I'll be heading south to the small community of Dulac, Louisiana, on a church mission trip. I enjoyed visiting this town last year, and I had also been on a couple similar trips to Mississippi prior to that.
We'll be spending a little time in New Orleans, which is certainly always an interesting place, especially for people who enjoy blogging about weird experiences. Hopefully something will happen that will be interesting enough to write about (like an Elvis sighting), yet not tragic (eaten by an alligator).
We shall see.
Early tomorrow morning I'll be heading south to the small community of Dulac, Louisiana, on a church mission trip. I enjoyed visiting this town last year, and I had also been on a couple similar trips to Mississippi prior to that.
We'll be spending a little time in New Orleans, which is certainly always an interesting place, especially for people who enjoy blogging about weird experiences. Hopefully something will happen that will be interesting enough to write about (like an Elvis sighting), yet not tragic (eaten by an alligator).
We shall see.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
The Crusty Old Fart
I really do hate that I am becoming a crusty old fart. Mentally, I still consider myself to be pretty darned young, and most people who know me will definitely toss the word "immature" around in the same sentence as my name.
So it definitely bothers me when I wind up playing the role of the Crusty Old Fart (COF for short). I had plenty of opportunities to be the COF this past weekend. Little Smoot had a karate tournament in State College, PA, and since it began early on Saturday morning, we headed up that way on Friday night and stayed at a hotel.
I should also mention that the drive took nearly five hours thanks to blinding snow we experienced for most of the trip, and the fact that a Prius does about as well at navigating through snow as an upside-down kayak would. So I was already in a less-than-100%-pleasant mood.
Knowing we had to be up early in the morning, Little Smoot and I went to sleep just after 10 p.m., which would give us a good night of rest. That seemed like an awesome theory until 12:41 a.m., when about 300 girls (judging from the noise) showed up next door for Party Time.
It sounded like they were having a cheerleading festival over there, and extra points were being awarded to those who could be the loudest. After a few long moments, I got up, got dressed -- with some articles of clothes actually on backwards due to anger and being half asleep. I grabbed my COF hat, and stomped over to their door and politely asked them to can it.
That kept them quiet for almost a nano second as I hopped back into bed. And slowly but surely, the giggles turned into laughs, which turned into screaming and who knows what exactly. I pounded on the wall, at least until my knuckles started to bleed, in the form of a hint, which went largely unnoticed. So I turned our room's heater on "high" in hopes that the noise of the fan would muffle their sounds.
Of course the question that comes to mind is "Where are the idiot parents who are letting them get away with this?" My guess would be that the idiot parents are at a different hotel, probably in a neighboring state, to avoid the noise.
A few hours later (notice I didn't say "a few hours of sleep later") it was time to get up for the tournament. At least I got a little bit of satisfaction out of "accidentally" repeatedly bumping up against the neighboring door as I loaded the car.
So it definitely bothers me when I wind up playing the role of the Crusty Old Fart (COF for short). I had plenty of opportunities to be the COF this past weekend. Little Smoot had a karate tournament in State College, PA, and since it began early on Saturday morning, we headed up that way on Friday night and stayed at a hotel.
I should also mention that the drive took nearly five hours thanks to blinding snow we experienced for most of the trip, and the fact that a Prius does about as well at navigating through snow as an upside-down kayak would. So I was already in a less-than-100%-pleasant mood.
Knowing we had to be up early in the morning, Little Smoot and I went to sleep just after 10 p.m., which would give us a good night of rest. That seemed like an awesome theory until 12:41 a.m., when about 300 girls (judging from the noise) showed up next door for Party Time.
It sounded like they were having a cheerleading festival over there, and extra points were being awarded to those who could be the loudest. After a few long moments, I got up, got dressed -- with some articles of clothes actually on backwards due to anger and being half asleep. I grabbed my COF hat, and stomped over to their door and politely asked them to can it.
That kept them quiet for almost a nano second as I hopped back into bed. And slowly but surely, the giggles turned into laughs, which turned into screaming and who knows what exactly. I pounded on the wall, at least until my knuckles started to bleed, in the form of a hint, which went largely unnoticed. So I turned our room's heater on "high" in hopes that the noise of the fan would muffle their sounds.
Of course the question that comes to mind is "Where are the idiot parents who are letting them get away with this?" My guess would be that the idiot parents are at a different hotel, probably in a neighboring state, to avoid the noise.
A few hours later (notice I didn't say "a few hours of sleep later") it was time to get up for the tournament. At least I got a little bit of satisfaction out of "accidentally" repeatedly bumping up against the neighboring door as I loaded the car.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Deeply Disturbing News
I read an article in yesterday's USA Today that disturbed me infinitely more than global warming and Tiger Woods combined.
This article sent a chill down my spine as it talks about skyrocketing chicken wing prices, due to their increasing popularity. Apparently every store in America has latched onto the idea of selling chicken wings, and there just aren't enough chickens out there with a willingness to have their appendages amputated for our enjoyment. Stupid chickens.
I have been a chicken wing connoisseur for a couple decades now. I can remember being introduced to them at Clarion's Autumn Leaf Festival when I was in college. I can also remember ordering a dozen of the "Volcanic" style wings at The Casino restaurant in Bemus Point, NY. You could pull a boat up to their dock and eat the wings right there. I got through four of those wings before I had to dive head-first into the water. Ah, the memories.
So I'm deeply concerned about the wing situation, and the possible domino effect the shortage could have. Think about it. I get together with my good friend John for lunch at a great wing place most every week (we're also planning to go there today; God willing, they have not run out of chickens). We stopped in last week, and there were no tables available, so we wound up leaving and eating at a Chinese buffet instead.
Clearly, if things continue to go down this road, and people can't get chicken wings and have to continue to resort to Chinese buffet restaurants, we're obviously going to have to worry about the cat population next.
This article sent a chill down my spine as it talks about skyrocketing chicken wing prices, due to their increasing popularity. Apparently every store in America has latched onto the idea of selling chicken wings, and there just aren't enough chickens out there with a willingness to have their appendages amputated for our enjoyment. Stupid chickens.
I have been a chicken wing connoisseur for a couple decades now. I can remember being introduced to them at Clarion's Autumn Leaf Festival when I was in college. I can also remember ordering a dozen of the "Volcanic" style wings at The Casino restaurant in Bemus Point, NY. You could pull a boat up to their dock and eat the wings right there. I got through four of those wings before I had to dive head-first into the water. Ah, the memories.
So I'm deeply concerned about the wing situation, and the possible domino effect the shortage could have. Think about it. I get together with my good friend John for lunch at a great wing place most every week (we're also planning to go there today; God willing, they have not run out of chickens). We stopped in last week, and there were no tables available, so we wound up leaving and eating at a Chinese buffet instead.
Clearly, if things continue to go down this road, and people can't get chicken wings and have to continue to resort to Chinese buffet restaurants, we're obviously going to have to worry about the cat population next.
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