Tag Archives: nkw

Noooooooooooooooo!!!

Just a comical interlude today.  Deb came in from three days on the road, and once she had done all her usual routines to shed the trappings of work travel, came down to ask me something.

Now, Deb has varying tones for yelling at the dog.  Usually it’s Leonidas, the miniature Schnauzer, who is not a good dog.  He knows what he’s supposed to do; he just doesn’t care.  He’s figured out that no matter what he does, he’s not going to get tortured or killed, therefore, he’ll just screw up and take the consequences.

One of his favorite pranks is to take a dump in the house.  Once he did it right next to Deb while she was sorting out Christmas ornaments, unrepentant. Anyway, I can usually tell from the feminine yelling upstairs what the dog has done wrong.  And there’s a certain high note, an anguished shriek of the kind you’d normally associate with hearing of a death:  “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!”

I don’t hear real well in the lower pitched tones, but higher sounds penetrate all the way to the skull.

This time it wasn’t the dog.  Deb recently got a summons for Federal jury service in Yakima, but it hasn’t yet turned into any actual service.  So she’s about to head back upstairs, and I say the magic words to her:  “Don’t forget your jury summons.”  (It was from Benton County, not Federal.)

“I already dealt with that,” she said, annoyed at my lousy memory.

“Look behind you on the cornet case,” I replied.

She picked it up.  “Noooooooooooo!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!”

You’d think Leo had just decorated the floor again.

I don’t blame her a bit.

Kvass and socks

Today I was out taking my wife’s ride in for an oil change.  We have a mechanic that actually fixes things (Ralph Blair of Tri-City Battery (509-783-9000)), in a shop that gives him the tools to do so, so it’s not nearly as painful or fearful for me as for many.  On the way, I saw a sign by the street in Cyrillic:  ‘Russki magazin.’  Russian store? I love little specialty ethnic grocery stores, so I swung in and muddled through in my broken Russian.  One thing I bought was a 2l bottle of Kvass, which I’d always wanted to try.

Kvass, at least in the form I had it, was sort of like a carbonated, sweet, tamarindy black tea.  It wasn’t overly sugary.  I never want to drink Coke again if I can get this.  If you get a chance to try some, by all means give it a shot.  If you’re in Tri-Cities, it’s on Clearwater (north side) between Kellogg and Edison.

Had a real adventure making the notes to go with the socks.  Jason would like a note for each pair, which isn’t difficult.  Translating it into Japanese, that’s the hard part.  I felt most comfortable feeding the English to Google Translate, then feeding the Japanese back to GT and seeing what I actually said.  Anyway, a large number of people decided they liked Jason’s idea and are following suit.  Some days, you find out that you know a lot of really wonderful people.

Comedy

Had a little bit of fun today.  Everyone on Facepalm seems to be catching a Trojan (and I’m not talking the Tommy kind) that causes them to spam their friends with a supposed link saying “SICK!  I can’t believe Miley Cyrus [or whoever] let someone videotape her doing this!”  If you’re fool enough to click, you’re the next contestant on The Trojan Is Right–come on down.

I can’t see something too many times without wanting to parody it, so I hunted Youtube for something a lot grosser than whatever was being attributed to Ms. Cyrus:  Rosie O’Donnell singing the Maude theme song to Bea Arthur.  Posted the link, along with:  “SICK!  I can’t believe Bea Arthur let someone videotape her doing this!”

And it’s true.  If I went on Rosie O’Donnell’s show, I sure wouldn’t let them film it.  That would destroy plausible deniability.  You don’t admit something of that magnitude, even if CBS News has you on film dead to rights.  It’s always ‘alleged.’

The driveway

Well, the contractor’s opinion of my bright idea was polite and helpful, but translated to:  “Baloney.”

We have a driveway drainage problem, basically.  The earth and concrete have shifted in the home’s 55 years.  My bright idea was to cut a trough to enable the rain (it does rain here now and then) to drain downhill, rather than into my garage.  Contractor:  “That looks like it would work, but it won’t.  French drains are expensive.  The real solution is to break up this driveway, regrade and repour it.”

I guess my opinion of his solution will depend on how much it costs.  Anyone ever had a driveway repoured, and if so, what’d it set you back? They vary, of course, but if it costs more than a roof, that’s going to be unpleasant.

March Sadness

That’s what it is for me.  Except for hoping KU wins it all, I just go to a happy place.  It’s something that screws up my favorite TV shows.  Give me a holler when it’s over, or if KU gets to the final four.

Why not UW? Well, it’s okay with me if UW does well, but I’ve got a long memory.  When I was at UW, no football player ever tried to get me to write his paper for him.  Basketball players did.  Also, when I was at UW, I was never hassled by a football player.  I got some from basketball players.  So in addition to not liking the sport at all to begin with (everything I was ever good at in sports is a foul in basketball), I didn’t find any passion to care if we won or not.   I wouldn’t root against UW, just didn’t much care.

The women are another story.  They never asked me to write their papers and they certainly never tried to bully me (and some of them could have…those are some big gals).  Go Dawgs!

Embarrassment

So this afternoon, I went to my nephew’s opening collegiate ballgame.  (Double drag for him:  he didn’t get to play, and his team lost.)  It was good baseball, but I was embarrassed on behalf of Columbia Basin College, the Tri-Cities, and on behalf of my country.

Now, I’m not a flag waver, but I do stand up for the national anthem (of any country).  And when a team visits from another country, as did the Prairie Baseball Academy of Lethbridge, AB, Canada, I believe strongly that we should show them the courtesy of playing the visiting anthem as well–thus demonstrating friendship and respect.  It’s done at hockey games all the time.  What is wrong with Americans, that they so often don’t know how to be good hosts and make a gesture of courtesy to international visitors?

Shame, CBC.  You embarrassed our entire area.  PBA Prairie Dawgs, well played, and my apologies for the boorish thoughtlessness.

Joke of the day

This was back before the USSR gave way to the Russian Federation.  Every year, the Soviets had a massive military parade past Red Square.  The Politburo stood and watched as tanks, armored cars, armored personnel carriers, soldiers, missile platforms, and so on rolled past, displaying Soviet might.

One year, an important US public figure was visiting Moscow at that time.  It was normal and customary for the Soviets to honor him by inviting him to stand with the Politburo and watch the parade.  Of course, he was assigned a KGB colonel fluent in English as a handler and escort.  They got along quite well.

So on the appointed day, the American stood with his Soviet hosts to watch the armaments flow by.  T-80 main battle tanks, BMP-2 armored personnel carriers.  Gvozdika self-propelled howitzers.  ZSU mobile flak guns, and surface-to-air missiles on trucks.  SCUDs on bigger vehicles.  Paratroopers in blue berets; marines in striped shirts.  At the tail end of the parade, oddly, were a few thousand civilians in nondescript Eastern bloc business dress, if one may call it that.  They didn’t march in formation, but sort of milled along.  A good percentage were female.

The American turned to his handler.  “Bogdan Ivanovich, I understand the function of the tanks.  I understand the tracks, the artillery, the missiles.  I understand the paratroopers and the marines.  But please tell me, if isn’t a state secret:  who are those people at the end, and what is their role in the military?”

The colonel drew himself up with that pride and dignity only a Russian can display when speaking of Russia.  “Those?” he replied, a bit intimidatingly.  “Those are middle managers of Soviet economy.  You have no idea damage they could cause you!”