Hey It’s Friday! Let’s Dance Austrian Style!

Hello Dear Readers!  Well it’s Friday which means it’s time to fish something out of this blog’s archives in honor of this blog’s lazy streak!  Let’s see . . . oh here’s a blog about Austrian Folk Dancing to start your Friday off with a kick!

Save Room for Shuh

“Sometimes I just want to haul off and punch you!”
“What? But wwwhhhyyy?”

I found a wonderful Viennese Folk Dancing LP at the thrift store for us to examine more closely.  Let’s take a little look-see, shall we?

“Ya, we’re folk dancing, ya!”

The back of the album tells us that this collection of Viennese dance-songs are sung by Austrian man peasants while other Austrian peasants perform intricate Viennese folk dances.

Well, now!   Doesn’t that sound like a fine kettle of Neujahrsschießen?

I may not know much about the country of Austria, but that definitely doesn’t stop me from thinking I do.  Here’s my best guess about what the Viennese songs and folk dances might be about from what I can glean from their titles.

First up is the hauntingly beautiful Viennese Folk Song Entitled:

Hochzeitmarsch aus Ebensee (from Tanze)

This ironic folk dance opens with the Austrian peasant, Hoch, who is wading in the marsh when he becomes stuck in the mud clear up to his eben, see?  And a beautiful peasant girl, Aus from Tanze,  grabs him — and in a series of complicated twists — manages to free his eben, see?

The act of which paralyzes Hoch for the rest of his life, even though Hoch inexplicably retains the full use of his eben, see? Which is probably where the irony comes in but nobody is really sure what’s going on so maybe not.

Next is the surprisingly poignant:

Schuhplattler (from Bauernmusi)

Austrian Peasant, Mrs. Butterhorn, dances exuberantly past all the young maidens in the village of Bauernmusi carrying a large plattler of schuh.  The maidens  jump and twirl for joy as Mrs. Butterhorn carries her plattler of Schuh through the village square where they all gaily sit down at the annual Neujahrsschießen Feast!

Everybody partakes heartily and dies shortly thereafter from food poisoning which everybody blamed on a bad batch of Schuh.  Things are pretty much downhill from there on out.  If you ever decide to go to a live performance of Schuhplattler, definitely plan to leave at the intermission.

And finally, a story that is near and dear to all our hearts:

Guggu Polka

Of all the music and dancing performed on this LP, Guggu Polka is perhaps the most well-known.  We join our revelers just as Austria’s most famous seafaring explorer, Guggu Polka shimmies his way into town in celebration of his historic discovery that there is absolutely no way to get to the ocean from Austria.

His crew of 18 sailors do a fantastic kick line while dragging the would-be seafaring vessel christened The Hokey Pokey along behind them. Then the villagers put their right foot in and put their right foot out and that’s when Guggu Polka trips and dies.  It may not have a happy ending, but sometimes that’s what it’s all about.

Until next time . . . I Bauerngalopp you

“That’s the lamest high five I’ve ever seen.”

5 — The Perfect Answer to All Your Problems

I woke up this morning with a stomach ache in my back. Well, that’s what it felt like, anyway. I was kind of sick to my back, if that’s possible (I’m here to say it is).   But I’m feeling better now.  I ate some oatmeal and drank some coffee and took some Ibuprofen and now my back isn’t aching at all.  Ibuprofen is magical.

It’s weird too because as I write this, I’m reminded of the dream I had last night. I was driving my kids to school.  Naturally, I was driving backwards, and when I tried to stop to drop the kids off, my brakes wouldn’t work and we just kept on going right past the school backwards. You’d think panic would have been in order.  But no, instead, I thought, gee, our house is a lot closer to the school when you drive backwards.  It’s much farther when you drive frontwards (if a word).  How much farther?  My subconscious didn’t specify.  You see, it’s not very good with numbers and neither am I.

Oh, I know how to add, subtract, multiply and divide just fine unless you’re one of those perfectionists who expect the right answer every time — exactly.  I say what’s wrong with eventually?  

It’s not that I don’t like numbers.  Individually they’re fine.  In first grade I remember enjoying the process of learning how to write numbers.  My teacher said when you write a 5, you make the bottom part first and then add the flag on top.  So number 5 had a flag eh?!   I rubbed my first grade hands together; finally, we were getting a glimpse into the personal lives of numbers!

 On a scale of 1 to 10, the number 5 quickly became my number 1 number.  And the confusion didn’t end there.

Soon we were having numbers interact, but not in a fun way.  Maybe because you can never please numbers.  They are very set in their ways.  Everything has to be just so.  It was all just a little too cut and dried for my tastes.

Later, they tried to trick us into liking numbers by making up story problems. 

Megan’s school is 4 blocks away.  Megan’s Mother is driving Megan to school backwards.  Her brakes are out.  How long will it take Megan to eat the 4 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in her lunch box and how much will she weigh when  her mother comes to pick her up driving  frontwards (god willing) when school is out at 3:00 p.m. Eastern Standard Time.

Anyway, by the time I got to ninth grade algebra at Fisher Junior High School, I was officially the dumbest student in the class.  Mr. Van Curen tried to teach me algebra, but I was a hopeless case.  He’d say A = 12 and I’d say why don’t you just leave out the A altogether and just say 12?  To which Mr. Van Curen would furrow his dandruff- sprinkled brow and say again, Yes, but  A = 12. 

I think he might have been Nigel Tufnel’s dad.

Until next time . . . I love you

The Ark Storm

“There’s supposed to be a Storm to Remember coming this weekend!” my mailman warned.

Really!  I’d better get my camera out for this one.

Devastation caused by The Storm to Remember!

For the hearty souls who brave the threat of a major earthquake each and every day, Californians are surprisingly wimpy weather-wise. 

 For instance, rain is something out of which all California children must be kept. 

 What if they were outside, say, walking, say, and it started raining actual raindrops?  They are wet you know, and they are hurtling to earth at death-defying speeds. 

Yes, it’s true the average California child has lived through six earthquakes so far, but that’s nothing when you compare it to getting slapped in the face with a bullet of H20.   Every Californian knows a thing like that could cause permanent nerve damage!

In Seattle, where the sun shines so rarely it’s often mistaken for Venus, it’s just the opposite. 

Weather exists only as degrees of dampness.  So Seattle-ites whip out their sunglasses the instant the sun makes an appearance.  They are quick on the draw, these Damp People. 

You’ll be driving along on the Seattle freeway when suddenly the sun appears, ufo-like, from behind a rain-soaked, humidity-filled fog bank.  You quickly glance over at the cars on either side of you — and what do you know?  The drivers already have on their sunglasses.  Huh?  Why do they even own sunglasses?    Five seconds later, when the sun dashes behind a 120-percent-chance-of-rain cloud, all sunglasses are quickly removed, twirled between thumb and forefinger and expertly returned to holsters.

Now Weatherians (new word I just made up, feel free to spread it around but be sure to capitalize it) gleefully tell us that California is long overdue for a super storm called the Ark Storm.  Experts (people who hang out at Ark Storm scenario summits) tell us that the last Ark Storm hit California in 1861 causing a flood of such epic proportions it wiped out the entire 1861 California Cattle Industry estimated at the time to be 7 cows, 2 chickens and a pig.

Devastation of the 1861 Ark Storm!

Some experts who were actually listening at the Ark Storm Scenario Summit remind us that two really Stormy Storms hit Northern California in 1986 and 1997. 

Devastation of the 1986 and 1997 storms!

Even though I was unlucky enough to be living in Northern California during both of these horrific storms, luckily I didn’t notice them. 

But being a True California, I’m just sure I drove my kids to school both those days.

Until next time . . . I love you

From the Bibliophile File

Bestseller Sequels that are just begging to be written:

A Flea Glows in Brooklyn

A radioactive flea gains self-esteem when he
gets a job as a firefly

Tell Me Again Why the Caged Bird
Sings

Maya Angelou’s senior moments

To Stun a Mockingbird

The updated, Peta-approved version

For Whom the Belle Toils

Paris Hilton cleans toilets for the LA County
jail

Breakfast at Epiphanies

Adventures of a born-again Holly
Golightly

Clockwork Orange Sherbet

How to tell when it’s time to eat orange
sherbet in the future

A Street Car Named Gimme Gimme

Blanche Dubois forgets her manners

Ass Menagerie

Life on the donkey farm

What Color Was my Parachute?

Séance FAQs

Until next time . . . I love you

Tiger Wooda Shoulda Coulda

First thing this morning  my husband had the Golf Channel blaring.  Of course, even when the golf channel is blaring, it’s not all that loud.  In the world of televised sports, golf  is the least annoying, usually. This morning there were two guys on who were doing a radio show at the same time it was being televised.  I guess because they were on the radio AND TV, they felt they had to talk a little too loud.

And they never utter anything that isn’t directly related to golf.  Their ability to stay on topic is unheard (I wish) of.  This morning they were discussing the new Master’s Video Game that’s coming out.  They were saying how realistic it is and mentioned that the video game includes all the bushes and trees just like they really are so players can really experience what it’s like to really be playing at the real Masters. Apparently their target customers are those who don’t get out much.

Then they cut to Golf  Headline News where the big news of the day is some golfer’s infected toe.  The golfer was wearing a sock , but that didn’t stop them from getting a close up of it.  They zoomed in to where the toe would more than likely be located within the sock and, sure enough, you could see some discoloration on said sock!

Then it was back to our slightly hyped-up hosts where every third word is “Tiger” even though what they were talking about didn’t have anything to do with Tiger — they just can’t help themselves.  From what I’ve observed, these people are trying not to worship Tiger — really they are. It’s like everybody keeps telling them to break-up with Tiger because he’s just not a good guy and they know they should too, but they just can’t bring themselves to actually do it.

They keep thinking they are going to change him and if they just hang in there everything will OK.  Besides, they’ve tried worshiping other golfers, and it just isn’t the same. Sometimes they’ll be strong and say that Tiger hasn’t won a tournament all year, so he’s really getting what he deserves, but then in the next breath they get all worshippy again when they point out that he still managed to make 74 million dollars last year regardless of his sucky-for-him–at-least golf game.  It’s a love-hate relationship with too much love in my opinion.  But then again nobody asked me for my opinion.  Which is why I have a blog.

Until next time . . . I love you

Musings from the Nincompoopatorium

“Whenever I watch TV and see those poor starving kids all over the world, I can’t help but cry.  I mean I’d love to be skinny like that but not with all those files and death and stuff.” — Mariah Carey

Mariah Carey, Pop Singer

“He’s a guy who gets up at six o’clock in the morning regardless of what time it is.” –  Lou Duva

Lou Duva, Boxing Trainer

“I love California, I practically grew up in Phoenix.” — Dan Quayle

Dan Quayle, Former Vice President

“Put the off button on.”  –  George Bush

George Bush, Former President

“If only faces could talk.” — Pat Summeral

Pat Summeral, Sportscaster during the Super Bowl

“I think there is a difference between ditzy and dumb.  Dumb is just not knowing.  Ditzy is having the courage to ask.” — Jessica Simpson

“Chemistry is a class you take in high school or college, where you figure out two plus two is ten or something.”  — Dennis Rodman

Dennis Rodman

“You can’t just let nature run wild.”  Wally Hickle

Wally Hickle, Former Alaskan Governor

“Democrats understand the importance of bondage between a mother and a child.” — Al Gore

“The future will be better tomorrow.” — Al Gore

“Verbosity leads to unclear, inarticulate things.” — Al Gore

Al Gore, Former Vice President and America's Most Beloved Nincompoop

The Dreaded Doctor’s Appointment

I have to go to the doctor today . . wah wah wah . . . well somebody has to make sure these people stay in business.  I recently switched doctors.  Not that my other doctor was bad, as such, I’m sure he was a very talented and gifted guy, it’s just that when I was bleeding in his office, and he and his assistant were commenting to each other on the large amount of blood, I started to feel faint. They wanted to know why  in the world I was feeling faint.  Did I have diabetes or something?

And I let this guy operate on me.  Luckily I was asleep at the time.

I got a new doctor.  She seems smart. She’s a really good listener or at least she’s good at pretending like she is.  The office staff is friendly, and they have People Magazine (the other doctor only had Golf Digest and other icky guy magazines which should have told me something right there).

But I still hate going to the doctor.  I wish I could cancel my appointment, but it’s too late now.  At least I won’t have to have any tests done.  Last time I had to have a blood test done the lady stuck in the needle and nothing came out but air.  So, of course, I had to make a joke about how in the movie, The Jerk,  Navin Johnson sold so much of his blood that finally nothing came out but air.  It was so perfect!  What are the odds of getting to make that kind of a reference in one’s lifetime!  But, as rotten luck would have it, she had never seen The Jerk.  Never seen The Jerk?

I knew there was something fishy about people who take your blood.

My new doctor’s office is in another town and it takes an hour to get there.  Emotionally anyway.  Logically, I know I’ll be able to get there in 40 minutes but I won’t feel good about it emotionally unless I allow myself an hour or maybe even an hour -ten minutes depending on my anxiety level.  Oh sure I’ll be pretty early, which means a longer waiting time, but they do have People Magazine so it all evens out.

Once I actually get into the smaller waiting room (where there may or may not be People Magazines), it’s all downhill from there.  The waiting time in this room is in direct proportion to whether or not you’re being seen for a condition where you have to disrobe and put on a large, stupid piece of paper, or can simply stay seated  in the chair fully clothed and discuss your condition like a sane, rational person who got dressed before leaving the house — in which case the doctor comes in immediately.

Otherwise, you just sit there on the paper-covered table wearing your big, stupid piece of paper looking at the drawers and the stuff on the counter and looking out the window and wondering whether or not people in the other office building can see you.  It seems like they probably can if they wanted to but since they can do it anytime they want they’re just over it.  There’s always a big plastic model of some internal organ or other.  And it makes you wonder if it’s there for your information or if the doctor just doesn’t know his stuff.

When the doctor finally comes in, it’s always a relief.  They always knock on the door first to give you a warning that they are entering just in case you hadn’t been able in the last 27 minutes you’ve been waiting there to complete the task of either 1) sitting in the chair or 2) putting on your large, stupid piece of paper.

Phew!  That was a close one Doc!!

The best part of the visit is when you’re all done and dressed again and making an appointment for your next visit.  You make it and pretend like you’ve just got the greatest attitude about going to the doctor.  You put on a great show to the appointment maker that the time agreed upon will work perfectly for you and there is no way you are going to cancel all the while thinking  to yourself “I can always cancel later.”  When she hands you the  little card you pretend to put it  into a “safe place” in your purse all the while thinking . . . I know I’m going to lose this but they’ll call me and I can always cancel.

I’ll let you know how it goes . . .

Until next time . . . I love you

The Inescapable Now

Everybody keeps telling us that the way to true happiness is directly related to one’s ability to live fully in The Now.  But living in The Now requires that we give all of our attention to the present moment.  That means no daydreaming, no distractions, no thinking about what you did yesterday or what you’re going to do tomorrow.  This sounds kind of boring.  Especially if what you happen to be doing at the present moment is dull, unexciting and/or tedious. 

Escaping The Now is impossible when you really think about it, so why do we spend so much mental energy struggling against it?  Who wouldn’t love to  shortcut the boring Nows to get to the more exciting Nows. Maybe that’s what we are trying to do when we let our thinking go into auto-pilot mode, by paying attention only to the little drama in our minds, we try to tune out reality until it gets more exciting.

When you really think about it, The Now is the most abundant thing in the universe.  It’s with us from the time we are born until the day we die and maybe even after that.  It’s like cosmic fly paper.  I guess you could even go so far as to say that nothing really exists at all except for the present moment.  No matter how hard you try to escape, you’re just going to be stuck with a limitless supply of Now.  If we could come to terms with that, it might be easier to accept what is happening now for what  it really is — all we have.  And there’s no reason not to pay attention to it because once this Now is over there’s just going to be more Now.

So in order to be happy, it seems like a good idea to practice paying full attention to what is going on now, whether we like it or not, so that when The Now gets better we’ll know how to enjoy it.  And it’s been rumored that practicing being in The Now will make you happier.  And maybe even make you all the way happy.  I don’t know about you, but I’m willling to give it a try.

Until next time . . . I love you

Christmas IS about the Presents!

For a number of years now, I haven’t been a real big Christmas person.  In fact, there was a time when Christmas was so overwhelming to me that  conversion to Judaism seemed the easier route.  This wasn’t always true.  I actually used to be a Christmas Snob.  I’d completely overdo Christmas at least in my mind.  My mental list of Christmas duties would start accumulating the day after Thanksgiving and wouldn’t actually let up until the sun went down on Christmas day. 

My fanatical inner Christmas perfectionism would zap all the joy and energy that was to be had out of the season.  I have no one to blame but myself.  Chasing this Perfect Snow White Christmas took such a toll on me that January became my favorite month of the year because it was the furthest away from Christmas.  And yet, when another Christmas would roll around, I could never tone it down.  I was stuck on a hamster wheel  in search of Christmas Perfect. 

Things are different this Christmas.  I’m doing  it all differently.  I’m not going to make a list to see if everyone has the same amount of presents to open.  I’m not going to cook and I’m not going to bake.  I’ve wrapped the presents and put them under the tree.  Now the only thing left to do is sit back and enjoy because I’ve finally learned the Big Christmas Lesson:

 Christmas is our opportunity to jump off the hamster wheel of life for a while and just be deliberately present in love.  Nothing more; nothing less.

Christmas is about being PRESENT.

How ironic that it turns out Christmas was about the presents after all!

Until next time . . . I love you

Bad Writing Practice

Hello There!! Aren’t you sweet to be reading this (I sent your bribe check out in this morning’s mail.)

Today is bad writing practice.  As you may or may not know or care, I once won a very famous bad writing contest called The Bulwer Lytton Fiction Contest in which contestants vie to see who can write the worst beginning sentence to an imaginary novel.  Since that time I have been working on keeping my brain cells sluggish and flabby should I ever decide to enter another bad writing contest.  And so it’s time to practice, practice practice!  I encourage you to leave your badly written sentence in the comments.  What fun we will have, you and I, with our little conspiratorial gang of split infinitives and dangling participles. 

The sun fell behind the majestic mountain, bounced off the ocean, careened into the sunset and came to a California stop just south of nothern China.

The waxed pear slipped from the grasp of Emily’s acrylic nails, bounced off her wooden leg, landed atop the astro-turfed, particle-board floor and wobbled to a stop against the tanning bed in which Cher lay.

The trees which stood side by side welcomed the squirrels one by one as they took shelter from the rain drops falling this way and that while the branches were bent from top to bottom shaking off twigs and leaves that fell to earth end to end which had to be raked up hither and yon by somebody or other.

 Rosemary was a wise old sage who peppered her every conversation with talk of her cinnamon-colored hair which, in thyme, added some spice to her life as a ginger.

OK, that ought to do it for today!  Don’t forget to leave your badly written sentence in the comments . . .

Until next time . . . I love you!

Mail Online

I found this great British Newspaper online called mailonline.com.  It’s the  Daily Mail Newspaper online site and it’s a lot of fun to read .  Let’s face it, the Brittish just sound a whole lot smarter than we do.  So I’ve compiled a list of how they say it  compared to how we might say it (or do it).

The Brittish Headline Says:

Why Prince Charles is too dangerous to be king: why this increasingly eccentric royal could imperil the monarchy.

But if it happened here it would say something like:

Why Prince Big Ears  is too Frigin’  Bad ‘ Ass to be Numero Uno; why this weirdo fastracker could screw things up royally

The British Headline says:

Kate Middleton joins Queen for Royal family pre-Christmas Lunch

But if it happened here it would be:

Kate Middleton and the Queen Drive Through Burger King

The British Headline Says:

Queen Victoria, is that you? Christina Aguilera bears a striking resemblance to our late  monarch in unflattering bonnet

If it happened here we’d say:

Hey Look!  There’s Christina Aguilera!

Ok, that’s it.  I thought this topic was going to be rich fodder to farm but turns out not so much.  But I promise to keep an eye on all the Daily Mail Headlines from now on just in case.

Until next time . . . I love you!

Since when is the moon a girl?

I made a pact with myself (figuratively speaking as I have no idea about how to make an actual pact) that I was going to write a post everyday.  As soon as I did that both my computers suddenly became screwed up.   So instead of writing, I was downloading PC cleaners and letting my imagination run wild about horrific virus infestations writhing around inside of  (hey! three prepositions in a row!) my computer’s inner workings.  I am happy to report however, after much wringing of hands and writhing of viruses, everything turned out Okey Dokey as they say in the trades.  (What trades you ask?  How should I know?)

Take Shakespeare for example. (OK, I admit that’s a horrible transition into a new topic, but  I’m in a hurry).   There’s nothing I like better than a good rhyming poem.  Well maybe there are some things I like better, like just about anything, but my point is I don’t like Shakespeare.  There, I said it.  I can stop pretending now.  The truth is  I’m too dumb for Shakespeare.  I don’t get it.  I can’t tell what’s going on.  To prove my point, here’s how I would interpret the following and correct me if I’m wrong (just in your mind though as I get my feelings hurt pretty easily).

But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?

Oh goody Juliet’s up, her light’s on.

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

Wtf?

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Time to get up!

Who is already sick and pale with grief

Somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed.

That thou, her maid, are more fair than she

Sorry Shakespeare, but I’m pretty sure the moon’s a boy.

Another thing I’m kind of dumb about are gambling concepts like odds and pools.   And whenever someone tries to explain it to me they just make it worse.  So I just pretend that I completely understand what they’re talking about so they’ll eventually shut up and leave me alone.  People who like to figure “odds” and “pools” are smart.  People who talk about it are boring.

And since I’m being honest now, I might as well throw in that  I don’t know my directions.  I know that there is a north, south east and west.  I just can’t ever figure out what direction they are in when it comes to where I am.   I can tell on a map, but don’t ask me to “head” in any of them when giving me directions.  For instance, if you were to tell me to head west on 10th street until I got to Wilson street and then head south, I’d just stay home.

Until next time . . . I love you

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