Random Neuron Firings
- Lately, I’m on a Ken Burns documentaries kick before bed. (And here I thought I knew a lot about baseball. Whoa.) Last night, I started The National Parks: America’s Best Idea. Best idea indeed. At one point, an interviewee makes the statement that Americans often view the US as inferior to Europe with regard to the prestige and sheer age of Europe’s landmarks and structures. He then stresses the cultural treasure of these precious tracts of American land — procured not by a rich patron or titled aristocrat — that belong to the people of this country; a wealth of unspoiled beauty, set aside by the government for the sole purpose of the enjoyment of its populace. How wonderful is that? How rare? The Thriller and I have been beyond fortunate to have visited many of these National Parks, and it’s on the bucket list to see them all.
- My hair is short again. I luv it. Yesterday, instead of getting out the curling iron, standing with the blow dryer for an eternity, and spraying copious amounts of lacquer to prevent the do from flying all over the place the minute I stepped outside, I simply fluffed, spritzed, and walked away. Bam. Blow and go.
- Why have I been up since 1:50 a.m.? Good thing I don’t have anywhere to be today. Here it is, 3:39 and I’m researching and planning for #4…
- There’s a group of people coming for lunch on Monday, and I’m doing a baked potato bar. For toppings, I have bacon, chili, broccoli in cheese sauce, salsa, sour cream, chives, butter, shredded cheddar…what else would you suggest? Anything fun? The guests are all teenagers. I’m open for any ideas. I’m toying with breaking out my Fanci-Fill pan and making a couple of cakes for dessert. Hmmm. Mebby not.
- I had to look up how to properly steam broccoli, since I have never cooked it, and it’s almost never on my grocery list. The biggest challenge, however, will be getting through the meal with that horrific stench permeating the house. *gag* I hope it’s buried by other, more palatable aromas.
Is it naptime yet? I might have to take a break and check the ol’ eyelids for leaks.
Happy….er, what day is it anyhow?
One of my best practical jokes came from a potato bar:
I used to work at a Seventh-Day-Adventist hospital in the NICU, and every Saturday night (11-7 shift), we had a potluck potato bar. If you were on that night, you signed up to bring something and we had a wonderful feast. The problem was that the word spread throughout the (rather large) institution, and people from other units would show up and eat without contributing. There were a few times that by the time I was able to get away to wolf down a few bites, there wasn’t much left.
One week I signed up to bring dessert (my infamous Killer Brownies), and then I wrote ‘catfood’. Laugh, laugh, ha, ha, Hudson’s bringing catfood to the potluck. Tee hee. Except I did show up with a small bowl of catfood (and the brownies, of course). I *clearly* labeled the bowl “CATFOOD” and put it on the table with the rest of the toppings, but later that night I had one of the Respiratory Therapists come to me, laughing to the point of tears. She had seen a person from another unit walking out of the NICU with a plate loaded to the gills, and clearly on top of the potato, were a few morsels of the catfood.
I never got any flack (although I did get a few high-fives!), but that story spread like wildfire, and we did notice fewer people from other units mooching off our Saturday night feast.
Ah, yes. The Glory Days.
BEST. STORY. EVER.