Bringin’ home the … beef?

The local radio station has started running ads featuring Matthew McConaghey’s voice.  What is he advertising, you ask?  A new movie?  No. 

Beef. 

I have mentioned before that I am a vegetarian.  Lacto-ovo vegetarian to be exact; I eat dairy products and eggs but no flesh.  No fish, no fowl, no pork, no beef.  Especially not beef; it definitely ranks highest on the ole gross-out meter although I don’t really have a reason why. 

But it doesn’t matter.  When Matthew McConaghey says, “Beef.  It’s what’s for dinner” in that raspy, playful, sexy voice… well, let’s just say that is one hunk of flesh I would not be kicking off my plate. 

I believe him and damnit, I want it to be true! 

Hubby, fire up the BBQ.  I’ve got half a cow strapped onto the car and momma’s hungry! 

My town under water

As mentioned in a recent post, the area where I live experienced a flood while Hubby and I were in Cuba. 

Many people experienced damage to their homes and I sympathize for them but I was only kind of joking when I said that the exciting stuff always happens while we’re out of town.  I really would have liked to see this, mainly because this is the first time the river has broken its banks in Bristol since 1973 (according to that old guy that’s always sitting around town).  And that, he will tell you, was an ice jam, and not just the water rising.  Oh yes, there’s a difference. 

So, for those of you no longer at home, here are some pics.  These obviously aren’t my pics but are taken from a group of 400+ pics on Facebook called ‘Carleton County Flood 2008′.  I realize this won’t mean much to the rest of you but you’ll just have to suck it up for one post.  

First - The Saint John river in Riverbank (South Florenceville, towards Hartland), just past the elementary school. 

Not a great pic but this shows the height of the Saint John river on the old Florenceville bridge.  They closed it and took the opportunity to fix the potholes (hooray… it only took a flood). 

Here’s one of the Shiktehawk stream rising up over the bottom of Kinney Hill (looking toward Bath).  Joe, Chris… I’m pretty sure your house was safe. 

Same location but looking toward Bristol. 

I don’t know who took it, but I love the lighting in this shot of the church sign at the bottom of Tapley Road (the street in Bristol that I live on).  Since the road to Florenceville was blocked, people were using the old dump road until it got too full of ruts.  They were then diverted out back, through Mount Pleasant.  About a 30-minute detour for what is normally a 3-minute drive. 

Another view of the bottom of Tapley Road.  This house is now condemned, as is the one beside it. 

Another of downtown Bristol.  Brennan’s hardware store is just to the right (they have had to gut the store and are still cleaning up). 

Another view of main street in Bristol.  Where you see water is where the road usually runs.  Notice the church sign in the background. 

Bristol’s main street after the water has receded (but is still high). 

Anyway, there is a tour of the town I live in, even though it was a little under water at the time. 

Yes.  It’s small. 

Yes, I do realize that the use of the words ‘downtown’ and ‘main street’ are laughable when there is only one street that runs from one end of town to the other. 

But it’s home. 

Meme me

I’ve been meme’ed.  Maybe it’s spelled ’memed’.  I don’t know but I figured you might be confused by ‘memed’ and ‘meme’ed’ would be clearer. 

Still nothing, eh?  Yeah, I was confused too.  Thankfully my fellow canuck blogger buddy, Kris, went to the trouble of looking it up for us.  (By the way … read his stuff.  It is hilarious as long as you’re not too serious about the word fuck.  In fact, I’m wondering right now why he isn’t on my blogroll.)

meme

n.
A unit of cultural information, such as a cultural practice or idea, that is transmitted verbally or by repeated action from one mind to another

or

An idea, behavior, style, or usage that spreads from person to person within a culture. 

By the way, ’meme’ is pronounced with a long ‘e’… like ‘meem’.  Personally, I would prefer to pronounce it ‘meh-mee’ but the word has been around since 1976 so I suppose it’s too late to put up a fuss now. 

Kris is the meme’er in this case, which makes me the meme’ee.  (I honest-to-goodness just went to a couple of dictionary sites and made sure there wasn’t some old-world definition for ‘meme’ that would make that last sentence particularly naughty or make me embarrassed or put me up on cyber charges for inappropriateness.  Because you never know.  We’re good, Kris). 

This particular meme is asking me to write 6 things about myself and then tag 6 other bloggers.  The writing I can do because it is really just another post of random stuff about myself that was floating around in my head anyway.  I’ll probably skip the tagging though.  I think I just heard meme’ers the world over collectively gasp.  “Break the chain?!  You wouldn’t dare!”.  Yeah.  I would. 

Anyway …

1.  I am recently very into used clothing stores.  There was a time not all that long ago when I snubbed anything second-hand and bought only new clothing.  Silly me.  I love sifting through the racks in spite of them making my nose itch and my esophagus swell.  I think I enjoy finding the deal as much as looking at something god-awful and picturing someone wearing it.  It does not take long to realize, though, that not all second-hand clothing stores are the same; some are worth going back to and others are not. 

2.  I love a good yard sale.  Maybe I could have lumped this with #1 but it really isn’t the same because I rarely look for clothes at a yard sale.  In particular I look for old furniture pieces, interesting dishes, anything to use as a planter, that sort of thing.  Anything that looks old and interesting and that I couldn’t just go out to Walmart or Ikea and buy.  But as much as I enjoy yard sales, there is still something a little creepy and insanely personal about walking around a person’s lawn and looking at their castaways laid out on tables so I don’t go to a sale just for the sake of going.  I’m a drive-by yard sale’er; I’ll stop if your junk looks like it’s worth my time from the road. 

3.  Tea.  I really dislike black tea.  I’ve tried but I just don’t like it.  I hate that dry, scratchy aftertaste it leaves on your tongue.  Lately, though, I’m really into herbal teas.  Licorice Spice, Lemon Ginger, Green Tea with Jasmine, Honeybush, just to name a few.  A co-worker and I are on a tea “kick” and meet for a tea break a couple of times a day.  Our desk drawers are full of different kinds and deciding on a tea has really become a matter of mood, time of day, and desired effect.  We’re finding Stash is a really good brand, as is Tazo. 

I can’t wait to make tea out of my own peppermint (like this one below) and chamomile plants this summer. 

4.  Recently, a co-worker (not the tea one) organized a litter walk at lunch hour.  In areas where snowfall is abundant (Kris, you know what I’m talking about), the same things happens every spring:  the snowbanks melt to uncover miscellaneous garbage that people think is just going to disappear because it gets covered by the snow.  The road we walk/jog/run along over lunch hour needed help so she organized a crew of 7 to pick garbage. 

So many people (adults, mind you) at work ridiculed us, or, with a snort, just flat-out refused when we asked for help, as if they were above it.  One girl yelled “garbage pickers” out her car window while driving by.  It was kind of disheartening to get that reaction but the feeling we got from cleaning 8 bags of garbage along a 1-km stretch far outweighs all that immaturity.  Besides, their teeth or hair will probably fall out next week and I’m still glowing from the good karma. 

4.  I don’t think I’ve mentioned gardening much here but I am crazy for it.  Hubby and I have a fenced-in area for vegetable gardens that we have been adding beds to every year.  This time of year has me all a-flutter with bed preparation, deciding what plants to grow this year, how to lay them out in the gardens, looking for seeds… you know, all of that fun gardening stuff!  I love putting something on the dinner table that I know I have grown from seed.  It is most definitely a learning process from year to year to decide what works for you, what will grow next to that crop, and what you’re actually going to get use from.  If there is one thing I’ve learned, it’s that Hubby and I won’t eat radish. 

I also have quite a few perennials in various gardens around the property.  I am constantly looking over my property, envisioning new beds and walkways.  There is something very natural and “earthy” to me about digging up a plant and taking a shovel at its roots to produce two plants.  If we’re at this house long enough, my goal is to have a “lawn” of beds that requires less maintenance than mowing once or twice a week. 

You will be subjected to pictures of all of this, by the way. 

5.  You may notice that I don’t LOL or LMAO and I have certainly never been ROFL.  I have a best friend but not a BFF.  She would call me later, not L8R.  You may think TISNF but I will probably not TTYL about it.  IMO I really wish ppl would stop writing this way.  OMG, pls?  What do I think of it?  Obviously nm but ppl seem to have np with it.  Ppl might say, “MYOB” and LMK that I am an old fart and not hip but I would say, “HOAS.  FWIW, I think this is all FUBAR and not gr8 and it’s not b/c I’m old (ok, so I may not have a POS anymore) but b/c I just want ppl to write in english, not this f’ed up text language that IC everywhere.  I don’t want to have to RTFM just to read an MSN msg.”  TTYL

That took a lot out of me. 

I really do fear for the future of the English language. 

6.  Hmm, one more thing.  Hmm, something about me.  Too much citrus seems to give me canker sores.  Does this happen to anyone else?  Not just one canker sore but a frigging cluster of them right where my gum meets the lip so that it sends pain all through one side of my face if I smile.  It sucks.  Oh, and this has only started happening in the last 6 months so what does that mean?  No one told me cankers were a sign of aging. 

.

There… I’ve survived my first meme’ing.  I’m officially a meme’er (minus the tagging of course).  I feel different somehow.  Meme’ier.  Meme me anytime you want; I rather enjoyed being meme’ed. 

You know what I’m suddenly in the mood for?  A good ole episode of the Muppets.  Featuring Beaker. 

I’m just not sure why…

Grills - Not just for grillin’ anymore

Hubby, I have found a new party game for our next summer BBQ. 

Cheese Racing!

How to play?  Players throw a slice of cheese on the grill.  The player whose cheese fully inflates first wins! 

(Don’t you all LOVE that this grill is leveled by beer cans?)

If this doesn’t have trailer park written all over it, I don’t know what does!  But I must say, I am more than a little impressed (not to mention dumbfounded and a little creeped out) that the wrapper on a cheese slice will not melt, despite the cheese inside eventually boiling. 

The folks over at CRASS (Cheese Racing Association) do issue the following warning:

Be sure to ingest large quantities of alcohol and/or other chemical relaxant before (and during) play.  This will relax the body and nervous system, thus minimising the pain of any injury and enabling you to play on. 

Uh… yeah. 

Operation Cuba Bound: Complete

I chuckle at the title of the last post because it contains the word ’snowbank’.  Since writing it, Hubby and I have spent a full week in 30-degree weather and glorious sunshine, compliments of Cuba.  I suppose the white sands of Varadero beach could be mistaken for snow but I assure you, snow was the furthest thing from our minds. 

Operation Cuba Bound was a success:  18 pounds gone (more for Hubby) and 6 months smoke-free.  So off to Cuba we went and it was beautiful.  Palm trees, white sand beach, turquoise water.  Sigh. 

Things learned:

• Driving to the airport the night before and sleeping in your wagon in EconoPark may sound like fun, but …  (wait… did that really sound like fun to me at some point?  I kid, Hubby.  But you have to admit, the overhead planes and 10-minute shuttle did make sleeping rather difficult.)
• All of Cuba seems to be musical. 
• Keep your eyes down when walking in Havana.  Dogs (that seem to be strays) go poo in the streets. 
• Walking in a town/city that is not littered with chains featuring arches and neon lights is rather… well… nice.  Refreshing.  Calming.  And definitely more interesting. 
• If you head to Havana, stop at one of the roadside stands on the way for a $2.50 pina colada that is made from real fruit. 
• Snorkelling.  Do it.  Every time.  Especially if it’s directly off a catamaran. 
• A mojito is way better when you order it in Spanish, sitting in a cafe in Havana. 
• I have learned (again) that a bikini in the Caribbean is completely different than a bikini in Carleton County.

Things that continue to make me shake my head:

• The person that can be in fricking paradise and still complain about the most insignificant things (like their potatoes being cold).
• Litter.  I realize that we were sharing the beach with dozens of younger party types but a garbage can is a garbage can despite your age and, yes, even despite a dozen pina coladas.
• Why do people stand up as soon as the plane has stopped?  More importantly, why do you look at me like I’m strange for staying in my seat until the door is open and the people in front of me are leaving the plane?  Aww, is this your first time?
• On the same vein, is it really necessary to turn on your cell phone as soon as the wheels are on the ground?  Okay, maybe to call your mom who is picking you up.  But do you also need to call your best friend, your great aunt Sadie, your hairdresser, and your cat all before the plane door is open?  You think this makes you somehow look important, eh?  More like self-important, I think.  And a little rude. 

Okay, so it was a really great trip and just plain nice to be away, just the Hubby and I.  But now we’re out of the clouds and back to real life:  yard work, gardens, work, all of it. 

A few odds and ends…

The first thing we discovered upon returning is that our town and neighboring towns experienced floods while we were away.  First major flood since 1973.  We miss all the fun stuff.  I’ll do up a post and a few pics in the next day or two. 

I owe you guys pics of the hobby room, recently renovated.  I haven’t forgotten. 

Jenn… it will be on its way within the week.  I promise.  I hope baby #2 is treating you well. 

Kris… it’s coming. 

First paddle tonight in the Presque Isle stream.  Yay! 

Sorry for the lame post that’s all over the place but I had to write something or I would risk winning the You’re a Bad, Bad Blogger award.  First prize is a spanking.  Not the fun kind. 

Ouch.

Snowbank whittlin’

Let’s continue on with the ‘things I just don’t get’ theme of the previous honker post, shall we? 

I really love snow.  I’ve mentioned it enough times here that I I’m stating the obvious, aren’t I?  There does come a time in every snow-lovers year when you are ready to see it go.  It’s like turning a switch on (or off, depending on what side of the snow fence you sit on); one day I’m nagging Hubby to go skiing one last time and the next I’m itching to be in my garden. 

But no matter how badly I want the snow to melt, I will never go to the lengths of one of my co-workers.  I believe you just need to be patient with some things and let them happen naturally.  Her… well, her and her husband have been shovelling snow for the past two weeks. 

“But … It hasn’t even snowed!”, you might say, with a puzzled look on your face. 

And yes, you would be right.  In fact, it hasn’t snowed in weeks.  The snow is mostly gone here but sad piles of melting snowbank remnants are still sticking around. 

Enter:  the snowbank in front of my co-worker’s house.  Yes, this is the snow they have spent the last week shovelling onto the lawn or driveway.  Shovelling the snow for the second time.  Okay, just making sure you got that. 

Now, the reasoning behind this is that spread-out snow will melt faster than if it is in a pile that is several feet high.  Will the snow actually melt faster?  Absolutely it will.  I am not disputing the science behind it.  I would lose. 

What makes me shake my head at this is the fact that someone would willingly shovel snow for the second time.  Wait, let me back up to make sure you understand … I am talking about a woman that complained to me every god damn day of winter about the amount of snow.  Having to drive in it.  Having to shovel it.  Having to watch it fall.  Now that the snow is nearly gone, she complains about having to shovel it for a second time so it melts faster?! 

Here’s another science lesson for the kids out there:  The snow will melt on its own. 

I also find myself wondering if I should start sharing my list of things to do with her.  How much time do you have on your hands if you’re shoveling a snow bank?!  I would be glad to share my housework.  No?  Laundry?  I could bring my mending into work? 

Sigh.  Some things I am just not meant to understand. 

To her credit (and the discredit of many, many others), she is by no means the only person who uses this snowbank-whittling technique.  And she is retired.  So yeah, if you don’t have a list of things to do that extends across the living room when you’re reitred, then kudos to you. 

But might I suggest Pilates?  Sudoku?  Watercolor?  Photography? 

Honk if you’re a honker…

I am such a bad blogger!  Nary a word since that little pickle incident (which still rings true, by the way).  I would apologize but that would imply that I think there is a host of people out there that actually care about the random crap that rattles off my keyboard, and … well… I am a little more in touch than that. 

Speaking of pickles, I happen to like the random thought idea so I may start a bit of a series.  They’re quick and not time consuming so very fitting for work.  I’ll try a few more.  We’ll see. 

I will post a picture of the new hobby room on the weekend.  It isn’t purple.  In true Martell style, I got it about 95% done and haven’t been back to it since.  This weekend is going to be a rainy one so it will be calling, ”Finish me!  Finish me!”.  Sometimes it’s loud and a little obnoxious so I can’t ignore it. 

For today, I will write about noses.  In particular, those that honk. 

We all know one. 

This particular idea comes to me from a nearby co-worker who seems to either have year-round allergy issues or a cold that has permanently lodged itself in his sinuses.  More than once a day, he starts on these sneezing fits where the sneezees come five or six at a time.  I know what you’re thinking… “That’s impossible!  No one sneezes more than three times in a row!” …well I am here to burst your sneezing bubble and tell you that is simply not true.  I’ve seen it.  I know. 

Here I will only briefly mention that the sneezes themselves are very loud.  All of them.  I’m talkin’ rattle-the-foundation, knee-to-the-groin, rosie-o’donnell-on-uppers loud.  If you don’t see them coming, you would swear the building is falling down around you when they start. 

But that is not the reason for this post. 

In between all of these sneezes, naturally, he blows honks his nose.  Loudly.  Short, blasting honks as he bends his nose from one side to the other, wiping each nostril I suppose.  And then he sneezes again.  Honk.  Honk.  Honk.  Sneeze.  You get the picture.  Sometimes the honking comes without the sneezing and includes longer, lasting blasts.  Just as loud, mind you, but longer than the more common short honks. 

Now, let me make it clear that I’m not making fun.  Everyone has to blow their nose at some point.  I prefer to blow in front of a mirror so no soldiers run amok and sit outside the battle lines where they don’t belong.  I like not having to question whether everything is okay on the nose front.  But I had a high school classmate that would go to the garbage can and blow her nose for a full three minutes… at the front of the class! 

No, I’m not poking fun.  To each their own. 

I think the word I would use to describe my feelings about honkers is ‘wonder’. 

I wonder… how does one even produce that noise using only their nose?  Can he blow his nose without honking or is that just the way it is for him?  Is it genetics?  The shape of his nose?  The way he blows his nose? 

I wonder if my nose will make that noise?  I don’t think it will.  Admittedly, I’ve never sat around trying to honk my nose (and I’m not likely to start including that in my Friday night activities), but I do wonder. 

And then I wonder, were people with honking noses the inspiration for the Honkers on Sesame Street?  Their noses honked when you squeezed them. 

I wonder if he does it for attention.  He is a little that way.  Maybe, as a child who was always seeking attention, he noticed that people looked sideways when a loud noise came out of his nose. 

I don’t know.  It baffles me, really.  It’s not that I want a honking nose.  I don’t.  I’m just curious about the whole thing.  Does anyone out there have a honker?  Can you not honk when you blow or is that just not an option?  I really want to know. 

Random Thought #1

I’ve never met a pickle I didn’t like. 

Letter to Hubby

Dear Hubby,

I hope you are having a wonderful time in Montreal this week! 

As you know, I am taking this opportunity to renovate our gym/craft/sewing/storage room.  I have started calling it the Hobby Room or the do-everything-but-eat-sleep-and-pee room. 

You know I enjoy surprising you, Hubby and that is precisely why I am keeping the paint color a secret again. 

Remember coming home to your orange downstairs living room?  Oh Hubby… it will be that much fun! 

Maybe more! 

At the risk of ruining the surprise, I have decided to give you a few clues:

• It’s the color of a fruit.
• There is a large beloved children’s figure that is this color.
• Several signs of spring share this color. 
• It is a family member’s favorite color. 

… wait. 

Aww hell … I might as well tell you, right?  So what if you know the paint color … the rest of the renovation will still be a surprise, eh?!  There really should not be secrets between man and wife. 

Okay, here goes…

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Ready? 

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Are you anxious?  Nervous?  Heart all-a-flutter? 

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TA DA!!

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Now that‘ll get the juices flowin’ on the treadmill, right Hubby?  I can’t wait for you to see the finished product. 

Love you,

C

When bad commercials happen to good people

I am kind to TV land.  Really, I am. 

I visit often … TV land gets several hours a week out of me.  I don’t discriminate… the shows that I watch run across several stations and vary from old reruns to game shows to do-it-yourself shows to late night dramas (no, not the bow-chick-a-wow kind).  I am not fickle … once I start a show I rarely click away from it.  And I am loyal… if I miss an episode of my favorite show, I will likely PVR it or download it at some point. 

See?  I am a good friend to TV land. 

So why does TV land punish me with commercials bad enough to turn the stomach?  Did I forget your birthday?  Am I crowding the bed at night? 

I can put up with the countless (actually, there are 1,386,320 of them so yes, they are countable) commercials for skin care products that are graced with 21-year-olds touting an anti-wrinkle cream that they won’t need for another 20 years.  Do you really expect me to believe that her skin looks like that for real? 

But every now and then TV land presents me with a commercial that is just so bad I want to gouge out my eyes with a #2 pencil.  A really dull one. 

The creep-o-meter is so high on this guy, I wouldn’t trust him with my sweat socks let alone my gold jewellery.  And what’s with the dancers?  Talk about being desperate in the acting business.  

Actually, I imagine these are the nieces of Oliver himself:  “Okay, girls… we’re going to dance out this little routine for Uncy Oliver and then we’ll all take turns sitting on his lap and showing him your gold”.

<shudder>

I think the first time I saw this next commercial, I literally watched it with a dropped jaw and a look of disbelief on my face.  You know how they say that it’s human nature to be drawn to something horrific, like a train wreck?  Yeah. 

So they’re on the beach… there are a few mermaids, buddy on the banana that gets stranded on the buoy, and then … what’s that?  A sea monster?  And he raps?  Well, naturally! 

The song is bad and the dance choreography is worse.  I think someone should patent that hands-on-hips move where they rise to their toes… it’s sweet. 

I do realize that I have played right into their hands though… what is the point of a commercial but to grab your attention and get you talking about it?