Are Ya Ready For Some. . . .Chit Chat?

Tags

Entertainment, Humor, Super bowl

Let’s skip the chit shall we and just chat.

This is another one of those “holidays” where women get screwed. Not literally, because that would be a horse of a different color and perhaps not such a bad thing at all. I meant figuratively.

Men “prepare” for the Super Bowl by what? Getting a case of beer? Resting up? Moving the lazy boy in each position to see which one is the most comfortable? Yeah, you know what I mean.

Women on the other hand are charged with doing all the normal Saturday chores, such as cleaning and laundry, and so on and so forth, AND getting all those tasty treats ready for tomorrow.

One would think that the darn GAME would start at a reasonable hour wouldn’t you?

I mean what is wrong with like 2 p.m. or thereabouts?

Instead we got a game time of something like 6:30 when everyone is exhausted from trying to stay energized since 10 a.m. To say nothing of making yourself sick eating all this junk? And listening ad nauseam to those freakin’ commentators analyzing the blades of grass (yes they get down to that!)

And by then, I’ll be whining that I want to put the food away before it grows bacteria the size of St. Louis.

And did I mention that I don’t give a rat’s heiny who wins the thing?

I barely care at all.

And what of all the people in the world who REALLY don’t care? I mean seriously don’t give a damn? What are they supposed to do, play tiddlywinks?

Even some AMERICANS don’t care. But they HAVE to watch, if only to not look like a freak at the office tomorrow when EVERYONE will be talking non-stop about that “amazing catch” or that “incredible fumble”, or that “stupid ref.”

I am ashamed to say that I bow to the powers that be, and do my duty to God and country and the Contrarian, and worked my tail off this morning doing the “PRE-GAME cooking. On top of washing up dishes, folding clothes (I admit, he changed the sheets, remade the bed, and put the sheets and towels in the washer–all the time whining that he still had his “coffee chores” and his “entertainment chores” left to do, one which takes 3.62 minutes and the other entails his thumb moving at most an inch in total).

So, saying all that, the menu this year consists of the following succulent (still love that word) morsels of heaven:

• Muffalata sandwich (olive salad and a bunch of Italian meats and cheeses soaked in plenty of olive oil)
• A  Jalapeño popper dip, served warm with chips or crackers
• Potato salad, my award-winning one (I bought myself a little plaque that says #1 cook).
• Buffalo Hot wings with blue-cheese dressing (also my award-winning one, and also self-designated)–Hey you gotta look out for yourself ya know.

So there. I’ll be posting the recipes for the dip and the sandwich some time next week. The potato salad and dressing are already there for your perusal.

¶

We missed that storm coming out of Colorado. It slid on by south of us. We got a tad of rain, and we had a thin sheet of ice this morning, which made the animals tippy-toe down the steps. It’s all melted now. And the sun is out, and it’s pleasantly warm, for February that is.

You don’t want to discuss anything serious today do you?

I didn’t think so.

¶

Do they ever actually interview people before they hire them to, you know, stand in front of a camera and talk non-stop? There is a woman on now, who is cooking, and she is fairly annoying the crap out of me with her “special” little voice, so perky and happy. She is a freakin’ phony. Oops, I just finished reading The Catcher in the Rye, so I’m probably going to use phony a lot for a while. And so it goes. That was SlaughterHouse-Five, in case you missed that.

Do you think that when you have just finished reading a book you have some tendency to write somewhat like the author? I mean, not intentionally or anything, but just because the cadences are in your head? I think that’s possible. So I freely admit the possibility and therefore I am giving due credit to the proper sources so, hey don’t sue me for copyright infringement or something.

¶

I hate the word “yummy”, or worse yet “yum”. I mean that word has no rational relationship to the word “good” or “tasty” does it? Why would you use it then when it rhymes with gummy, which would never be confused with anything tasty.

I’ve noticed that in the world of food, there are lots of words I don’t like. Delish, I think I mentioned that once before. I hate that word. But I do like D’s and S’s just fine. In fact I like all the letters in that word, but they sure make a crappy word when they are put together in THAT order.

So I’m wondering. Do people in the electrical engineering business have words of their trade that they don’t like?

I mean, is it true of all subject areas? Do astronomers hate the world quasar? Or find the term doppler dumb? Doppler dumb, hey I bet I could use that. Alliterative words are fun don’t you think? Unless you use them too much, then they are phony. HA!

Well, thanks for listening. I think my brain has some room now to add new stuff. I often have to clap my hands over my ears to keep the Contrarian’s weirdisms out of my brain. I consider a good deal of his stuff like a virus that wreaks havoc with my neural connectors. Be lucky you don’t have that problem, which is a WHOLE ‘nother post.

And just for the record: I think being a stupid idiot should be a crime. Should anyone ask.

I Got the Vapors!

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Arnel Pineda, Journey, Music, Rock bands, Steve Perry, Super bowl

Now that we are down from the hoopla of Super Bowl whatever number it was, I thought I would share a moment in that day that shook me to my undies. As many of you undoubtedly know, the pre-game show starts at some ungodly hour of the day and proceeds onward, filled with an enormous amount of unimportant trivia that clog the brain and contribute to overfilling of said brain box.

To say that I don’t watch it, is to well, understand my animosity toward it. However, if you have ever checked, Sunday morning and afternoon TV sucks pretty much anyway, so as I am wont, I had the appropriate channel on while on the computer.

This is my normal practice, to have the TV on to my right as I hammer away at the keys, sending you all these delightful posts. Mostly I don’t watch, but I pick up a thing here or two. I will even admit that I keep track of the story lines quite successfully for both All My Children and One Life to Live.

None of that is of any importance to my story, but I thought I would throw it in. Anyway, some time about an hour or so before the kick off of the greatest ball game of the year (usually a dud to be sure in reality), I sauntered into the living room to take up my place next the Contrarian who was pretending to “listen” as he sat laid back with eyes closed. (The Contrarian swears he does not sleep on the couch, the snoring sounds are merely a novelty of sound he enjoys fooling me with.)

As I was gazing not too intently at the screen, punctuated with looks at the frenzy at the bird feeder (the cat TV we call it actually), I heard this from a frantic broadcaster: “And now, for your entertainment delight (not really, but I’m trying to be dramatic here), JOURNEY!!!!!

That made me turn my head quick enough to engage whip lash. You see, I am a fan of the band and have been for many a year,  more than I would care to admit actually. As the familiar notes and refrains began to vibrate in my ear anatomy, the camera began to pan to the lead singer, Steve Perry. And OH MY GOD, IT WASN”T STEVE PERRY!!!!

Now some of you may guffaw at this, for I have always thought that Journey might be a second or third rate rock band. Actually, in the minuscule research I did for this piece I discovered that in fact it usually appears on most people’s top ten, and Steve Perry is regarded as one of the better lead singers of a rock band. This is also not necessary to this post, but I thought I would defend myself and them anyway.

So I was yelling, where is STEVE???? The Contrarian piped up, “I think he died.” “What??????? NO, how, where, when, who?” The Contrarian knew no more. Just that ugly bottom line. Now Journey is, well, not worth much without Steve Perry as the photo undoubtedly makes clear:

I mean, heck, I am a warm blooded woman with all my sexual err, ummm stuff  intact. I mean what is the point of being a long distance groupie without the point of the group to salivate over?

I was non-plussed, and if that is not strong enough, and I’m not sure it is, (what is non-plussed anyway), I fairly fainted dead away.

Not actually of course, but in my mind I fainted. That left me only Depp to slobber over.

Said band was now being led by a cute little guy, called Arnel Pineda. Arnel is Philippino it turns out. What is more, he sounds amazingly like Steve Perry. So the music remained the same. But as I said, damn the music, it was the sexy Steve that was missing.

Thank God for computers and the internet is all I can say. When I got around to it, I went off in search of the facts. What had my dear sweet boy died of I wondered.

The answer was quick and simple. He wasn’t dead at all. The Contrarian shrugged, “well, I thought I heard something to that effect, someday, somewhere, sorry.” Yeah, sorry my butt! It seems Mr. Perry had a bad hip, and the band waited some time for his return, but he seemed uninterested so they went elsewhere. Not much of a story.

Mr. Pineda’s story is a bit more interesting. Turns out he is in his 40’s, married, father of a two or so, and had to sing his way into America. The customs official asked why he wanted to enter the US, and Pineda replied he has an audition with Journey. The official was a fan and asked for some singing to prove the claim. Obviously Arnel did well.

Anyway, such is the story. Steve is doing whatever Steve is doing. He has done some solo work, has cut his hair and doesn’t look nearly as cute as the above pic any more. He is either 50 or 60 depending on which fan site you go to. More likely the latter. So, I’d just as soon let him live in my memory as the darling with the long flowing hair anyway.  Age seems to do that to me. I don’t like seeing Paul McCartney much any more either. He looks freakin’ old! Me? I’m still a fresh young thing…….inside!