I was one of the first kids on my block to have a transistor radio. I spent most of my youth with some sort of earphone (way before the advent of ear-PODS) rocking and rolling to the likes of Freddie "Boom-Boom" Cannon and the 4 Seasons. I also listened to what we would call easy listening. I can still sing all the lyrics of old Dean Martin and Jerry Vale songs -- can you believe it? Englebert Humperdink was old hat when came along as I already knew all of his lyrics!
Although a card-carrying member of the Beatles and British Invasion fan clubs, I also appreciated do-wop and blues. When Bonnie Raitt came along, I also already knew most of her blues numbers.
Now, don't ask me what I ate yesterday but if you want to know the full lyrics to Shelly Fabray's Johnnie Angel - - just let me know. Gee, I wonder if I can download that into my MP3 player?
Monday, January 12, 2009
SOMETHING PEOPLE DON'T KNOW ABOUT ME. . .
. . .is that I am actually a frustrated torch singer (is that another oven joke?)
IF YOU CAN'T STAND THE HEAT. . .
I've been suffering from a terrible injury lately, one that most people do not take seriously.
When you break a limb, people want to sign your cast. If you have the flu, people make you chicken soup. You get a lot of respect for bearing your illness or injury with cheerful stoicism.
But I have. . . (wait for it) . . .a baking injury. That's right! Whilst in the midst of making holiday fare for friends and family, yours truly managed to sizzle her finger (not the one you can hold up and show anyone without fear of reprisal) on a hot oven rack. Grrrrr. It hurts, I bump it on everything and its ugly. But when I show people my injury, they say a resounding, "Oh."
Home bakers of the world unite! Let's demand more respect for being injured in the line of domestic duty! Ha-rumph! :-)
When you break a limb, people want to sign your cast. If you have the flu, people make you chicken soup. You get a lot of respect for bearing your illness or injury with cheerful stoicism.
But I have. . . (wait for it) . . .a baking injury. That's right! Whilst in the midst of making holiday fare for friends and family, yours truly managed to sizzle her finger (not the one you can hold up and show anyone without fear of reprisal) on a hot oven rack. Grrrrr. It hurts, I bump it on everything and its ugly. But when I show people my injury, they say a resounding, "Oh."
Home bakers of the world unite! Let's demand more respect for being injured in the line of domestic duty! Ha-rumph! :-)
Sunday, January 11, 2009
MR. HOW-DOES-IT-WORK? OR HAPPY NEW YEAR?
During the after Christmas sales, my spouse was noodling through a major department store when he came upon a new gadget. Perhaps I should explain that I call him affectionately “Mr. How-Does-It-Work?” He is never a happier than when he has found something that he can take apart, examine and put back together with a great deal of satisfaction knowing how the thing does what it does! So, when he came across a chocolate fountain, he was ecstatic!
Now, dear reader, you must first understand that this is a man who feels that chocolate is the base(no matter how many times it is reconfigured) of the food pyramid. It comes as no surprise, that not only did this gadget meet his requirement of taking apart, but it also would provide him with his favorite food. Being a maple girl myself, I was pleased that he found a project, but not overly enthused.
Of course, he had to show off his new gadget. So when we were invited to a friend's New Year’s Eve party, the fountain went with us. You probably have seen the various male chefs on the food Channel nursing their gourmet recipes along. Well, my husband resembled one of those guys as he proceeded to set up his fountain. What I didn't know, and what the unsuspecting guests were about to find out, was that he'd taken it apart first. Now normally, this is a man with very highly developed mechanical skills. So when he dropped a little washer that fit where the chocolate burbled up, and could not seem to find it, he did what any self respecting gadgeteer would do. He improvised! Yes, dear reader, deep in the bowels of the chocolate fountain was a little tiny piece of rubber band taken from that drawer that we all have in the kitchen that contains everything from scissors and sticky tape to a little bit of bread crumbs that have fallen in from the countertop.
So, while I was melting multitudinous chocolate bars in our neighbor’s, microwave, he was preparing to dazzle all and sundry, with his new toy. I brought the chocolate from the microwave to the fountain in a glass bowl -- which in retrospect, may have been my first mistake. I was directed by the fountain chef to tip the chocolate into the tray that served as a pool from a center cascade. All was well as the chocolate soda began its cataract from the top of the plastic tube that held the three graduated saucers that allowed goo to fall down to the next saucer. It was a beautiful sight to see. All the guests gathered around the table that held the fountain. We had provided various dipping options; bananas, pretzels, mandarin oranges, pineapple bits, strawberries, and the like. All was well until one young lady unfortunately, dropped her orange section into the tube that sent the chocolate aloft. It took a moment for the unhappy orange to hit the rubber band that was holding things together down there, but hit it, it did! Poor young girl, standing there in winter white as lovely as a snowflake, was soon covered when the fountain belched and shot chocolate toward the ceiling. To say there was panic in the hall is an understatement. Guests were running into each other to get away from the table, and before you knew it just about everybody had a least some bit of chocolate on their clothing.
My husband, notwithstanding, the ensuing chaos, stepped calmly into the breach. He turned the off switch and waited -- but nothing happened. Soon, he too was covered. Upon his closer inspection, it seemed that the switches were neither “on” or “off,” but rather warm and flow. At this point in the muddle, having stood well away from the fray, all I could think to do, was to hand him a kitchen towel and tell him to throw it over top of Old Faithful. That would've been fine, except that the one I handed him was wet. The force of the pumping chocolate was enough to blow it to into the air and soon there was chocolate on the ceiling, with a wet towel looping lazily around on the blade of the ceiling fan. The remaining beautifully decorated blades were obliterated by the 12 bars of chocolate that we had melted and put into the fountain.
About this time, the ball was dropping at Times Square on the television and poor old Dick Clark was finally at the end of his Dorian Gray career.. As the guests pushed into the other room to see the New Year in, my husband managed to find the plug that ran the fountain and put an end to the melee. As we gathered around the television set, coins in our hands to usher in financial security in the coming days, glasses of champagne held high and salute to 2009, I looked around and saw my family and friends in close community. Yes, some had chocolate on their cheeks, and some were wearing their chocolate, and still others were sharing chocolate kisses. I looked around for the man of my dreams so that we could have our customary New Year's smooch and found him in the kitchen with the fountain on its side, a screwdriver in his hand. “Happy New Year Honey,” he said as he prized off the bottom of the fountain. After sugary kiss, he went back to his task and smiled. “Look honey! The rubber band is still intact! I wonder what happened." With that, as the revelers in the other room were tooting their horns, and shouting Happy New Year, he returned to his task and proceeded to take his gadget apart -- -- again.
Now, dear reader, you must first understand that this is a man who feels that chocolate is the base(no matter how many times it is reconfigured) of the food pyramid. It comes as no surprise, that not only did this gadget meet his requirement of taking apart, but it also would provide him with his favorite food. Being a maple girl myself, I was pleased that he found a project, but not overly enthused.
Of course, he had to show off his new gadget. So when we were invited to a friend's New Year’s Eve party, the fountain went with us. You probably have seen the various male chefs on the food Channel nursing their gourmet recipes along. Well, my husband resembled one of those guys as he proceeded to set up his fountain. What I didn't know, and what the unsuspecting guests were about to find out, was that he'd taken it apart first. Now normally, this is a man with very highly developed mechanical skills. So when he dropped a little washer that fit where the chocolate burbled up, and could not seem to find it, he did what any self respecting gadgeteer would do. He improvised! Yes, dear reader, deep in the bowels of the chocolate fountain was a little tiny piece of rubber band taken from that drawer that we all have in the kitchen that contains everything from scissors and sticky tape to a little bit of bread crumbs that have fallen in from the countertop.
So, while I was melting multitudinous chocolate bars in our neighbor’s, microwave, he was preparing to dazzle all and sundry, with his new toy. I brought the chocolate from the microwave to the fountain in a glass bowl -- which in retrospect, may have been my first mistake. I was directed by the fountain chef to tip the chocolate into the tray that served as a pool from a center cascade. All was well as the chocolate soda began its cataract from the top of the plastic tube that held the three graduated saucers that allowed goo to fall down to the next saucer. It was a beautiful sight to see. All the guests gathered around the table that held the fountain. We had provided various dipping options; bananas, pretzels, mandarin oranges, pineapple bits, strawberries, and the like. All was well until one young lady unfortunately, dropped her orange section into the tube that sent the chocolate aloft. It took a moment for the unhappy orange to hit the rubber band that was holding things together down there, but hit it, it did! Poor young girl, standing there in winter white as lovely as a snowflake, was soon covered when the fountain belched and shot chocolate toward the ceiling. To say there was panic in the hall is an understatement. Guests were running into each other to get away from the table, and before you knew it just about everybody had a least some bit of chocolate on their clothing.
My husband, notwithstanding, the ensuing chaos, stepped calmly into the breach. He turned the off switch and waited -- but nothing happened. Soon, he too was covered. Upon his closer inspection, it seemed that the switches were neither “on” or “off,” but rather warm and flow. At this point in the muddle, having stood well away from the fray, all I could think to do, was to hand him a kitchen towel and tell him to throw it over top of Old Faithful. That would've been fine, except that the one I handed him was wet. The force of the pumping chocolate was enough to blow it to into the air and soon there was chocolate on the ceiling, with a wet towel looping lazily around on the blade of the ceiling fan. The remaining beautifully decorated blades were obliterated by the 12 bars of chocolate that we had melted and put into the fountain.
About this time, the ball was dropping at Times Square on the television and poor old Dick Clark was finally at the end of his Dorian Gray career.. As the guests pushed into the other room to see the New Year in, my husband managed to find the plug that ran the fountain and put an end to the melee. As we gathered around the television set, coins in our hands to usher in financial security in the coming days, glasses of champagne held high and salute to 2009, I looked around and saw my family and friends in close community. Yes, some had chocolate on their cheeks, and some were wearing their chocolate, and still others were sharing chocolate kisses. I looked around for the man of my dreams so that we could have our customary New Year's smooch and found him in the kitchen with the fountain on its side, a screwdriver in his hand. “Happy New Year Honey,” he said as he prized off the bottom of the fountain. After sugary kiss, he went back to his task and smiled. “Look honey! The rubber band is still intact! I wonder what happened." With that, as the revelers in the other room were tooting their horns, and shouting Happy New Year, he returned to his task and proceeded to take his gadget apart -- -- again.
WHAT IS WOMEN'S BOOMER HUMOR ANYWAY?
The simple answer is, "It's whatever you want it to be." My hope is that the funny things that happen to me will be things you can relate to if you are 40 or 90+. I think women can laugh pretty easily at themselves and I plan to share my humor, my recipes, my outlook on life etc in hopes of finding other folks out there with similar experiences.
There will be no "Joke of the Day" or pornographic humor, just me "thinking out loud," no doubt laughing as I write it. So come along with me and giggle at the humanity of being 50-something, Mid-Western, newly married and smiling my way though life -- even in this economy!
More soon!
There will be no "Joke of the Day" or pornographic humor, just me "thinking out loud," no doubt laughing as I write it. So come along with me and giggle at the humanity of being 50-something, Mid-Western, newly married and smiling my way though life -- even in this economy!
More soon!
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