So as I sit here on my conference call, eating my body weight in pistachios – it occurs to me that I have no quantity control in my life.
Whatever – I’m afraid to look directly at that subject. Mainly because there are still some pistachio’s left in the bag. I have always been better at “Aftermath Regret” then “mid-strike re-strategizing.”
The other night - finding myself at the bottom of my second glass of wine – I decided to get chatty with my boyfriend. I decided it would be great fun if I brought up a number of topics for which “I” - as a brain carrying human – was at a COMPLETE loss for understanding. He was THRILLED and DELIGHTED to help me work through these topics. <cough>
Let me now share some with YOU (so that YOU will be made to feel special and loved by my ignorance.)
What the hell are they DOING back there? Why does the air smell faintly of plastic? Is stuff melting? Are those my lost buttons you are melting down? I don’t feel good about that. I see no irons back there. WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON WITH THE CRAZY DUFFLE BAG SYSTEM???? How do you know where you have just thrown that? (you missed by the way) What is the tagging system that you have? How have you just thrown all my stuff into 3 different bags and chucked them at three different bins, in three different areas - how are they going to come back together (clean) and reunited on the giant roller coaster of done-ness?
I have no understanding.
I will not stop asking my employer to investigate this shady industry. Hello - Paula Zahn, back to work please. Thank you. nowish.
A little personal backstory on this one. Age 12, I am in Patmos Greece. My mother has us walking up the side of yet another column strewn dirt hill with badly marked trails. I am burning like a detached white rose petal in a campfire. There is no shade. No shade… except for that sad spindly ass olive tree. A tree that I basically have to stand “IN” in order to get any relief. It was a bush with a pair of sensible heels on. So I am standing in the olive tree, and I see a small cluster of fruit. My German tour guide is halfway up the hill with the hat wearing my mom not far behind him. And I decide – what the hell? I pull an olive off and pop it into my mouth.
Holy mother of natural practical jokes.
I might as well have popped acid flavored comet into my mouth. Distress followed.
So this brings me to my fascination with olive. And how they are made edible. But I am unable to explain WHY they are made edible. Because CLEARLY this fruit has been placed on the earth as a giant “f-u” to humanity and all it’s taste buds. It is nuclearly bitter and rapes your mouth of all saliva. Why have we chosen this as a food? In order to get it to the point where it is ignored on your salad plate as a vegetable related rock – it has to be put through NO LESS than 9 different (lengthy) curing processes. Interestingly (to me) if you were to drink the solution of any one of these by themselves – you would most certainly be admitted to the hospital.
Bleach, acid, ashes, lime solution (not the kind hanging off your Gin & Tonic) and grain alcohol … all so that this may be consumed as a food. How did this happen?
One has to ask that if they had all of those other ingredients – WHY did they keep working with the damn olive? When do you throw in the towel and just say “Screw it! I’m going to use these as ammunition!”… why didn’t that happen?
Any ways... I am making room for the olive in the special box I keep for walnuts. Not a food! It is just wood. I shit you not!
Lastly – and I am only saying that - not because these were the only things spoken about – but because if you have ever met me – you would know that I can talk AT LENGTH about things (Especially if they appear interesting to me)... and I doubt all of my musings would hold others attention spans. (the problem is with you. not me. Let’s be clear about that.)
Lastly – I touched on a subject that never ceases to make me giggle it is so inane.
Re-Entry from Space:
Yep. I am already getting giggly. So let’s say someone (say a tasteless, sunburned, villager from Patmos) was to sit me down and ask me to explain space travel. NASA. That shit. And say he had no TV and there was no language barrier (ie: the world was perfect). So I sit down with a refreshing glass of Ouzo (what is with those people?) and I explain the following to him. Straight faced.
- We ask citizens to obey all laws.
- We ask them to never get a bad grade at school.
- To excel in leadership areas.
- Strength training.
- Never get into trouble as teenagers (with the law)
- To complete all studies and show a certificate.
- To then select another HARDER subject and show all the same attention to detail as that of above.
- Get ANOTHER certificate of proof.
- To then select an EVEN HARDER subject proving that they are UNLIKE other citizens.
- Get ANOTHER gd certificate of proof along with some lost capital letters to keep at the end of their
name on business cards or to recite when they are feeling superior.
- Then we put them in one really bad outfit for the rest of their able bodied life.
- Strength training again.
- Spin them around in a G Force simulator til they throw up numerous times.
- Attempt to drown them in esthetically displeasing indoor swimming pools.
- Stick them with hundreds of needles
(I dunno – that was a major take away from the movie “The Right Stuff”)
- Glare at them disapprovingly for over a decade.
- Submit them to seriously claustrophobic environments.
- Screw with their emotions telling them “They might not be good enough”
And then shoot them into space in a tin can.
See… this is why I never really bought into the whole “You are only as good as your last report card” theory. With certain death as my glory round,.. meh. I’m okay with a solid C+ and a few more hours running around in the woods scaring squirrels.
But if that’s not enough… let’s ice 'the astronaut cake' with the fact that “MMMMM..yeah we’re really still fine tuning that whole re-entry theory.”
Oh they can get you to the dance. Propulsion being what it is – we can shoot your butt wayyy the hell out there. But getting back? Well that’s a bit harder.
I’d like to note that while looking for facts on Wikipedia just now I laughed out loud at the number of “Artistic Renditions” populating the Atmospheric Entry page. Could it be because it is still considered rather Science Fiction-ish?
And yet it’s been done.
Yes – there I said it. I know you have been thinking it all along. But seriously? I’d have a sizable skin rash from sticking my arm in a working microwave for 30 seconds (note: I have no plans to prove this) – why is it that the first guys to do this successfully (fall back to earth) land in the water and seemingly POP out of the microwave heated soda can spaceship leftovers thing. If you were to put their experience side by side with an automobile accident. And remember that during this first go – airbags were not yet in use. But would have been HYSTERICAL to have been on the engineering board for the design of it–
“So if a soft object is falling at a rate of a bazillion miles per hour at the face of the earth though magnetic and atomically heated layers of the atmosphere - how should we design the cockpit so that it is not heavy during the early flight? But have it be padded enough to not break the eggs when it hits on its return? Oh – and since oceans cover 71% of the planet – we should write something in about it being buoyant - so the broken hero’s don’t drown.”
"Make the doors big so we can get a good shot of them when they come out."
Bryant valiantly tried to interject reason into my conversational tirade. Some bullshit about him being an aerospace engineer, blah, blah, yeah – you are not going to be able to explain this to me. And honestly he was laughing at the suspension of disbelief on parts of it.
See what wine does to a person. It makes them question the government. God bless those beautiful grapes. So unlike olives. Where the hell is my dry cleaning????