Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Even Obama gets a vacation...
...wow they are really making me work up here in Mass. So just like Obama...I am taking a few (more) days off. So focus on your Olympic watching...I hope to be back on-line next week...
Thursday, August 14, 2008
All work and no play...
makes Maeve a dull blogger! No use checking back...nothing good is happening here in Florida to blog about =(
Monday, August 11, 2008
Opening ceremonies
If you didn’t watch Friday night’s Olympic opening ceremonies – just go ahead and skip this post…
But if you DID watch the opening ceremonies…could you even believe that??? A few things crossed my mind while watching:
- Did you see all those drummers perfectly synchronized? I couldn’t help but think that the first guy who misses a beat gets sent to the gulag.
- How about the world’s largest LED screen being rolled out across the field??? I expect to see that thing at Lorri & Amy’s house for football season.
- No wonder our economy is in tatters…the Chinese have been spending all their money on large-scale production numbers instead of our auction rate securities.
- That Chinaman-in-a-box thing is soooooooooooooo Ocean’s 11
- Was it just me or did it look like the Chinese soldiers had waxed brows and glossed lips?
- If you’re one of those guys in the box whose entire job for the last year is popping up and down according to rolling waves…WHAT do you put on your resume now that the Olympics is over????…(professional jack-in-the-box?)
- Those floating dancers only LOOKED supported by wires. They were actually suspended in smog.
- Ummmmm, let’s see, the China opening ceremonies had 2008 drummers in perfect time, 2008 popping box boys, 2008 tai chi practitioners…and what did WE have? Whitney Houston? These people are soooooooo going to own us someday.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Travel karma
I have been scoring some bad travel karma lately. I’m in the Allentown, Penn airport on Wednesday (don’t ask) getting ready to set up on the work counters to do a little blogging work. Except there is a small pile of debris on the work area. Now usually, I would just mind my own business and leave it there… but noooooo, THIS trip I decide...I’ll set a good example, clean up the table, throw away the trash. Except…as it turns out…It.Wasn’t.Trash. The ONE time I try to clean ANYTHING up and I end up tossing out someone’s garbage-looking salad set-up. And no sooner had I returned from my trip to the trash can than skinny bitch shows up looking for her croutons and no fat dressing. How uncomfortable.
What else can you say besides “sorry”? Apparently, “can I buy you a new salad” is the preferred answer. But I was having none of it. It looked like it was going to be a real salad stand-off there in gate B2…but then luckily the gate agent called for us “A-listers”…sorry Salad Sally – I gotta go…enjoy lunch?
THEN, on the very same flight, the middle-seat-sitting lady beside me is snoozing HARD. Well, at least she WAS until my glass of sparkling water shimmied right off my seat back tray, fell to the floor and created a seltzer water fountain that the folks at the Bellagio would have been proud of. She just kept wiping her face and arms…never being QUITE awake, but never quite DRY either. After about 3 minutes of this I was SURE she was dreaming about some beach-front vacation with the ocean spray in her face. Wait til she wakes up to find the damage the bailey’s and coffee did when IT splashed to the floor (what?? I had drink coupons). Don’t ask me how THAT story ends…all I can say is “seat-change”.
I’m just hoping all this bad travel karma ends up being of the lost-luggage variety and NOT of the time-to-use-the-exit-rows variety!
What else can you say besides “sorry”? Apparently, “can I buy you a new salad” is the preferred answer. But I was having none of it. It looked like it was going to be a real salad stand-off there in gate B2…but then luckily the gate agent called for us “A-listers”…sorry Salad Sally – I gotta go…enjoy lunch?
THEN, on the very same flight, the middle-seat-sitting lady beside me is snoozing HARD. Well, at least she WAS until my glass of sparkling water shimmied right off my seat back tray, fell to the floor and created a seltzer water fountain that the folks at the Bellagio would have been proud of. She just kept wiping her face and arms…never being QUITE awake, but never quite DRY either. After about 3 minutes of this I was SURE she was dreaming about some beach-front vacation with the ocean spray in her face. Wait til she wakes up to find the damage the bailey’s and coffee did when IT splashed to the floor (what?? I had drink coupons). Don’t ask me how THAT story ends…all I can say is “seat-change”.
I’m just hoping all this bad travel karma ends up being of the lost-luggage variety and NOT of the time-to-use-the-exit-rows variety!
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Calling the help desk
I should have a birthday more often (doesn’t that sound like fun?)…because I get a boatload of electronic crap. For this year’s b-day, I not only got a Nike iPod that tells me I am running 7 minute miles (wrong, but lovely), I also got a brand new GPS after someone realized I don’t even know how to get from Rita’s house to the San Diego airport – despite making that trip 63 times over the last 14 months. [who pays attention to directions when the conversation is so engaging???].
And we’re not talking just any GPS, but the Blue Tooth/Emergency Responder/Direction Giver that comes pre-programmed with 911 in it. Now if only Nicola had been here in Massachusetts to program it. Because while the pre-programmed 911 feature is nifty, you would be AMAZED at how easy it is to accidentally dial 9-1-1 on that little jobbie. Three times. [=) smiley face?] “Hi Marge, it’s Maeve again…no…no emergency this time either – yeah, I hope I get the hang of this thing too.”
As soon as I DID get it working, however, I also realized my rental car had XM satellite radio and everything in the whole car started talking to me at once – “turn right here for 106 talk radio stations.” Without even realizing it, I had told the whole car to “wheesht up you sons of bitches or I will pull this car over.” [That’s an inside joke for anyone who has ever taken a vacation to Florida with my father.] At one point, I even found myself carrying on a conversation with the glove box after my blue tooth went off after storing the thing.
Look – if you could program this thing through an Excel pivot table, I’d not only have directions and my favorite radio station, but I’m pretty sure I would be guiding satellite traffic. As it was, however, I felt just like John McCain must feel with that new fangled E-lec-tron-ic mail.
And we’re not talking just any GPS, but the Blue Tooth/Emergency Responder/Direction Giver that comes pre-programmed with 911 in it. Now if only Nicola had been here in Massachusetts to program it. Because while the pre-programmed 911 feature is nifty, you would be AMAZED at how easy it is to accidentally dial 9-1-1 on that little jobbie. Three times. [=) smiley face?] “Hi Marge, it’s Maeve again…no…no emergency this time either – yeah, I hope I get the hang of this thing too.”
As soon as I DID get it working, however, I also realized my rental car had XM satellite radio and everything in the whole car started talking to me at once – “turn right here for 106 talk radio stations.” Without even realizing it, I had told the whole car to “wheesht up you sons of bitches or I will pull this car over.” [That’s an inside joke for anyone who has ever taken a vacation to Florida with my father.] At one point, I even found myself carrying on a conversation with the glove box after my blue tooth went off after storing the thing.
Look – if you could program this thing through an Excel pivot table, I’d not only have directions and my favorite radio station, but I’m pretty sure I would be guiding satellite traffic. As it was, however, I felt just like John McCain must feel with that new fangled E-lec-tron-ic mail.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
A picture is worth...
For those of you who’s office firewalls don’t block pictures from the internet, you can enjoy the priceless photo of John McCain being driven around by George Bush Sr in Bush’s golf cart. For those of you who can’t see the photo – just flash back to the movie Cocoon and you’ll get the visual.
Which I, of COURSE, cannot resist commenting on. So here are my observations of the Senior Open:
Which I, of COURSE, cannot resist commenting on. So here are my observations of the Senior Open:
- Papaw for President
- Check out that “OBX”-like “41” sticker in the window. If either one of them even knew what OBX was, this would be so cool [Outerbanks, Niall]
- This photo op next to the 84 year old Bush Sr. is supposed to make McCain look YOUNGER, right? ummmm, bad news…. [The secret service guys look younger – McCain looks like he has to be driven around by an 84 year old]
- I can’t help but think the secret service is there to protect the overmatched septuagenarians from vicious squirrels.
- Please tell me this is a scene from Caddyshack II and NOT a presidential preview.
- The Farhford goes AARP?
- The Can’t-Walk Express
- Let’s just buy McCain the golf cart and tell him he WAS president and see if he can remember the difference.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Back on track
Back on track
Well thank god THAT full week of work is over. Now I can get back to where the big money is – blogging. Nothing like a 9 hour trip from San Diego to Southboro Mass to get you back in the blogging groove.
As an "A-lister" passenger on yesterday’s cross country Southwest flight, I was able to grab the Exit Row aisle seat, otherwise known as Southwest First Class. Right behind me, this professional-looking, but quite foreign, athletic couple tried to join me in First Class only to be told that “Passengers must be able to give directions in clear, understandable English to sit in the exit row seats.” Seriously? How fluent must you be in order to scream “get the &$%#^ outta my way?” Nonetheless – Helga and Sven...to the back of the bus.
The very next person who tried to sit down was a seventy year old guy with wild curly hair, coke-bottle thick glasses and rumpled clothes (either a mad scientist or a homeless guy). All I could think was “the East German swimmers can’t sit in the exit row, but Mr. Magoo can?” And within 30 seconds of sitting down…he asks me …wait, wait… if I play basketball. It really isn’t a Southwest trip without that question, now is it? He did tell me he was a physiologist for college basketball programs helping “tall people who should be good at basketball, but aren’t.” Gotta give him points for character assessment.
We finally settled for an exit row populace consisting of two pixie-thin teenage girls (can you say “unaccompanied”), Mr. seventy-yr-old mad scientist, a 2nd white haired gentleman, one 300 lb lady (who did speak fluent English) and moi – the non-basketball playing tall girl with the drink coupons. To top it all off, no sooner had the waitress told us about the safety features of our Boeing 737 than one of our pixie-thin seat-mates asked for help With. Her. Seatbelt. A word to the wise…when mapping your emergency route…skip the exit door dependent on the chick who can’t fasten her seatbelt.
God help us if these exit rows become…well…exit rows. Especially since the only part of the exit I had mentally rehearsed was the part where I knock over Mr. Magoo on the way to the jet wing.
Well thank god THAT full week of work is over. Now I can get back to where the big money is – blogging. Nothing like a 9 hour trip from San Diego to Southboro Mass to get you back in the blogging groove.
As an "A-lister" passenger on yesterday’s cross country Southwest flight, I was able to grab the Exit Row aisle seat, otherwise known as Southwest First Class. Right behind me, this professional-looking, but quite foreign, athletic couple tried to join me in First Class only to be told that “Passengers must be able to give directions in clear, understandable English to sit in the exit row seats.” Seriously? How fluent must you be in order to scream “get the &$%#^ outta my way?” Nonetheless – Helga and Sven...to the back of the bus.
The very next person who tried to sit down was a seventy year old guy with wild curly hair, coke-bottle thick glasses and rumpled clothes (either a mad scientist or a homeless guy). All I could think was “the East German swimmers can’t sit in the exit row, but Mr. Magoo can?” And within 30 seconds of sitting down…he asks me …wait, wait… if I play basketball. It really isn’t a Southwest trip without that question, now is it? He did tell me he was a physiologist for college basketball programs helping “tall people who should be good at basketball, but aren’t.” Gotta give him points for character assessment.
We finally settled for an exit row populace consisting of two pixie-thin teenage girls (can you say “unaccompanied”), Mr. seventy-yr-old mad scientist, a 2nd white haired gentleman, one 300 lb lady (who did speak fluent English) and moi – the non-basketball playing tall girl with the drink coupons. To top it all off, no sooner had the waitress told us about the safety features of our Boeing 737 than one of our pixie-thin seat-mates asked for help With. Her. Seatbelt. A word to the wise…when mapping your emergency route…skip the exit door dependent on the chick who can’t fasten her seatbelt.
God help us if these exit rows become…well…exit rows. Especially since the only part of the exit I had mentally rehearsed was the part where I knock over Mr. Magoo on the way to the jet wing.
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