curious as a cat

You've likely heard the expression, "Curiosity killed the cat." Tigra subscribes to the version I grew up hearing my mom say: "Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back."

To be continued....

maybe I need an anti-gravitational device

My profile, links, and previous posts have slid to the bottom of the page. I don't think I did anything to make them hide down there. Do you think they're just getting old and succumbing to gravity, or do you think they might be feeling a bit low?

Seriously, has anyone got any idea as to how I can drag them back up?

feminist musings on nostalgic offerings

Although, as I've said, I really love things from an earlier era, I also can't help but think about certain cultural implications. I've already mentioned, for example, that What's My Line? frequently had female contestants with jobs that were traditionally held by men. I suppose you could say that this broke the stereotype, but I think the fact that these women were presented as out-of-the-ordinary (and therefore a challenge for the panelists to guess) meant that these stereotypes were reinforced.

I Love Lucy is a classic comedy and there are certain episodes that I can watch repeatedly for the simple pleasure of the comic artistry and timing. But. It still astounds me that such a skewed view of women was so accepted. Women are not only gossipy and too talkative, but they don't know how to manage money, they can't drive, and they lie about their weight and age. Although Lucy and Ethel occasionally get the better of their husbands, it is, much more often, the other way round. In I Love Lucy land, the men are men and the women are...girls. "Yes, sir," says Lucy in response to husband Ricky when he reprimands her for overspending her household allowance. Yes, allowance.

To be continued....

Hey, kids, don't try this at home

Just in case you were wondering: you can put your portable USB drive through both the wash and the dryer and it will continue to work.

Done on a closed course with a professional driver. Do not attempt.

hamburgers and milkshakes and...oh my!

I worked for two years in a fast food restaurant after high school. To this day, whenever I visit a fast food restaurant (which isn't frequently), I am thankful that I no longer have to work in such a place.

Actually, it's amazing that I ever go to fast food restaurants at all, given that I have such vivid memories of the cockroaches. You might be interested to know that we consistently received an "A," the top rating, from the health department. We cleaned and mopped regularly and perishable foods were kept refrigerated. The restaurant was free-standing; that is, it wasn't attached to any other buildings, so it wasn't as if the roaches were coming from another business. Still, you could open the drawer where the hamburger patties were kept and see the roaches inside the drawer run from the light. I shall never forget finding a cockroach in the milkshake machine and being told by the manager to scoop him out and continue selling shakes.

More than you ever wanted to know about cockroaches (although you've probably already reached that stage, haven't you?):

• Did you know that a female American cockroach and her offspring can produce over 800 cockroaches in a year? (http://www.ipm.ucdavis.edu/PMG/PESTNOTES/pn7467.html)
• A cockroach can live a week without its head. The roach only dies because without a mouth, it can't drink water and dies of thirst. (http://yucky.kids.discovery.com/noflash/roaches/pg000097.html)

So, how do you feel about your favorite fast food restaurant (or any restaurant) now?

What's My Line?

There's a program on late at night called What's My Line? I remember watching a later version of this game show when I was growing up, but this particular series is from the 1950s. It was filmed in black and white, and the sets almost appear to be made out of cardboard--a far cry from the colors, lights, and sophisticated graphics of shows today. There's something quite endearing about the amateur quality of the bare sets with names of long-forgotten advertisers in big letters over the host's desk and along the front of where the four guest panelists sit.

The object of the game is for the panelists to discover the contestant's job--his or her "line"--through a series of yes/no questions. The panelists take turns asking as many questions as they can until the contestant answers "no" to one of the questions. With each "no," the contestant wins $5.00 (one of many signs that this show was produced 50 years ago!). The game ends either when one of the panelists correctly guesses the contestant's job or when there are ten "no" answers. (Incidentally, it's a fun game to play with ESL/EFL students and is good practice for speaking/listening, yes/no question forms, and critical thinking.)

The show is so clearly of another era--the women wear cocktail dresses and clip-on earrings that glitter; the men wear bow-ties (definitely not of the clip-on variety). The jobs are often bizarre: a hog buyer, a woman who dives into a tank of water on horseback, a bee hive inspector. Female contestants' jobs frequently are ones not associated with women at that time: an army doctor whose patients are all men, a judo instructor, a navy barber, a gas station attendant.

green tea, a magician, and a rock star

I used to get a major kick out of buying ice cream when I lived in Japan. Wow, you say, that's some obsession with ice cream. Or perhaps you wonder if there was a special ingredient in Japanese ice cream. The Japanese do have some interesting ice cream flavors--but that's not the reason I so enjoyed buying it. In fact, I never got round to trying even the more mundane ice cream flavors, such as green tea. I pretty much stuck to vanilla and Neapolitan.

No, the reason that buying ice cream in Japan fascinated me was that the shop clerks packaged it in dry ice. It's a great idea, especially in the heat of summer when you're walking or cycling home from the supermarket. Apart from the practicalities, however, I couldn't wait to get home, put the ice in my sink, run the water, and watch the smoke rise. I was a magician working wonders under cover of a cold cloud; I was a famous rock star making a spectacular entrance on stage; I was--an English teacher thrilled to be playing with dry ice in my kitchen sink.

a girl with no curl but identical in every other way

There once was a girl who had a little curl
right in the middle of her forehead
And when she was good
she was very, very good
And when she was bad
she was horrid.

(from an old nursery rhyme)

Not five minutes ago, Tigra was skipping across my computer keyboard, nosing into and knocking things off my desk, stretching up to paw askew a framed picture on my wall. I had to reprimand her and tap her on her bottom and, Tigra-like, she meowed back at me. At this moment, however, she's sitting, quietly and adorably, atop my computer, paws hanging just over the computer screen.

caught in the past

If you were granted a wish to be able to visit either the past or the future, which would you choose?

As long as I can remember, I've loved almost everything vintage. For me, this means anything before the first half of the 20th century, but especially the 1920s, '30s, and '40s. I love the cars and the clothing styles of the roaring twenties, the music, films, and architecture of the thirties, the music and films of the forties--well, really, I love it all.

I've thought upon occasion that I should have been born in my grandmother's or great-grandmother's time instead of my own. But I suspect that I still would have been fascinated by an earlier time. I think there's just something magical about the past. Some years ago I visited the Queen Mary in Long Beach harbor. At that time I think there was just a self-guided tour--I don't think you could stay in any of the rooms yet. The restored state rooms were behind glass and I remember standing in front of one and imagining myself back in that time. It was the strangest feeling, like being caught between time periods.

cat people

"He's always been a cat person. He's just never had a cat."

~Rory, on an episode of Gilmore Girls
(although, unfortunately, she said it about a guy who's a bit of a loser. Hmmm...)

National Teacher's Day

Tuesday, May 3rd, is National Teacher's Day. Happy Teacher's Day to everyone in 565!

It's raining cats...

Cats don't ever seem to look happy. Unlike dogs, they don't have a facial expression that appears happy. I've seen cats look contented and peaceful, annoyed or angry, bored, interested, and even ecstatic--but happy? No, I don't think so.

I've said that I'm holding out for a man who can purr. I wouldn't, however, want a man--or, really, anyone important in my life--who has the personality of a cat. Who would want to live with someone that moody, work that hard to make someone happy--only to have them yawn in your face or stalk away with their tail in the air?

That being said, I think cats are worth every bit of the trouble. A creature that beautiful deserves a certain reverence that we generally accord only to royalty. They say that cats are haughty--and well they should be. The perfection of their faces, the grace of their walk, the incredible acrobatic leaps into the air, the exquisite softness of their fur, the totally inimitable sound of their purr--how can one resist giving a cat the veneration that, really, they deserve?

And when I come in the door and am greeted by that purr, or when she flexes her paws (a sign of contentment left over from kittenhood) just because I come near her while she's lazing in her bed--well, then, I don't care one whit about a cat never looking happy.

...and dogs

I was a little afraid of dogs when I was growing up because I had been bitten by one when I was very little. Only a little afraid because I remember that my grandfather had two springer spaniels that were very sweet--I certainly wasn't afraid of them or of the very adorable puppies the older dog gave birth to. And I once had a boyfriend who owned a yellow lab named Cuervo. The dog was nice enough but nothing special--kind of like the boyfriend, now that I come to think of it.

Some years later I was asked if I wanted to house-sit while I was living in Vermont. It was a great opportunity--free rent for two months, a gorgeous old Victorian house in the middle of the countryside during winter (I never knew how beautiful winter could be until I lived in Vermont), and the chance to get to know my fellow housemate, a very nice guy who was from Pakistan. Just one thing: the house came with two dogs--and I mean huge dogs. I can't remember what breed they were, but I clearly remember when they came out to greet me and immediately jumped up on me. They were as tall as I was. (All right, for those who know me, stop with the Chihuahua jokes.) Fortunately, the owners of the house never asked me if I liked dogs, and I didn't volunteer any information one way or the other. I ended up house-sitting for the two months and falling in love with the Vermont winter, the two dogs, and--no, not the Pakistani housemate. That's not how this story ends.

These days I'm also in love with Muffy, a Shih-Tzu that belongs to my dad and step-mom. Muffy is the sweetest dog I've ever known. She's both playful and gentle, and soooo affectionate; I can't imagine anyone who could resist her. She could be one of the smartest dogs I've ever known, too. Not only does she sometimes watch TV, but she barks at all animals on the screen (but never animals in real life)--including cartoon animals. I once saw her bark at a kind of symbolic representation of a dog. She recognizes the music of certain commercials that have animals and comes running when she hears the first couple of notes played. And she whines when there's any kind of shouting or violence on TV.

Anyway, I no longer seem to be even a little afraid of dogs. (I'll let you know if I change my mind, should a dog suddenly charge, growling and dripping saliva from its razor-sharp teeth.) I've even given some thought to one day getting my own dog....