“‘Tis a braver soul than I that will bring back ole Fossbender’s ransom.” That and the instant catchphrase, “Methinks the kitty holds the key,” are a couple lines I’ve just penned apropos of nothing, except that we may be surprising the kids soon with 1-2 kittens, one of whom I’m dead set on naming Flatlein Fossbender. “Fossy” for short, until he grows into the name. Yes, a coworker’s sister or friend has nine baby kittens to give away soon — not quite in time for Isaac’s birthday — so maybe for a mid-summer treat, maybe one for each kid so they don’t end up pulling one apart by the ends in a fight over whose turn it is to hold it. Also so the little varmints can keep each other company while we’re all off working or at school. Karen and I are in agreement about the living wills that we will force the kittens to sign soon after their arrival here, i.e. no hip replacements, lung transplants, whisker treatments, or anything that would deplete the children’s college funds (ahem, what now?) to save/prolong the life of a cat that’s lived a long, happy life. Does that sound horrible? Will we change our tune as soon as these creatures become more than possibilities and members of our family? Maybe. But Karen laughed when I said that’s why they invented shotguns, so I think we’re on the same page. Not that I could ever fire a shotgun without my arm coming out of its socket…
Anyway, enough about euthenasia for animals, GEEZ!! I have all this material for this entry and somehow I got talking about feline end of life decisions before the first move to the scroll bar. Can we start this post over? That would require some effort on my part. Ok, let’s get to the funny stuff… (checking blackberry “Blog” notepad entries)… ah, yes, so did you hear about that botched Facebook IPO? I was discussing this earlier today with a coworker (not the one with the kittens… what’s that? I sound popular at work? I know) how people are talking about the Facebook IPO but no one really seems to know much more than that it was “botched.” In fact, our knowledge of the event really begins and ends with the word “botched.” I think this story “has legs” as they say because “botched” is a fun word to say, and then we’re a little bit proud of ourselves for knowing what the letters I, P and O stand for. Oh and maybe there’s a little bit of the apocalyptic excitement that we all crave these days in hearing that Wall Street investors are back to their old tricks, doing whatever they want at the expense of the rest of us. We Americans are strange birds: we don’t trust government to regulate the super-rich, we’ll even pay to bail them out just as long as there’s a sliver of a chance we can be like them someday.
Not funny? This is why I’m not a comedian. “His joke had a chance at the start but then he made me feel like grabbing a pitchfork and setting a lawn on fire.” Ok, wait, this one might stay funny: How ’bout these new IPhone Siri commercials? First there’s Zooey Deschanel, who I’m biased to like because there’s a banjo and a piano in her room, who comes off as completely self-absorbed in an unapologetic way asking her phone to remind her to clean up the room tomorrow and order some tomato soup to be delivered… I mean, stop right there. You’re getting tomato soup from a restaurant? Delivered?? This stuff comes in cans and can be heated up in minutes. Stop pulling a George Herbert Walker Bush, Zooey, and go to a supermarket once in a while! (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F0fIhnboptk). I picture Zooey being equally fascinated with the supermarket scanners.
And then there’s the John Malkovich version where he is talking to Siri while lounging in an empty apartment, asking “her” to tell him a joke, engaging in some sort of banter with his phone… and all I can think is: Way to go, Apple. Owners of your phone look like the loneliest and most easily amused people ever. Your coolness factor just instantly transformed into a very unfavorable “wouldn’t be caught dead doing that” quotient. Stay tuned for their next product, the iLame. Not that I’m turning heads with my Blackberry Bold (an ironic upgrade from my Curve), but trust me, Siri is turning the heads of an angry mob, if I could try to end this joke like the last one, with people ready to burn something. Hello? These are the jokes, people!
Which brings me to my big finale — a computer programming joke. *Crickets* No, so I took a SQL programming course last week from the comfort of my own basement — pretty cool setup where you dial-in to participate in the course and can actually control a computer there to work through all of the exercises using the program that you most likely don’t have on your home computer. Learned a ton — and mostly what I learned is that I learned VERY little of practical use in four years of college and that I should have majored in computer science. What the hell?? I remember some sort of academic advisor smiling and nodding in an encouraging manner my sophmore year when I was telling him how I thought I wanted to switch from engineering to creative writing. Sure! Follow your dream! The world needs another writer! Not in any way that it would support you and a family… but who can measure the value of contributions to the arts?? What was I talking about? Oh, so yesterday and today I’ve tackled some database querying work using my new SQL skills and it has been nothing short of epic. I started telling anyone who would listen at work about my first nested subquery, putting it right after the days Sydney and Isaac were born. Then, feeling on top of the world, I figured I’d bowl the audience over with a joke in SQL:SELECT Name FROM EndUsers WHERE Clue > 0 ————– 0 Rows Returned
And that’s my time for tonight, folks! Leave them laughing, I always say. Hope you’re all doing well and getting into spring and summer mode. I’ll update you all next time on the garden, the new band tentatively named the Drama Queens (what?) that’s slowly taking shape, and maybe on the newest members of the Friedman household, Fossy and Zooey. No, my votes for names might be completely ignored by the selection committee (Syd and Isaac).