Hasta La Pasta

•March 20, 2017 • Comments Off on Hasta La Pasta

I guess that about says it all. Except “hasta la pasta,” which is how I often say “bye bye!”

I started this blog about six years ago (that’s about 60 years ago in cybertime). I’m thinking it’s time to retire.

We’ve laughed. We’ve cried (well, I have at times). We’ve formed bonds I never thought possible without meeting face-to-face. That’s because we shared from our hearts the things that were important to us.

This blog gave me a voice when I most needed it, when I had been silenced by a chronic illness and an oppressive marriage. It gave me a place to release my inner comic.

I’m in a different place now, metaphorically speaking, and I did move 3,000 miles west to the place I’d always dreamed of settling.

Hmmm. Where are all the vegan, gluten-free, sugar-free bakeries? And plaid is the the official uniform out here. I look dreadful in plaid! But I like the gloomy weather.

I’ve got so many new things in this new place to keep me busy, People!

Say hi to Almond and Hemp. I’m experimenting with vegan cows. That sounds dumb. I know cows are vegan. I’m trying to get them produce vegan milk.

Anyway, blogging was fun, but it’s time to move on. Don’t worry, you’ll find other bloggers to take my place. You probably already have.

I thought a lot about just disappearing without a word, but that’s not my style. I felt I owed you a goodbye. But I’m turning off comments because I don’t think I can handle your kindness AND keep my resolve to end this amazing adventure that we’ve been on together at this warm, wonderful place called Lorna’s Voice. Thank you for making me feel like my voice was worth listening to. Please remember that you (yes, I mean YOU) made a difference in my life!

My New Mouse Pad

•March 15, 2017 • 26 Comments

Buddhism is not for the faint of heart, weak of soul, or short of tongue. Meditating without drooling is grueling.

As a Buddhist, I sometimes often constantly perpetually-even-in-my-sleep have to make some challenging difficult impossible unspeakable (because I don’t talk in my sleep, although I have been told I moan sometimes) decisions.

Perhaps some examples will help you understand. Or maybe just writing better sentences will help.

When I see/hear something/someone that I feel/think is wrong/hurtful, I’m stumped/stuck between chiding/reminding myself about being nonjudgmental and wanting to intervene/correct the situation/cluster fudge pie maker. The only clear thing to do is stop using all those slashes while trying to explain Buddhist principles to you. Buddhism is both simple and complex enough, and slashes are kind of aggressive for such a pacifist practice.

Lorna. Tut, tut. You’re an editor. You know better than to slash your way through a sentence.  

So, anyway, back to my new mouse pad, Buddhism, and decisions. I bet you can’t wait to see how I tie all of those things together!

Let’s see if you can do better than I could.

About a month ago, I noticed something new in my car: mouse turds.

Yup. I had uninvited, nocturnal passengers in my Toyota Prius. And they were not the courteous, tidy passengers who:

*asked if they could eat in my car (or eat my car).

*alerted me that they had to use a restroom outside the car.

*minded if they (not me) invited their entire entourage to go for joy rides or just colonize my car.

A major precept of Buddhism is to “do no harm.” It’s not that we’re all physicians or anything, but we respect life in all forms, thus my conundrum.

I’m pretty sure they are neither physicians nor Buddhists, but they’re harmless. What point was I trying to make? 

A Google search on humane ways to shoo away mice yielded all sorts of interesting options:

*Make sure there is nothing in the area attracting the mice. Hmmm. Should I get a less attractive car filled with cats? Nah. I made sure the car was devoid of all Fozzie treats and Lorna treats. The next day, several reusable grocery bags were no longer usable.

*Mice hate the smell of peppermint. I soaked multiple cotton pads with peppermint essential oil and placed them both inside and around my car. Both the garage and my car smelled like candy canes. Industrial strength candy canes. This approach worked to keep me away from my car, but not the mice who apparently did not read the Google sites about how they are supposed to hate peppermint.

I love YouTube, don’t you? Surfing the Net is the best! What? Mice hate peppermint? Totally fake news.

*Sonic sound waves are supposed to drive the buggers bonkers. The thought of them in distress gave me pause, but I knew that they could easily solve their discomfort by getting the hell out of my car, garage, and life. Not so much. Fozzie was irritated. But maybe that was because I was irritated by spending the money on the Mouse Boom Box. I’m sure they were dancing and pooping on my dime.

Come on! How can you sit still when “All in a Mouse’s Night” by Genesis is playing on the fancy sonic boom box?

*Seal off all (yeah, right) possible entry points, knowing that mice can squeeze through a space the size of my dime (or smaller) they were dancing on. For that, I needed help. In my world, help is spelled P.H.I.L.I.P. He spent an afternoon spelunking in my car and did what he could.

But (and this is a gigantic but), he isn’t Buddhist. He’s a former Marine. He went all “this is war” on those mice. Before I knew it, he was at Home Depot buying all manner of traps (not the Have-a-Heart kind). He was out for some mouse patootie.

And I thought he spent all those extra hours “at work” actually doing work.

So far, the little buggers have alluded the jaws of death. But Philip also blocked the major passageway into my Prius: the cabin air vent on the passenger side. Another quick Google search, and he found out that the eco-friendly Prius is notorious for mice infestation. They use some combination of soy in their wire coverings and the air vent provides a virtual Red Carpet for the critters.

Thank you, thank you, thank you! Toyota Prius: Where OUR dreams come true!

So, Human Me, who doesn’t want the plague or dastardly diseases that I can’t pronounce and would probably be misspelled in my obituary, is hoping that Philip whipped/conquered the Mighty Mouse Brigade. Buddhist Me, however, hopes that the Mighty Mouse Brigade will pack up and find a nice piece of property by a stream and just relax.

In the meantime, my Prius is a freaking mouse pad.

And this, my Peeps, is how you tie everything up at the end!

Do you have any mouse tales you’d like to get off your chest?

 

 

Newsy McNewserson is Back

•February 8, 2017 • 44 Comments
Yes. Uh, huh. It's me, Newsy. I'm a little busy at the moment. Way behind my deadline. You know what that's like! Okay. So just give me the headline and I'll look into it. He did what? Again?

Yes. Uh, huh. It’s me, Newsy. I’m a little busy at the moment. Way behind my deadline. You know what that’s like. Okay. So just give me the headline and I’ll look into it. He did what? Again? Sheesh! I’ll have to start typing with all my fingers.

Have you had it with:

Fake News?

I knew all this talk about scarcity of organs and stuff was just a ploy to get me to sign away my body for who knows what after I die. I hope They wait until after I'm dead to start harvesting.

I knew all this panic about scarcity of organs and stuff was just a ploy to get me to sign away my body for who knows what after I die. I hope “They” wait until after I’m dead to start harvesting. By the way, that leg looks totally real to me, and the little marks around it make it look absolutely shimmy-ready. Amazing!

Real News?

Feb. 7 (UPI) -- A squirrel holding a piece of pizza and a crow engaged in a lengthy chase throughout a neighborhood in Canada. The squirrel can be seen enjoying its slice of pizza on a street in Nova Scotia, as the theiving crow swoops in to swipe the newfound snack out of its grasp. In hopes of defending its meal, the crafty squirrel attempted to hide behind the wheel of a nearby parked car to avoid the lurking crow's beak. Come on! Why can't we all just get along, People...and crows...and squirrels?

Feb. 7 (UPI) — A squirrel holding a piece of pizza and a crow engaged in a lengthy chase throughout a neighborhood in Canada. The squirrel can be seen enjoying its slice of pizza on a street in Nova Scotia, as the theiving crow hovers, waiting to snatch it away. Come on! Why can’t we all just get along, People…and crows…and squirrels?

Bad News?

The game lasts for four hours, and researchers from Cornell University tracked grocery purchases and found the average American will eat more than 6,000 calories by the end of the day. (You’d need to run a marathon to burn off all of those calories off — that’s 26.2 miles.)

The Super Bowl lasts an entire Sunday, right? Researchers from Cornell University tracked grocery purchases and found the average American will eat more than 6,000 calories by the end of the day. You’d need to run a marathon to burn off all of those calories off — that’s 26.2 miles. Did you run a marathon? And running the loop from the couch to the bathroom, the refrigerator, and back to the couch a bunch of times doesn’t really count.

Old News that won’t go away?

I remember the day: Oct. 16, 2016. She said she was retiring from public life. I'm pretty sure she didn't.

I remember the day: Oct. 16, 2016. She said she was retiring from public life. I’m pretty sure she didn’t.

Well, if you’re tired of all that falderal that passes as news, then you’ve landed your beleaguered cursor in the perfect spot.

I’ve been collecting some Portlandia news stories that will hopefully give your frowny/pouty/I-want-to-shouty wrinkles a break by turning them into What-the Shizzle-Sticks-are-those-People-in-Portlandia-Smokin-and-Can-I-Have-Some laugh wrinkles.

Call it whatever fancy-schmancy name you want. I know what "herb" works best for calming you down and helping you sleep.

Call it whatever fancy-schmancy name you want. A miracle herb sure is gaining popularity among aging adults around here. You should see the old-timers in the pot stores around here! Um. Er. I go in there to do my research for reporting purposes only. Once a month.

Ready?

Now I know why so many kids want to grow up to be astronauts. I'm sure Hawaii is just like Mars, minus the ukuleles, of course.

Now I know why so many kids want to grow up to be astronauts. I’m sure Hawaii is just like Mars, minus the ukuleles, of course.

 

I never when to Divinity School, but you'd think "Religious Preference" would be on the application form, right? Maybe there wasn't a "None" box to check.

I never went to Divinity School, but you’d think “Religious Preference” would be on the application form, right? Maybe there wasn’t a “None” box to check. And what’s that shadow, anyway? Could be my thumb or could be…(insert creepy music).

 

Let's make sure that your non-jocks, non-artsy, non-techie teens have a place to hang out after school. Don't worry. They will have supervision; it just may not be in human form.

Let’s make sure that your non-jock, non-artsy, non-techie children have a place to hang out after school. Don’t worry. They will have supervision; it just may not be in human form. They only provide Devil Dogs for snacks, so if your little darling has a gluten allergy, you may want to, I don’t know, introduce them to kiddie biker gang.

 

Empowering our children starts early around these parts. We don't test our wee ones; we let our children be the testers. Next week, they will be taste testers for Hostess.

Empowering our children starts early around these parts. We don’t test our wee ones; we let our children be the testers. Next week, they will be taste testers for Hostess.

 

I'm not sure if this article was meant to help us embrace the driverless car technology, hide keys from our grand or great grandparents, or just scare the beegeebers out of us.

I’m not sure if this article was meant to help us embrace the driverless car technology, hide keys from our grand or great grandparents, or just scare the beegeebers out of us.

 

That's why I live here.

That’s why I live here.

 

That's why I live here. No. Wait. They aren't talking about the good weed. Never mind.

That’s why I live here. No. Wait. They aren’t talking about the good weed. Never mind.

 

Show off.

Show off.

 

I find the conclusions of this study limited. The fact that

I find the conclusions of this study limited. The fact that animals and reptiles fart is completely riveting to me, and I’m an adult (or my advanced age would suggest as much).

 

I’ll keep on the look-out for more Portlandia-type news.

Newsy McNewserson signing off for now.

I've got to get the story on this nice group of herbalists who claim to know how to fix all the world's problems. Exciting stuff, huh?

I’ve got to get the story on this nice group of herbalists who claim to know how to fix all the world’s problems. Exciting stuff, huh?

 

Any off-the-beaten-path news you’d like to share?

Which Came First: Our 45th President or a Very Quaffed Moth?

•January 19, 2017 • 42 Comments

We may not know specific details about our new president’s policies (or finances), but much has been said about his hair.

He’s had his hair a long time, right? I mean, his hair has been styled the same way most of his life.

Hey, you have to work with what you've got...or not got, right?

You have to work with what you’ve got…or not got, right?

Make of that what you will.

But Dr. Vazrick Nazari, an evolutionary biologist and systematist (I think that’s a fictional job). Anyway, he noticed a new species of moth while poking around the basement attic archives of the Bohart Museum of Entomology at the University of California-Davis. Remember, pot is now legal in California, so these types of news stories are likely to surface more frequently.

It's a big day in the research center! We need to have our wits about us. HAHAHAHAHA!

It’s a big day in the research center! We need to have our wits about us. HAHAHAHAHA!

Yes. We’re dealing with something the likes of which no one has ever never seen before (sound familiar?).

The moth has “yellowish white scales” on the top of its head.

Because Dr. Nazari discovered it, he got to name it.

Introducing Neopalpa donaldtrumpi!

Introducing Neopalpa donaldtrumpi!

It’s gets better.

N. donaldtrumpi’s natural habitat is Southern California and…wait for it…Mexico! The poor bugger’s digs are fragile, though, (much like 24 carat gold is soft) and is threatened by people stomping by or “dune-buggy enthusiasts.”

According to the article in my local newspaper (which was from Sarah Larimer of the Washington Post), Trump’s transition team has not responded to Dr. Nazari’s emails about his discovery which was published in the journal ZooKeys, which kind of sounds like a children’s magazine, but it’s probably a fine, reputable publication.

Is it me, or do the have the same expression, too?

Is it me, or do they have the same expression, too?

Hey, don’t blame/thank me! I just report this stuff.

Hey! What about me? I could use some discovery action! How about Aves Melanium

What about me? I could use some discovery action! How about Aves Melanium?

Edumacated Guesses

•January 18, 2017 • 24 Comments

When last we met, I shared the cryptic, terse, stilted, cheerless, eleven-word email response from comedian Gary Gulman to my complimentary, heartfelt, clever, compassionate, disquisition (it’s a real word, People) on my concerns about his mental health.

“Thank you for caring. I’ll be OK. Happy Holidays. Gary”

What does this mean…except for he is grateful, he’ll be fine and he wants me to enjoy the holidays? You know as well as I do as things are never that straightforward.

You don't have to be Einstein to know that this dude is trying be something that he isn't.

You don’t have to be Einstein to know that this dude is trying be something that he isn’t.

So, let’s figure this out.

Just the Facts Ma’am

Fact #1: I’m not a stalker. This is important. I have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and simply don’t have the energy for that kind of crime. Let’s say I did have the energy. I’ve managed to live 59 years without a rap sheet (police record or rapidly spoken lyrics to awesome syncopation). Stalking is not on my “Bucket List.” Having a “Bucket List” is not on my “Bucket List.”

Um. I could use some help here. I got this stalker. She’s cute and soft, but she’s messing with my image.

Fact #2: Gary spoke openly and at painful lengths during his comedy show about his current struggles with depression (trouble getting out of bed, not having energy for personal grooming, self-medication via comfort food). In other words, he invited me (and the rest of the audience) into his pain. I may have been the only one who accepted his invitation seriously, though.

Fact #3: I’m a Highly Sensitive Person. I have ESR (Emotion Seeking Radar). Just think of Heat Seeking Missiles, only much kinder, less shiny, and less expensive to taxpayers; but just as accurate, fast and potentially damaging. Once deployed, there is no way to stop it (no matter what you’ve seen in Mission Impossible or Chick Flick movies).

Kind of melts your heart, huh? And other important stuff, too...

Kind of melts your heart, huh? And other important stuff, too…

Fact #4: Although exhaustive by no means, I scoured the Internet for any science showing that comedians suffer disproportionately from depression or bipolar disease. I didn’t find anything. Between ten and twenty percent of Americans are depressed (this varies by gender, age, geographic area, and other factors like elections—I made that last part up, but maybe not, we’ll see). When Robin Williams died, a flurry or articles were written about comedy, depression and suicide. The consensus seems to be that comedians “think and cope differently” than the rest of us. Wow! Give those researchers another government grant.

Now, this is a brilliant use of government research funds!

Now, this is a brilliant use of government research funds!

Are you tired of facts? Good. Me, too. Let’s move on to edumacated guesses about what Gary’s message might really mean.

Edumacated Guesses

As a PhD. sociologist, I never liked the definition of a hypothesis as an “educated guess.” It’s oxymoronic.

Or, you know, just plain...

Or, you know, just plain…

I don’t know the meaning of Gary’s message or if Gary even wrote the message. So, I’m just spit-balling here. But, let’s give it a go anyway.

Here are my guesses on the possible meanings of his response.

  1. He meant what he said. Nah. Too boring.
  2. He’s a Jewish comedian. I’m one-quarter Jewish. I know Jewish sarcasm. “Thank you for caring. I’ll be OK. Happy Holidays.” Oy! He should have sent me some aloe vera cream for the burn. If he had been in the room, I would’ve gotten the eyeball roll and the sigh.
  3. He has his manager handle all his “fan mail,” and his manager is not a creative writer.
  4. He forgot he was responding in email, not Twitter. Come on, Gary, with spaces and punctuation, you still had at least 120 more characters of love you could’ve sent me.
  5. He’s intrigued. He made his response purposefully cryptic so I would email him back. His plan? A whole new act based on this weird Portland fan with the email handle “dizzylorna.” It’ll be hilarious! Only I didn’t email him back.
  6. His girlfriend saw the email and stood behind him and watched as he typed the email SHE dictated to him to be sure to end this “thing” between us before it even got going. You know, I have this Scorpio Vibe that I have very little control over.
  7. He was trying out new material on a live audience. Being the consummate professional, he dressed (or dressed down) the part of a depressed person.

Okay. I’m all out of ideas, guesses (educated and otherwise).

Do you have any theories?

Do you care?

I’m only doing this because I’m guessing you’d like to focus on something other than the weather, aging, dieting, aging, writer’s block, aging, politics, aging, or taxes. Or aging.

That’s not completely true, which is to say, that’s false. I’m doing this because I said I would. But I still want to know your edumacated guesses!

1966: Kathleen Breck as the college girl whose severed head is kept alive for experimental purposes, and Dana Andrews as the sinister Nazi scientist Dr Norberg, in a scene from the film 'The Frozen Dead'. (Photo by Keystone Features/Getty Images)

Could you stop staring at me? I’m trying to clear my head from all this talk about aging. I have my whole life a head of me. No body will get in my way. (I know this if off topic, but I couldn’t resist.)

 

 

 
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