Mysterious Earworm or Creeping Dementia?

Earworm: noun. A tune or part of a song that repeats in one’s mind.

As someone who has a relatively low tolerance for silence, earworms are a fact of life. I’ll stumble across some tune or another, on the car radio, in an elevator, or on a television commercial, and it will bore into my consciousness and hang on long enough to be become annoying. Eventually it fades away or, more likely, it is replaced by another earworm, but not before becoming more than a little tiresome.

I’ve never observed much of a pattern to earworms. Some have lyrics and others not. Some are melodies I like, though usually I like them a little less by the time I shake them. Some are absolute groaners better forgotten but which won’t seem to stay away. What they usually have in common, however, is I can recognize some event that triggered their rise from the bowels of my subconscious to an annoying place of honor at top of mind. This is not the case with my current affliction. For the last week I find myself idling humming, or worse, actually singing, the theme song from the Little Audrey cartoons. I have no idea what brought it to mind but it seems to have staying power.

I vaguely recall there was a cartoon series featuring “Little Audrey”. I don’t recall any specific cartoons. Truth be told, I’d have only a 50/50 chance picking out the correct face in a photo array that included Little Lulu, but I know there were cartoons. They stopped making “Little Audrey” cartoons shortly after I was born but I’m sure they were frequently found on television in those thrilling days of yesteryear. Song lyrics always stick in my memory so I’m not surprised I recall the lyrics, even after decades. But I am fascinated by the quest to learn what prompted them to come to mind after all these years. I’m sure I’ll never know.

 

Wikipedia advises that Little Audrey was a lesser-known knockoff of Little Lulu. That may be true. but I don’t know the lyrics to Lulu’s theme song. And I don’t want to learn them now.

 

Unexpected

The 2015 – 2016 Symphony season began last weekend with a program that included Beethoven’s Symphony #9 as well as a relatively new piece by a contemporary American composer named Adam Schoenberg (not that Schoenberg!). Both pieces were well performed and well received. Both Friday and Saturday night’s performances were sold out, a little unusual for a Classics series concert.

Once again this year, I am ushering. Because of that, we are trying something new this year. In the past we have purchased two subscriptions to the Classic series and I would generally limit my ushering efforts to the Pops concerts. Occasionally I would usher a Classics concert but, when I did, I would be seeing the same concert a second time. With a nod to the budget, this year we purchased only one subscription, for Harper’s Other Dad, and I signed up to usher the same performances. We don’t get to sit together during the concert but it saved us more than $1000 so it was well worth it.

The theme for this season is “Symphony Unexpected”. I’m not entirely sure what that means, perhaps the combination standards with 21st-century pieces. Whatever the rationale, it is a significant improvement over last year’s theme, “It’s Tito Time” in honor of our then-new conductor. The season brochure shows a close-up of a tux but rather than the typical black tie, it is orange sequined. I guess that is the unexpected.

To continue that theme for opening weekend, Symphony Hall was decorated with orange bow ties on the glass doors and mirrors. And the ushers was asked (well, not really ‘asked’) to wear them. I didn’t mind. It was festive. I wish they’d told us before we arrived however so I would not have spent time tying a black bow tie before I left home.

Of course putting a large orange bow on the men’s room mirror creates a self opportunity too good to pass up. At least in my case, I’m not sure this can really be called “unexpected”.

“I’ve written a letter to daddy…”

Wicked and Miserable

I enjoy live theater. With the energy from the stage and the shared experience of being part of an audience, I think almost any live theater is worth seeing. Jukebox musicals and Neil Simon comedies test that theory, but I can usually find something interesting in whatever I see. The exceptionally good and the exceptionally bad stay with me. The rest fade from memory as pleasant evenings. Sometimes, for reasons unrelated to the production, events conspire to make a theater outing a night to remember, but not in a good way. Such was the case this weekend.

A few months ago a friend asked if Harper’s Other Dad and I would be interested in seeing Wicked. I’d seen the show before and enjoyed it but I’d not considered seeing it again on this tour. Still, it’s a good show and I have committed the Original Cast Recoding  to memory so, why not. It sounded like a nice way to spend a social evening with a friend. Thanks to a virtual cosmic convergence of unrelated events, however, it did not turn out that way.

I’d unwittingly gotten us off to a bad start by being cheap and buying seats in the upper balcony. Having seen the show before, I didn’t mind not having great seats. Being familiar with the venue, I knew it was better to stay toward the center and move higher rather than moving to the sides in the orchestra. I had never experienced the upper balcony however. The same design features that make it better to avoid the sides, also mean the balcony is very steep. Walking to our seats in the third row, when I diverted my gaze even slightly to the right, I was looking over the edge, past the lower balcony, and to the orchestra seats below. As someone with a touch of vertigo this was unsettling.

Our friend ended up with a family commitment in the afternoon so we were not able to meet him for dinner or drinks before the show. As it turned out, we never saw him.

Harper’s Other Day was beginning to feel the effects of food poisoning, he thinks from a bad avocado at lunch. We got to our seats but he fled to the men’s room before the lights went down. I was able to watch Act I from our seats. Poor guy, he was able to see some of it on the lobby monitor when not skipping to the loo. At intermission, I cautiously crept my way down the row to the lobby to check on him. He was feeling worse. I was not thrilled about making the pilgrimage back to the seats in the center of vertigo row so we left before Act II. There was more fun yet to come.

Because the show was sold-out, parking would have been challenging. This, plus my dislike for driving in the city of Tempe, even in good conditions, gave me the idea it would be better to park remotely and take the light rail. The train stop is only about seven blocks from the theater. It worked out fine on the way to the theater. Decorum mandates I withhold details but, owing to the food poisoning, the seven-block walk back to the train featured several impromptu stops. Happily, the wait on the platform was not long. I cannot say the same for the train ride back to the car.

Sitting beside someone trying mightily, and with only limited success, to retch quietly into a plastic cup is not a pleasant, even less so for him. Neither is the experience enhanced by the presence of a group of malodorous folks who were using the air-conditioned train as a much-needed respite from the triple-digit heat. None of my five senses was spared assault. Eventually, we reached our car. I drove home in silence while H.O.D. dozed uncomfortably in the back seat.

But the sun also rises. The next morning Harper’s Other Dad was weak but recovering after a long night spent up-close & personal with porcelain. We’d purchased season tickets with our missed friend so, if we don’t connect with him before. we will see him in a few weeks at The Book of Mormon. The only lingering effect of the evening is there is now a vague association in my mind between “Defying Gravity” and projectile vomiting. I wonder how long that will last.

I Guess You Had To Be There

Picture it. Driving on a busy surface street, just north of downtown Phoenix, I approached a cross walk at a red light. I happened to be the first car in my lane so the pedestrians were crossing directly in front of me as I waited for the light to change. I was chatting with a friend on my cell phone. (Yes, I know I should not be talking on the phone while driving. I was.) I hadn’t talked to the friend in a while so we were catching up. He was sharing his exploits of the previous weekend.

As I am listening, a relatively large woman of color, not particularly well dressed, crossed in front of me pulling a brightly colored, two-wheeled, roller bag; the type one might carry on when flying. What was noteworthy in the scene is that affixed to the top of the roller bag was styrofoam head sporting a wig. The hair was dark, picture Cher in the Sonny years, and hung about halfway down the sides of the bag. There was a light breeze and the owner was walking forward so the tresses flowed gently in the breeze.

My first thought was there was a pet of some type sitting on the bag. But the hair was far too long. Next, my thoughts turned macabre as I imagined a body stuffed inside the bag and what I was witnessing was, in fact, a human head sticking out of the bag. I ruled that out as highly unlikely in broad daylight, even in that neighborhood. Besides, the bag appeared to be properly closed which would have been difficult were she zipping it shut around a human neck. Returning to reality, I concluded that it was, in fact, a wig.

Why would someone travel with their wig on the outside of their luggage? Was she afraid it might become gnarled and unkempt-looking had she packed it inside? Might it have been recently washed and allowing it to flow freely in the dry desert air was a good way to dry it? Perhaps it had not been worn recently, or worn too much recently, and it needed to be aired out? I am not well acquainted with the ways of wiggery. And what was inside that bag? Given that the wig did not make the cut to ride inside, the contents of the luggage must be valuable indeed. Inquiring minds want to know these things. At least mine did.

The picture struck me as hysterically funny. I interrupted my friend’s tale of his weekend in the country to apologize for laughing like an idiot. It was not really an appropriate reaction to his story. What I really wanted to do was hang up on him and snap a quick picture with my phone. Sadly, by the time I got out the explanation of what I was seeing she’d exited the cross walk and light had changed to green.

It’s A Look!

That wacky Ron from Retired In Delaware sent me a JibJab card which depicts me releasing my inner Britney in the video of “Baby One More Time“. I found the video to be both absolutely hysterical and, more than a little, unsettling. I can sing and the song is in my key but I’m not really a dancer. And I’ve long since resigned myself to the fact that I’ll have to postpone midriff shirts until my next life.

The pigtails, however….

A few months ago a local theatre group was having a costume sale and I spotted a bargain and snapped it up. I had to claw my way past the other shoppers; one Scottsdale dowager may have lost the sight in her left eye permanently but it’s her own fault for being older, slower, and coming ill-prepared for the harsh realities of shopping on the mean streets. What did she think this was, Barney’s?.

There were a couple of reasons why I just had to buy it:

#1. Harper’s Other Dad already has one, sans pigtails. We’ve talked so often (O.K., maybe never) about staging scenes from Die Walküre around the pool at parties. Another horned helmet would come in pretty darn handy.

#2. Who wouldn’t?

Maybe I’m going through an experimental phase. I’m growing the mustache back after having shaved it off a few months ago. Perhaps pigtails will be the new frontier of fashion.

Oh No!

Dictionary.com sends me a word each day. I don’t recall requesting this but the emails started showing up. I took it as a cosmic hint that my vocabulary needed improvement. Certainly it is no small task trying to keep up with Harper’s Other Dad for whom vocabulary expansion is an ongoing quest.

I take pride in the fact that, fairly often, the words popping up in my email as ones with which I am already familiar. In those cases, aside from the little mental pat on the back for being smart, the reminder might prompt me to begin using the word. I think I am like most people in that I understand many more words than I typically use in my daily communications.

On March 31st the Word of the Day was paramnesia. I could tell from the structure it must have something to do with memory loss but I did know what it meant. Scrolling down, I was heartbroken to see one of the definitions is “the inability to recall the correct meaning of a word”. OMG! Not only is this an actual diagnosis but it’s condition from which I obviously suffer. I mean, I needed to look up a word in the dictionary. That must indicate I have an ‘inability to recall its correct meaning’; right?

On a related note, why is having the inability to do something described as being “unable” rather than ‘inable’? And why are both ‘inability’ and ‘disability’ defined as “the lack of ability”?

What is The Maine?
When/Where/What is The Alamo?
What happened, what happened on the 5th of November?

I’m in a panic.

Valuable Lessons – #FirstWorldProblems

The arrival of spring means I must become more proactive about maintaining the pool. In the winter months when the water is cold, the water temperature drops into the 40’s F, I  pretty much ignore it completely adopt the off-season maintenance schedule. As winter turns to spring I need to start paying attention to water chemistry, filter schedules, and the like. A few weeks ago I got into the pool to do some cleaning and came out with a good dose of hypothermia for my trouble.

Valuable Lesson #1: When the water temp is in the 50’s F one should not stay in the pool too long.

As I have learned since becoming a pool owner, a pool does not have one filter but several. One is for the skimmer which is very easy to empty and clean. One barely needs get wet hands. One is the leaf catcher attached to the vacuum. Emptying the leaf catcher is a little more active task and it accomplished most easily while in the pool. (See Valuable Lesson #1.) The third filter is attached to the pump and is the last checkpoint for debris before the water circulates through a fourth (sand) filter and is pumped back into the pool. The third filter can be emptied and cleaned without turning blue but, because it is pressurized, taking it apart for maintenance is (only) slightly more onerous. One must take the top off the pressurized canister to retrieve the basket inside. With the basket out, one cleans out any flotsam & jetsam that has made it past the basket and might be trying to infiltrate the sand filter tank. Once completed, one reassembles the canister, re-primes the pump and bleeds the captured air from the system. The top of the pressurized canister is held on by a long bolt which one tightens until the seal is air tight. This leads me to …

Evil Bolt

Valuable Lesson #2: Long bolts should not find their way into the garbage disposal.

For some reason known only to the sprites of spring, when I brought the basket into the kitchen to clean it I brought the bolt in as well, rather than leaving it on the ground near the pump where it belongs at such moments. Turning on the garbage disposal in an effort to clean the pool refuse out of the sink caused this bolt to lodge tightly into the teeth of the disposal.

It was relatively easy to retrieve the bolt…once I crawled under the sink and removed the garbage disposal completely. Luckily I had installed it so I had a rough idea how to go about that. Once detached, it was easy enough to extract the bolt using only the wits the good Lord gave me, a pair of pliers, a small hammer, two screw drivers and every curse word I’ve learned in this life. After a few minutes I was ready to reinstall the garbage disposal.

Valuable Lesson #3: When installing a garbage disposal it is important not to disturb the plumbing connection between the two sinks.

This was easily repaired as well requiring only a wrench, Teflon tape, a 30 minute trip to Home Depot for $3 worth of replacement parts and 24 hours spent draining and refilling the reverse osmosis system.

In the end as was well again. The garbage disposal is working properly. The kitchen sinks do not appear to be leaking. The bolt was not even damaged so I was able to put the pool filter back together in short order.

Of course the water temp is still only in the mid-60’s. See Valuable Lesson #1.

Now This Is Getting Serious

Occasionally, in the past, I’ve used this blog to rant share my thoughts in a casual manner about the political climate in Arizona. The kindest term I can think of to described it is ‘toxic’. And, of course, the mid-term election was earlier this month so the climate was even more hostile in the weeks leading up to the election, and more than usually depressing in the weeks that followed. It was only recently, however, that I was confronted with the magnitude of the effect this environment has had upon my psyche. I fear the fundamental chemistry of my brain may have been affected.

A friend updated his profile picture on a major social media platform.

As I scrolled though the updates, what my eyes saw was a photo of legendary stage and screen performer Carol Channing.. What I should have thought was; ‘ Oh you! What a scamp you are for posting a photo of Ms Channing as your profile picture in that camp fashion that can really only be carried off by one of nature’s bachelors’.

What my mind thought I saw, however, was …..

And what I did think was; ‘Why in world would you change your profile picture to photo of Arizona Governor Jan Brewer?!?’

I need to find a support group… immediately.

Makin’ Jerky

For some reason known only to Harper’s Other Dad, the arrival of autumn turns a young (ahem) man’s fancy to beef jerky. A couple of years ago he discovered a website and podcast called The Art of Manliness. I’m not a fan of the podcast but the site is interesting. Where else can one find discussions of the ‘lessons in manliness found in The Hobbit’, ‘how to pick out aviator sunglasses’, or ‘how to shave with a straight razor’. All I knew about straight razors before reading that article was that “Bad Bad Leroy Brown” kept one in his shoe. In November of 2012 they posted an article called “How to Make the Best Beef Jerky in the World“. Harper’s Other Dad likes the stuff and I have more time to make than he does so……

I’m somewhat challenged in this jerky-making endeavor because we don’t own a dehydrator. Hah! What care I for modern conveniences and specialized equipment! This is Arizona, a land of rugged independence. It’s cowboy country. I’ll make it the way the early white European invaders settlers did. So I  got in my covered Honda Accord and set out on the arduous and perilous quest for beef. After fighting my way past hostile Indian casinos and through the ravages of expressway interchanges clogged with predatory snow birds, I survived to capture a 5-pound brisket at Costco. That’s when the real work begins.

I sliced the raw meat as thinly as one can with what passes for a sharp knife in Casa de Harper’s kitchen. For those who have not experienced cutting a 5-pound slab of bloody, raw meat into thin strips, be warned. It is not quite as much fun as it sounds like it would be. I made the marinade of spices and many liquids, all of them brown, and then steeped the meat in it for 24 hours; in the refrigerator, of course, as we are pioneers.

After the marinating period had passed, and continuing in the spirit of frontier manliness, I preheated the oven for 175*F and let the strips of meat dry in it for 5-6 hours. The recipe calls for a 160*F oven but the only setting below 175*F on my oven is “Off”. What can I saw? Life can be tough for pioneers on the wild west side of 45th Street and we have to make do. At the end of the process, all the moisture, and the bacteria therein, has fled the meat strips and they are ready to gnaw on enjoy.

After that there is only one step remaining. Harkening back to those thrilling days of yesteryear, while whistling “Do Not Forsake Me, Oh My Darling“, I start the self-cleaning cycle on the oven…just like Laura Engels Wilder must have done.

I’m still not entirely sure I understand the connection between making beef jerky and manliness. Maybe it’s like a phobia or a fetish; one can empathize but if you don’t feel it, you don’t really get it.

“Makes The Perfect Gift!”

For years I’ve seen advertisements on cable channels or, back when dirt was new and dinosaurs roamed the earth, UHF television stations, that would end with the phrase; “It makes the perfect gift!”. I’ve long since forgotten what product was being touted in these ads but the phrase stuck in my mind. Over the years it has come to epitomize the marketing of products I might only briefly consider buying if I had all the money in the world, and was drunk-shopping 2:00 AM with the remote in one hand and my VISA card in the other. If the question ever comes to mind; “Why on earth would anyone buy that?“, the appropriate response is; “It makes the perfect gift!”

This morning I opened my email to find an advertisement from Hammacher Schlemmer. To be clear, I think HS is a fine retailer. Their motto is “Offering the Best, the Only, and the Unexpected for 166 years” and I believe that’s true. I have purchased things from them in the past and, I’m sure, I will again. This morning’s ad, however, struck me as simultaneously very funny and a little unsettling, The Home Lie Detector.

I’m not likely to be giving the ‘third degree’ to teenagers about curfew violations anytime soon but this might be handy to have around the house. Think of the conversations I could have with Harper’s Other Dad. He’s a good sport and a trusting soul so it wouldn’t occur to him wonder why I might be slipping sensors on his fingers.

What did you do today?
Do these jeans make me look fat?
What did you really think of Barbra’s new duets album?

Graphic evidence of his veracity or mendacity will be immediately on display.

Of course, turnabout is fair play. I might have to slip on the sensors at some point as well. Luckily I’ve seen many episodes of Law & Order and I recently re-read Garnet’s 1595 Treatise of Equivocation so I know all I need to know to beat the machine. Next time I’m asked; “Should I start using ‘Just For Men’ on my beard again”? I can say; “of course not!”, with a clear conscience and a neutral galvanic skin response. All I need to do is focus on the unspoken thought bubble; “as long as ‘Kenny Rogers plays Santa Claus’ is the look you’re going for”.

The holiday gift-giving season is upon us. Gift wrap is only $6.95 extra. Where’s that credit card?