(click on pic to enlarge)
Also? I found this little goaty video on YouTube.
If the above link doesn't work, click on this goat video link. For me, it was like a Lays potato chip.
Goat Things of the Day: DC Wagon Pullers and a Rather Good Video
Alert NGIP fan Israel from the Elmlish blog showed me this picture the other day from the Shorpy website. The photo was taken in Washington D.C. about 1917. So that would make the goats about....uhhhhhh...92 years old today? Wow!
Also? I found this little goaty video on YouTube.
If the above link doesn't work, click on this goat video link. For me, it was like a Lays potato chip.
Also? I found this little goaty video on YouTube.
If the above link doesn't work, click on this goat video link. For me, it was like a Lays potato chip.
Interview With Anthony Edwards
A bunch of women bloggers and I sat together in our respective homes, cars, water closets, etc., on a conference call the other day, waiting for the television and film star to come onto the proverbial stage so we could barrage him with questions. Do you have any idea how hard it is to shove eighteen microphones into someone's face over the phone?
"Just a few minutes", the moderator told us, "and we'll bring Anthony in on the call."
Anthony Edwards: Goose in Top Gun. Dr. Greene on ER. And now he's playing a distracted husband to Uma Thurmond's Eliza in a new movie coming out October 23rd called Motherhood.
And Nanny Goats in Panties had the opportunity to interview him. We had previously submitted "up to 3 questions each" and then the moderator would decide which questions could be asked during the interview.
I had agonized over my questions. What could I ask? It had to be something different. Something that you guys might think funny. This is, after all, a humor blog, right? I had MY PUBLIC to think about. But I also had to ask something that would make it through the censors. I ran out of time, but came up with something like this:
1. What are you wearing right now?
2. Some question that actually relates to the movie or parenting.
3. Some other question that actually relates to the movie or parenting.
OK. Anthony Edwards gets on the call. He's currently wheeling his seven-year-old daughter's bike to the shop to repair a flat tire. There was a mixture of collective sighs and parental approval of every woman on the call. He is already the perfect father. The street sounds of New York City can be heard in the background. You know, honking horns, hissing buses, the occasional mugging of old ladies.
The moderator begins directing who can ask which question they submitted. I'm chanting under my breath while also holding the MUTE button: what are you wearing what are you wearing what are you wearing.
We were supposed to only ask questions that related to parenting, the movie, etc. And my silly wardrobe question could have potentially offended the moderator, as if I was asking as a heavy-breathing middle-of-the-night phone caller, and with a blog name that incorporates "Panties", I could have been booted from the call or worse, banned forever from the "Movie Star Interview Network". They could have made sure that I never did business in this town again.
Or, they could have taken it in the way it was intended. Just an innocent silly question, trying to be funny. I like this question, actually. Because if you recall, every time you read an interview, the writer always describes where they are and what the celebrity is wearing. To set the scene for you, the reader. They would probably also be addressing Anthony as "Edwards", and not be breaking the fourth wall, but I never went to journalism school, so I don't know anything about that. And just whose blog is this, anyway?
Now where was I...oh yes..to ask, or not to ask, what someone is wearing.
This was a phone call interview, so I'm actually asking about clothing with some sincerity. Is it really too much too ask? Quinn Cummings didn't think so when I interviewed her.
Suddenly the moderator is calling out my name and the name of my blog. Anthony laughs when he hears "Nanny Goats in Panties" - Yay! The moderator and some of the other bloggers laugh too, which might be a good sign, right? I'm waiting for the moderator to tell me which question I can ask, but there is some discussion about the naming of blogs and joking about hiring us for our creativity.
what are you wearing what are you wearing what are you wearing
The moderator says: "Although we'd love to know what Anthony's wearing right now, I think we should go with Question #3."
More laughter.
I ask my moderated question: "When you think back on the shooting or the production of the film, what's the greatest moment or the first thing you remember about the experience?"
And Anthony says, "It was really being in the world of the West Village. To be able to shoot a film in the West Village in New York - it's kind of a magical environment...it meant a lot to the filmmaker. That, as an actor, made it a lot of fun because you were just so immersed in the world. And the kids were a blast."
So I guess you could say I got in two questions and one answer. Woo hoo! Move over, Katie Couric!
That was like a courtroom drama, where the lawyer asks the defendant accused of murder, "Isn't it true that you repeatedly threatened to kill your sister's pet hamster?" and the defendant's lawyer yells, "Objection. Irrelevant. He was three years old at the time, your Honor." and the judge says, "Objection sustained, please strike that from the record" except that everyone heard it and can't strike it from their minds, so you see what I did there? Everyone knows I wanted to know what Anthony Edwards was wearing.
Woo hoo! Move over, Perry Como!
When Anthony is later asked what it was like to work with the kids in the film, he says, "When you speak your lines, they are mouthing your words along with you and look at you funny if you forget a line".
Motherhood is a movie produced by women. Anthony had a "strong mother" growing up and has three daughters (and a son) now, so "being on a set with five female producers was like being at the dinner table".
He tells us he has been training for weeks to run in this year's New York City marathon on Nov. 1. He and others are spearheading the fundraising for shoe4africa.org, an organization dedicated to empowering women in Africa through the sport of running. They plan to build the first public children's hospital in Kenya. (You can give via Paypal on their website). The organization is 100% charitable, in that 100% of your donation goes directly to building the hospital. There is no overhead, yet there is transparent accountability. How often does THAT happen?
The final question by another blogger to Anthony is: "What is one thing that you think dads would like moms to understand better about being the dad?"
He says: "That it's really not intentional that we forgot what you said. There is no intentional passive-aggressiveness in the fact that we forgot."
All the mothers on the call giggle knowingly.
It's been about half an hour. The interview comes to a close with perfect timing as his daughter's bike wheel is now fixed and they can go to the park.
Thank you, Anthony Edwards! And thanks to the good people at 42West for coordinating the interview. And for deciding against pressing charges for inappropriate questions by one goat lady.
However, if I could have submitted one more question, it would have been:
"You're a father of four children. Do you ever feel the need, the need for speed?"
What?
For more information about Motherhood including a trailer, you can go to the Motherhood film website.
(All pics lifted from motherhoodthefilm.com)
Yes, I've been sending out NGIP pens to people, but I never expected someone to send me something back. And while Lisa of Pink Porches said she would, I thought she was just trying to bribe her way into getting a fabulous pen (haha!). But over the weekend, I get this in the mail.
This 12-inch handmade bag has a thick canvassy quilty feel and it's gorgeous! Plus she attached a notecard with a picture of a goat with the very bag she sent. Way to blow me away, Lisa! In the words of Kevin Costner from Dances With Wolves: "Good Trade".
And speaking of those pens, I'd like to thank the following faboo people for spreading the NGIP love by blogging about the awesomeness that is the NGIP pen:
Mary at Writes Phillipia
Melodie at Laughing Duck Farm
Collette at My Babcia's Babushka
"Just a few minutes", the moderator told us, "and we'll bring Anthony in on the call."
Anthony Edwards: Goose in Top Gun. Dr. Greene on ER. And now he's playing a distracted husband to Uma Thurmond's Eliza in a new movie coming out October 23rd called Motherhood.
And Nanny Goats in Panties had the opportunity to interview him. We had previously submitted "up to 3 questions each" and then the moderator would decide which questions could be asked during the interview.
I had agonized over my questions. What could I ask? It had to be something different. Something that you guys might think funny. This is, after all, a humor blog, right? I had MY PUBLIC to think about. But I also had to ask something that would make it through the censors. I ran out of time, but came up with something like this:
1. What are you wearing right now?
2. Some question that actually relates to the movie or parenting.
3. Some other question that actually relates to the movie or parenting.
OK. Anthony Edwards gets on the call. He's currently wheeling his seven-year-old daughter's bike to the shop to repair a flat tire. There was a mixture of collective sighs and parental approval of every woman on the call. He is already the perfect father. The street sounds of New York City can be heard in the background. You know, honking horns, hissing buses, the occasional mugging of old ladies.
The moderator begins directing who can ask which question they submitted. I'm chanting under my breath while also holding the MUTE button: what are you wearing what are you wearing what are you wearing.
We were supposed to only ask questions that related to parenting, the movie, etc. And my silly wardrobe question could have potentially offended the moderator, as if I was asking as a heavy-breathing middle-of-the-night phone caller, and with a blog name that incorporates "Panties", I could have been booted from the call or worse, banned forever from the "Movie Star Interview Network". They could have made sure that I never did business in this town again.
Or, they could have taken it in the way it was intended. Just an innocent silly question, trying to be funny. I like this question, actually. Because if you recall, every time you read an interview, the writer always describes where they are and what the celebrity is wearing. To set the scene for you, the reader. They would probably also be addressing Anthony as "Edwards", and not be breaking the fourth wall, but I never went to journalism school, so I don't know anything about that. And just whose blog is this, anyway?
Now where was I...oh yes..to ask, or not to ask, what someone is wearing.
This was a phone call interview, so I'm actually asking about clothing with some sincerity. Is it really too much too ask? Quinn Cummings didn't think so when I interviewed her.
Suddenly the moderator is calling out my name and the name of my blog. Anthony laughs when he hears "Nanny Goats in Panties" - Yay! The moderator and some of the other bloggers laugh too, which might be a good sign, right? I'm waiting for the moderator to tell me which question I can ask, but there is some discussion about the naming of blogs and joking about hiring us for our creativity.
what are you wearing what are you wearing what are you wearing
The moderator says: "Although we'd love to know what Anthony's wearing right now, I think we should go with Question #3."
More laughter.
I ask my moderated question: "When you think back on the shooting or the production of the film, what's the greatest moment or the first thing you remember about the experience?"
And Anthony says, "It was really being in the world of the West Village. To be able to shoot a film in the West Village in New York - it's kind of a magical environment...it meant a lot to the filmmaker. That, as an actor, made it a lot of fun because you were just so immersed in the world. And the kids were a blast."
So I guess you could say I got in two questions and one answer. Woo hoo! Move over, Katie Couric!
That was like a courtroom drama, where the lawyer asks the defendant accused of murder, "Isn't it true that you repeatedly threatened to kill your sister's pet hamster?" and the defendant's lawyer yells, "Objection. Irrelevant. He was three years old at the time, your Honor." and the judge says, "Objection sustained, please strike that from the record" except that everyone heard it and can't strike it from their minds, so you see what I did there? Everyone knows I wanted to know what Anthony Edwards was wearing.
Woo hoo! Move over, Perry Como!
When Anthony is later asked what it was like to work with the kids in the film, he says, "When you speak your lines, they are mouthing your words along with you and look at you funny if you forget a line".
Motherhood is a movie produced by women. Anthony had a "strong mother" growing up and has three daughters (and a son) now, so "being on a set with five female producers was like being at the dinner table".
He tells us he has been training for weeks to run in this year's New York City marathon on Nov. 1. He and others are spearheading the fundraising for shoe4africa.org, an organization dedicated to empowering women in Africa through the sport of running. They plan to build the first public children's hospital in Kenya. (You can give via Paypal on their website). The organization is 100% charitable, in that 100% of your donation goes directly to building the hospital. There is no overhead, yet there is transparent accountability. How often does THAT happen?
The final question by another blogger to Anthony is: "What is one thing that you think dads would like moms to understand better about being the dad?"
He says: "That it's really not intentional that we forgot what you said. There is no intentional passive-aggressiveness in the fact that we forgot."
All the mothers on the call giggle knowingly.
It's been about half an hour. The interview comes to a close with perfect timing as his daughter's bike wheel is now fixed and they can go to the park.
Thank you, Anthony Edwards! And thanks to the good people at 42West for coordinating the interview. And for deciding against pressing charges for inappropriate questions by one goat lady.
However, if I could have submitted one more question, it would have been:
"You're a father of four children. Do you ever feel the need, the need for speed?"
What?
For more information about Motherhood including a trailer, you can go to the Motherhood film website.
(All pics lifted from motherhoodthefilm.com)
Yes, I've been sending out NGIP pens to people, but I never expected someone to send me something back. And while Lisa of Pink Porches said she would, I thought she was just trying to bribe her way into getting a fabulous pen (haha!). But over the weekend, I get this in the mail.
This 12-inch handmade bag has a thick canvassy quilty feel and it's gorgeous! Plus she attached a notecard with a picture of a goat with the very bag she sent. Way to blow me away, Lisa! In the words of Kevin Costner from Dances With Wolves: "Good Trade".
And speaking of those pens, I'd like to thank the following faboo people for spreading the NGIP love by blogging about the awesomeness that is the NGIP pen:
Mary at Writes Phillipia
Melodie at Laughing Duck Farm
Collette at My Babcia's Babushka
Goat Thing of the Day: The Eponymous Blog Post
Well, it had to happen eventually. Patty, who serves as the publicist for the The Maaaaa of Pricilla blog sent me a picture of Emily, one of the new kids on the block. And now...for the first time on NGIP, I give you....a real live nanny goat in panties:
I've already nicknamed her "Droopy Drawers".
I've already nicknamed her "Droopy Drawers".
Hello, I'm T-Mach, Superhero.
If I were a superhero, my super power would be the ability to travel in time. And my superhero name would be T-Mach (pronounced "Tee-Mock". It's a derivative of Time Machine, get it?).Then, every time I screwed up or wanted to "undo", I could just go back in time and "fix" it.
So, like that time when a bronze elephant statue fell out of the sky and smashed our local wealthy chip clip magnate into a greasy spot on the downtown sidewalk, I would simply travel back to about ten minutes before the greasy spot formed. I'd keep an eye on the sky and when I saw a speck of a trunked shiny metal mass growing bigger and bigger, I'd find the target and pull him out of the way, saving his life and becoming a big hero. I'd be so famous and every time a camera bulb flashed or a microphone was shoved into my face, I'd smile, hold up a little nanny goats in panties (oh, I'd have also gone back in time and bought a real live baby goat and put little panties on it and taken it downtown so that it would be at arm's length should the opportunity arise) and promote my little blog. Next thing you know, NGIP would be The Little Blog That Could.
Or, I would buy a newspaper and check the Lotto numbers and then I would go back two days in time and buy a ticket with the winning numbers. I would do this every time I needed some cash because, you know, 4.3 million dollars before taxes just doesn't go far these days. Also? You can never have enough money. No matter how rich or how poor you are, you always want more. It's human nature. We are greedy bastards. And if we have the misfortune to win the lottery, and get accosted by every distant cousin and charity case, and get guilted into giving them all of our money, then it's back to Joe's Bait Shop and Pancake House for another Lotto ticket.
I would also re-live every unfortunate conversation I've ever had where I wished I'd said something else. In fact, if there was just a global FIND and REPLACE feature to this time travel thing, I would do a search on every occurance of "Oh, yeah?" and replace it with "Oh yeah, Fartface?"
With great power comes great responsibility, and as you can see, I would only use my power for good things. Good things for me, anyway. Like getting lots o' wads o' dough.
Now I just need a trusty sidekick.
* * *
This post is part of the Writer's Workshop hosted by Mama's Losin' It, which in turn is part of Moxie Media's Around the Blogosphere in 5 Days campaign. The campaign is intended to introduce the new media powerhouse called Moxie Media, of which I am a member.Thanks to Lisa at Pink Porches for totally blogging about her new NGIP pens. And just look at her banner:
How cute is that?
Also? A big THANK YOU to A Tired Wife for throwing NGIP a shout out about her new pens too!
Goat Thing of the Day: The Underground Railroad and The Lush
Goats such as this little guy have been found roaming the Hutchinson River Parkway in the Bronx.Supposedly keeping goats in your backyard in New York City is illegal (for those people who even have backyards, that is). The director of Farm Sanctuary, the group who took in the goat, was quoted saying that the Hutchinson River Parkway "has become something of an 'underground railroad' for goats looking to escape New York City's live markets with their lives."
Huh?
Thanks to Tom who found this via Gothamist, and Bobbi of Bobbi In La La Land who found this via KSL.com
Meanwhile....who hasn't already seen this?
Many people sent this one in to Nanny Goats in Panties, but it was Judy of Coffee Jitters who hit my email inbox first. Photo was seen (obviously) on I Can Haz Cheeseburger?
Are Starbucks' Arms Like Pinocchio's Nose?
In our delusion of self-importance, yet outlandish abuse of power wielded over the masses, we bloggers must hold ourselves to the highest standards of journalism.
If our children say the darndest things, we're there -- and preferably with a video camera. We document the minutiae of our daily lives and deliver it you, on time and under budget. Because YOU DEMAND IT.
We pull out our cameras, much to the chagrin of our spouses, and the curiosity of onlookers to capture a moment in time and bring it to you, the reader. We do it all for you. And also for our ego that is stroked every time you leave a comment.
I braved self-consciousness just the other day when I whipped out my camera at the Starbucks Drive-Thru because it struck me funny to see this plastic box placed conspicuously thus:
I guess it could make some sense to have a tip jar outside. But it seemed like they were reaching. Reaching outside the store for tips. I mean, tips are supposed to be for good service like when a waitress actually comes to your table and waits on you. And doesn't smell funny.
It already feels weird to be tipping Starbucks people. It's like having to pay for parking and tip the valet. Maybe I'm just cheap, but from a consumer point of view, it feels like double-dipping into our pockets.
So when I saw Starbucks sticking its extra-hot no-foam latte arm out the window for a hand-out, I had to take a picture. I forced myself to cope with the guilt and embarrassment when the girl on the other side of the window shouted to her co-workers, "She's taking a picture of our tip jar!". Well, I'm sorry, but I have an obligation to my readers. The public has a right to know about this!
Also? Any number of homeless people seen hanging around the various drive-thrus in the area could have cruised by and yanked the money out, walked into the store and bought a cup of coffee for himself. Which would be ironic. And funny. And awesome.
I would like to thank Mannequin of Fractured Toy and Michelle of So Wonderful, So Marvelous for showing off their new NGIP pens. That was very gracious of you, ladies.
Hey, remember when Mary from Unmitigated gave me this mini banner replica at the BlogHer conference in Chicago?
It was like a fat (or phat) business card. And it is with pride that I display it on my desk today. And now, YOU TOO could get one of these. She's having a giveaway and if you win, she will make one for your blog banner. So if you have a blog, go check it out! The contest ends this Wednesday night at midnight.
If our children say the darndest things, we're there -- and preferably with a video camera. We document the minutiae of our daily lives and deliver it you, on time and under budget. Because YOU DEMAND IT.
We pull out our cameras, much to the chagrin of our spouses, and the curiosity of onlookers to capture a moment in time and bring it to you, the reader. We do it all for you. And also for our ego that is stroked every time you leave a comment.
I braved self-consciousness just the other day when I whipped out my camera at the Starbucks Drive-Thru because it struck me funny to see this plastic box placed conspicuously thus:
I guess it could make some sense to have a tip jar outside. But it seemed like they were reaching. Reaching outside the store for tips. I mean, tips are supposed to be for good service like when a waitress actually comes to your table and waits on you. And doesn't smell funny.
It already feels weird to be tipping Starbucks people. It's like having to pay for parking and tip the valet. Maybe I'm just cheap, but from a consumer point of view, it feels like double-dipping into our pockets.
So when I saw Starbucks sticking its extra-hot no-foam latte arm out the window for a hand-out, I had to take a picture. I forced myself to cope with the guilt and embarrassment when the girl on the other side of the window shouted to her co-workers, "She's taking a picture of our tip jar!". Well, I'm sorry, but I have an obligation to my readers. The public has a right to know about this!
Also? Any number of homeless people seen hanging around the various drive-thrus in the area could have cruised by and yanked the money out, walked into the store and bought a cup of coffee for himself. Which would be ironic. And funny. And awesome.
I would like to thank Mannequin of Fractured Toy and Michelle of So Wonderful, So Marvelous for showing off their new NGIP pens. That was very gracious of you, ladies.
Hey, remember when Mary from Unmitigated gave me this mini banner replica at the BlogHer conference in Chicago?
It was like a fat (or phat) business card. And it is with pride that I display it on my desk today. And now, YOU TOO could get one of these. She's having a giveaway and if you win, she will make one for your blog banner. So if you have a blog, go check it out! The contest ends this Wednesday night at midnight.
Goat Thing of the Day: Goat Tears as a Remedy
And in the interest of continuing my FREE advertising for any company that uses a goat in a commercial, we give you ..... THIS!
If the video above does not work, you can watch the goat commercial on YouTube here.
So there you go, goat tears as the new joint pain remedy. My thanks to Heather of the Nobody But Yourself blog for showing it to me.
If the video above does not work, you can watch the goat commercial on YouTube here.
So there you go, goat tears as the new joint pain remedy. My thanks to Heather of the Nobody But Yourself blog for showing it to me.
Germaphobes Unite: You Can't Lick Just Any Floor
Look, I realize that maybe I'm the quirky one here, but when the hubs and I closed down a Chinese Restaurant in L.A., and they put the chairs up for the night, they put said chairs up like this:
Hey! Call me germaphobic, but isn't that unsanitary? Aren't you supposed to put the chairs upside down on the table tops?
Look, I don't think you understand what's going on here....let's get a closer look, shall we? Morty? Can you zoom in on that table to the right?
This restaurant does not provide those splintery wooden chopsticks in the paper sleeve. This is a FINE DINING ESTABLISHMENT. With real chopsticks that are washed and placed next to the plates that are then left on the tables overnight. Next to the chair's feet.
We are a civilized people who eat off of the tables. We do not eat off of the floors. OK, some of us do, but not in public. Licking chocolate pudding off of your own floor at home where the traffic is limited to your own social network is way differtent than licking chocolate pudding off of some restaurant's floor. I mean, you don't know where that floor has been. Am I right?
And isn't allowing chairs to stand on top of tables akin to licking the floor? Well, isn't it at least like allowing people with filthy shoes to walk all over the tables, potentially brushing up against the chopsticks? And leaving the plates out all night? How would you feel if you knew bugs had partied the night before all over YOUR lunch plate?
And I'm not blasting this one restaurant, because less than a month later, we closed down a waffle joint in Sacramento when THIS occurred:
What the H. E. double-hockey sticks is this unsanitary world coming to? If I wanted the floor's germs on my table, I would walk on it myself, dragging in whatever feral cat poo, bug guts, and hobo vomit I picked up out in the parking lot on the way in.
OK, see NOW you think it's gross.
A big fat juicy THANK YOU to the following people for generously giving NGIP a shout out by blogging about the new NGIP pen.
Katie at I'm Not Normally Like This
Stimey at Stimeyland
Rebecca at Feel My Love
Robyn of Robyn's Online World
Tables covered in chair feet. What the...?
Hey! Call me germaphobic, but isn't that unsanitary? Aren't you supposed to put the chairs upside down on the table tops?
Look, I don't think you understand what's going on here....let's get a closer look, shall we? Morty? Can you zoom in on that table to the right?
This restaurant does not provide those splintery wooden chopsticks in the paper sleeve. This is a FINE DINING ESTABLISHMENT. With real chopsticks that are washed and placed next to the plates that are then left on the tables overnight. Next to the chair's feet.
We are a civilized people who eat off of the tables. We do not eat off of the floors. OK, some of us do, but not in public. Licking chocolate pudding off of your own floor at home where the traffic is limited to your own social network is way differtent than licking chocolate pudding off of some restaurant's floor. I mean, you don't know where that floor has been. Am I right?
And isn't allowing chairs to stand on top of tables akin to licking the floor? Well, isn't it at least like allowing people with filthy shoes to walk all over the tables, potentially brushing up against the chopsticks? And leaving the plates out all night? How would you feel if you knew bugs had partied the night before all over YOUR lunch plate?
And I'm not blasting this one restaurant, because less than a month later, we closed down a waffle joint in Sacramento when THIS occurred:
What the H. E. double-hockey sticks is this unsanitary world coming to? If I wanted the floor's germs on my table, I would walk on it myself, dragging in whatever feral cat poo, bug guts, and hobo vomit I picked up out in the parking lot on the way in.
OK, see NOW you think it's gross.
A big fat juicy THANK YOU to the following people for generously giving NGIP a shout out by blogging about the new NGIP pen.
Katie at I'm Not Normally Like This
Stimey at Stimeyland
Rebecca at Feel My Love
Robyn of Robyn's Online World
Goat Thing of the Day: Jumping Goat Commercial
Today's post is providing FREE advertising to a particular company. How am I supposed to make money off my blog if I GIVE away ad space like this?
Anyway, my sister found this one and sent it to me.
If the above video doesn't work, try this link of the goat jumping on YouTube.
Anyway, my sister found this one and sent it to me.
If the above video doesn't work, try this link of the goat jumping on YouTube.
Putting the "Boom" Back Into Baby Boomers: El Camino's 50-Year High School Reunion.
I went to a 50-Year High School reunion over the weekend. Right now, you are probably thinking, "What??? Man, you are one old goat. What does that make you...67...68 years old?"
ACK! The heck you say! No, I took my Dad to his high school reunion. How dare you!
My father can't drive and can't see very well, so my husband and I accompanied him to the El Camino Class of 1959 High School Reunion in Sacramento. (Any former Eagles out there wanna holla?)
Oh my God, you guys. A roomful of 160 senior citizens. My husband and I were the only ones in the room under the age of 65. And I was supposed to help my Dad find his old buddies. Which meant walking up to a bunch of strangers, squinting at their name tag, and if I got caught, I would then have to ask them if they knew my Dad. And what if they didn't? That's a nice and awkward conversation. If I didn't get caught squinting I could run back to my Dad safely and ask him if he knew them with no one the wiser.
Anticipating a night full of approaching people, you know what that means:
One glass of red wine is just enough to alleviate the anxiety of walking up to perfect strangers but not enough to hump their leg and ask for their room key.
The little cow on the card is not the school mascot (they were the eagles, remember? Gawd, didn't I JUST show you a picture of an eagle? Sheesh). No, the cow designates what kind of meat I chose for dinner. And I chose the meat of a cow. You might also notice the commemorative mug behind and to the left of the wine that each class member received. Which I thought was a cool idea.
I can be a snob when it comes to event planning. I'll attend a party and my inner critic starts approving and disapproving of the party elements. Of course it's not my place to criticize because it doesn't matter what I think, so I keep my opinions to myself, but I think them nonetheless. I approved of the mug. I approved of the near magnum-force magnetic name tags for the class members. I did not approve of the six inch clearance for the dinner plates:
But I wasn't going to worry about that. It was still cocktail hour. Time to wander around and mingle.
There were 500 people in my father's graduating class and 80 of them were there at the reunion. I ran back and forth between my dad and other people's name tags and he'd remember maybe one out of ten, at which point I'd bring them together and tell them both who they were and let the memories fly. It would go something like this:
Dad (trying to get a good look at someone he can't see): I think I remember you!
Other person: Well, how are ya after all these years?
Dad: I'm allright. How about you.
Other person: Oh can't complain, can't complain.
And then that would be it. Because in actuality, they didn't really know each other as much as they kind of maybe thought the other one's name sounded familiar. There was no "Remember the time we streaked across the football field at Homecoming wearing nothing but a giant eagle head? They never did find out who did it! Boy those were the days!"
Nope none of that. Instead, they would run out of things to say. So I would prod them with my verbal spurs with things like, "So.... do you live here in Sacramento?" and "What kind of work do/did you do?". Nothing too complicated and it generally took the conversation well past the 30 second mark where the conversation would wrap up with a couple of Well-nice-to-see-you-again's.
And who knew trying to herd a bunch of 68-year olds to their tables was like trying to herd cats? And getting them to sit down and shut up is like trying to get a bunch of cats to sit down and shut up.
Twenty minutes. (Twenty minutes!) before everybody was quiet enough for the reunion committee person to speak to the group. Whatever happened to the generation that did not question authority and did what they were told, etc? I'll tell you what happened. They reached the Age of Realization where that kind of crap just doesn't make you happy and life is short and they paid their dues and they were going to do whatever the hell they wanted.
Once people had settled down for a minute you could hear a marching drum cadence in the distance that got closer and closer until the entire current El Camino High school pep band burst into the room and played a the ECHS fight song and the alma mater.
It was really kind of cool. I totally approved of that party element.
During dinner at our table, it came out that:
1. Marilyn (who, by the way, had smuggled in a bottle of red wine to the party) had a high school crush on this guy Albert and if he were here she would finally be willing to confess it. I told her she was in luck and that this guy Albert was indeed there because I remembered seeing his name tag. I told her I'd find him for her and she HAD to tell him she crushed on him way back when and I wanted to see it.
2. This prompted my father to announce that he, too, had a high school crush on this girl Carol, so I said we would find out if she were here and I would bring her to him.
I asked our table occupants who the Homecoming King and Queen were and they couldn't remember. My Dad said there was just a queen and no king.
WHAT?????
How could (and why would) you have a queen without a king? That just didn't make sense. I decided that my father's brain had farted and he didn't know what he was talking about. I later approached the committee woman and asked her if she knew who the King and Queen were and she told me that SHE was the Queen and there was no King.
Huh.
After finally locating Albert, I brought Marilyn to him and took pictures while she confessed to him that she had the biggest crush in high school. It was awesome.
After finally locating Carol, I brought her over to my Dad, and with his infinite socialization skills did NOT confess but mumbled something about finally getting to put his arm around her after all these years.
Carol was very gracious about the whole thing.
Every time I asked someone if they knew who Carol was they'd say, "Oh she's the hot one in the black dress, she was just here a minute ago." I walked up to a woman who I thought might have been considered hot in a black dress and it wasn't Carol, but they shared the same last name even though they weren't related. How weird is that? Apparently "Draper" is just a hot last name to have (e.g. Mad Men's Don Draper)
And then the tunes began to play. At a reasonable volume (as advertised in the reunion's flyer). Tunes such as:
Walkin' After Midnight (Patsy Cline)
Sh-Boom, aka Life Could Be a Dream (The Crew-Cuts)
Return to Sender (Elvis Presley)
I'm Walkin' (Fats Domino)
And how do I know who sang all these songs? Because in this room of upper-Sextuagenarians, most of whom do not participate in much of today's technology, such as Twitter and Facebook, I busted out my iPhone and used an app called Shazam, which identifies songs and artists at the click of a button. (er, the touch of a screen)
And people danced!
Or maybe they were doing the Eagle Dance, flapping their wings, while others just choked each other. In any event, these cats really put the "boom" back into Baby Boomers, I'll tell you that.
Marilyn (you know the cool one at our table? The one who snuck in the wine and confessed her crush?) also brought their high school yearbook from 1959. I asked her if we could look for my mom in there, since she was a junior when they were all seniors. (Yeah, my parents dated in high school and got married soon thereafter). And there she was, right there in the Juniors pages. I didn't think to take a picture of that, but here they are on their wedding day in 1961:
My mother was eighteen when she got married. Eighteen!!!! She was a teenage bride! Can you imagine? Who does that anymore?
One common comment among the reunion attendees was how friendly everyone was, as if it surprised them. I wondered if it was because everyone was a jerk back in the day. I asked one man about it after he mentioned how friendly everyone was. He said that at their 30-year reunion, everyone was still clique-y.
"Do you suppose it's because everyone has finally gotten over themselves?" I asked.
"Yeah, people have their own lives, their own kids have grown up...".
I'm not sure how that explained it exactly, but it sounds like I only need to wait another 25 years before the "popular" people will talk to me at my high school reunion. Woo hoo!
By the way, the apple may not fall far from the tree, and my husband and I may have gone to high school together, and I may have been a junior when he was a senior, but I did NOT get married at 18. Hell no, we waited until I was 34. Of course there was that 15-year-out-of-touch-incommunicado gap that delayed things, but still. We waited.
ACK! The heck you say! No, I took my Dad to his high school reunion. How dare you!
My father can't drive and can't see very well, so my husband and I accompanied him to the El Camino Class of 1959 High School Reunion in Sacramento. (Any former Eagles out there wanna holla?)
Eagle statue for El Camino High School hanging out at the reunion
Oh my God, you guys. A roomful of 160 senior citizens. My husband and I were the only ones in the room under the age of 65. And I was supposed to help my Dad find his old buddies. Which meant walking up to a bunch of strangers, squinting at their name tag, and if I got caught, I would then have to ask them if they knew my Dad. And what if they didn't? That's a nice and awkward conversation. If I didn't get caught squinting I could run back to my Dad safely and ask him if he knew them with no one the wiser.
Anticipating a night full of approaching people, you know what that means:
One glass of red wine is just enough to alleviate the anxiety of walking up to perfect strangers but not enough to hump their leg and ask for their room key.
The little cow on the card is not the school mascot (they were the eagles, remember? Gawd, didn't I JUST show you a picture of an eagle? Sheesh). No, the cow designates what kind of meat I chose for dinner. And I chose the meat of a cow. You might also notice the commemorative mug behind and to the left of the wine that each class member received. Which I thought was a cool idea.
I can be a snob when it comes to event planning. I'll attend a party and my inner critic starts approving and disapproving of the party elements. Of course it's not my place to criticize because it doesn't matter what I think, so I keep my opinions to myself, but I think them nonetheless. I approved of the mug. I approved of the near magnum-force magnetic name tags for the class members. I did not approve of the six inch clearance for the dinner plates:
But I wasn't going to worry about that. It was still cocktail hour. Time to wander around and mingle.
There were 500 people in my father's graduating class and 80 of them were there at the reunion. I ran back and forth between my dad and other people's name tags and he'd remember maybe one out of ten, at which point I'd bring them together and tell them both who they were and let the memories fly. It would go something like this:
Dad (trying to get a good look at someone he can't see): I think I remember you!
Other person: Well, how are ya after all these years?
Dad: I'm allright. How about you.
Other person: Oh can't complain, can't complain.
And then that would be it. Because in actuality, they didn't really know each other as much as they kind of maybe thought the other one's name sounded familiar. There was no "Remember the time we streaked across the football field at Homecoming wearing nothing but a giant eagle head? They never did find out who did it! Boy those were the days!"
Nope none of that. Instead, they would run out of things to say. So I would prod them with my verbal spurs with things like, "So.... do you live here in Sacramento?" and "What kind of work do/did you do?". Nothing too complicated and it generally took the conversation well past the 30 second mark where the conversation would wrap up with a couple of Well-nice-to-see-you-again's.
And who knew trying to herd a bunch of 68-year olds to their tables was like trying to herd cats? And getting them to sit down and shut up is like trying to get a bunch of cats to sit down and shut up.
Twenty minutes. (Twenty minutes!) before everybody was quiet enough for the reunion committee person to speak to the group. Whatever happened to the generation that did not question authority and did what they were told, etc? I'll tell you what happened. They reached the Age of Realization where that kind of crap just doesn't make you happy and life is short and they paid their dues and they were going to do whatever the hell they wanted.
Once people had settled down for a minute you could hear a marching drum cadence in the distance that got closer and closer until the entire current El Camino High school pep band burst into the room and played a the ECHS fight song and the alma mater.
ECHS Pep Band marches in
ECHS Pep Band plays fight song and alma mater
It was really kind of cool. I totally approved of that party element.
During dinner at our table, it came out that:
1. Marilyn (who, by the way, had smuggled in a bottle of red wine to the party) had a high school crush on this guy Albert and if he were here she would finally be willing to confess it. I told her she was in luck and that this guy Albert was indeed there because I remembered seeing his name tag. I told her I'd find him for her and she HAD to tell him she crushed on him way back when and I wanted to see it.
2. This prompted my father to announce that he, too, had a high school crush on this girl Carol, so I said we would find out if she were here and I would bring her to him.
I asked our table occupants who the Homecoming King and Queen were and they couldn't remember. My Dad said there was just a queen and no king.
WHAT?????
How could (and why would) you have a queen without a king? That just didn't make sense. I decided that my father's brain had farted and he didn't know what he was talking about. I later approached the committee woman and asked her if she knew who the King and Queen were and she told me that SHE was the Queen and there was no King.
Huh.
My Dad with the Queen
After finally locating Albert, I brought Marilyn to him and took pictures while she confessed to him that she had the biggest crush in high school. It was awesome.
Marilyn's confession to Albert
After finally locating Carol, I brought her over to my Dad, and with his infinite socialization skills did NOT confess but mumbled something about finally getting to put his arm around her after all these years.
Carol was very gracious about the whole thing.
Dad with Carol, who kind of looks like she could have been a movie star.
Every time I asked someone if they knew who Carol was they'd say, "Oh she's the hot one in the black dress, she was just here a minute ago." I walked up to a woman who I thought might have been considered hot in a black dress and it wasn't Carol, but they shared the same last name even though they weren't related. How weird is that? Apparently "Draper" is just a hot last name to have (e.g. Mad Men's Don Draper)
And then the tunes began to play. At a reasonable volume (as advertised in the reunion's flyer). Tunes such as:
Walkin' After Midnight (Patsy Cline)
Sh-Boom, aka Life Could Be a Dream (The Crew-Cuts)
Return to Sender (Elvis Presley)
I'm Walkin' (Fats Domino)
And how do I know who sang all these songs? Because in this room of upper-Sextuagenarians, most of whom do not participate in much of today's technology, such as Twitter and Facebook, I busted out my iPhone and used an app called Shazam, which identifies songs and artists at the click of a button. (er, the touch of a screen)
And people danced!
Or maybe they were doing the Eagle Dance, flapping their wings, while others just choked each other. In any event, these cats really put the "boom" back into Baby Boomers, I'll tell you that.
Marilyn (you know the cool one at our table? The one who snuck in the wine and confessed her crush?) also brought their high school yearbook from 1959. I asked her if we could look for my mom in there, since she was a junior when they were all seniors. (Yeah, my parents dated in high school and got married soon thereafter). And there she was, right there in the Juniors pages. I didn't think to take a picture of that, but here they are on their wedding day in 1961:
Mom and Dad (1961)
My mother was eighteen when she got married. Eighteen!!!! She was a teenage bride! Can you imagine? Who does that anymore?
One common comment among the reunion attendees was how friendly everyone was, as if it surprised them. I wondered if it was because everyone was a jerk back in the day. I asked one man about it after he mentioned how friendly everyone was. He said that at their 30-year reunion, everyone was still clique-y.
"Do you suppose it's because everyone has finally gotten over themselves?" I asked.
"Yeah, people have their own lives, their own kids have grown up...".
I'm not sure how that explained it exactly, but it sounds like I only need to wait another 25 years before the "popular" people will talk to me at my high school reunion. Woo hoo!
Herding cats again for a picture
By the way, the apple may not fall far from the tree, and my husband and I may have gone to high school together, and I may have been a junior when he was a senior, but I did NOT get married at 18. Hell no, we waited until I was 34. Of course there was that 15-year-out-of-touch-incommunicado gap that delayed things, but still. We waited.
Goat Thing of the Day: A Brawl at the Fair
You can't do anything these days without someone else butting in.
Thanks to Lorie Shewbridge for showing NGIP this photo from Mom Talk Blog where. It was taken during a visit to this year's fair.
Thanks to Lorie Shewbridge for showing NGIP this photo from Mom Talk Blog where. It was taken during a visit to this year's fair.
What I Did For Love, Or: How I Learned to Be a Pipe Cleaner
My husband asked me to go up in the attic today. I thought he had some "spice up the marriage" ideas. Doesn't the phrase, "and then he had his way with me amongst the rafters" sound awesome to you?
Turns out I wasn't going up there with him, but rather, instead of him. Apparently he had some sort of traumatic attic childhood experience at church. No, not that kind of traumatic experience. This was a Baptist church, not a Catholic one.
Anyway, something about water coming out of the secondary line from our air conditioner, which meant the primary condensation drip line could be clogged, blah blah blah, bad thing, blah blah, water pan overflowing, blah, blah, water coming through the ceiling onto his computer desk, blah blah, thousands of dollars in damage, blah, blah, blah. Before I climbed up, however, he showed me a training video, so that I knew what to look for.
I poked my head up into the attic to scope for spiders and other scary monsters (cue Psycho music):
Eek! That was kinda scary, so I took a second look but this time using the flash:
Ahhhh, that's better. I called for my tennis shoes, gloves and a flashlight and went in to investigate. If the tray under the A/C unit has water in it, that's an indication that the primary line is clogged and you need to clean it out.
Turns out I wasn't going up there with him, but rather, instead of him. Apparently he had some sort of traumatic attic childhood experience at church. No, not that kind of traumatic experience. This was a Baptist church, not a Catholic one.
Anyway, something about water coming out of the secondary line from our air conditioner, which meant the primary condensation drip line could be clogged, blah blah blah, bad thing, blah blah, water pan overflowing, blah, blah, water coming through the ceiling onto his computer desk, blah blah, thousands of dollars in damage, blah, blah, blah. Before I climbed up, however, he showed me a training video, so that I knew what to look for.
I poked my head up into the attic to scope for spiders and other scary monsters (cue Psycho music):
Eek! That was kinda scary, so I took a second look but this time using the flash:
Ahhhh, that's better. I called for my tennis shoes, gloves and a flashlight and went in to investigate. If the tray under the A/C unit has water in it, that's an indication that the primary line is clogged and you need to clean it out.
While the tray was rusty, I couldn't tell if it had water in it, so I picked up a wood chip and swirled it in the tray, and yes, there was maybe a quarter of an inch of water. So I climbed back down and we prepared a cleaning solution, made up of bleach and water.
Then I climbed back up into the attic (did I mention that it was 196 degrees up there?) and slowly poured the stuff down the primary line while my assistant went outside to confirm that water came out the correct pipe.
My husband called me all kinds of hero as I climbed back down and we went outside so he could show me the results.
No more water coming out of the secondary line:
And after some stuff came out, the primary line was working fabulously...
Something wicked slimy popped out with the algae, but I have no idea what. You can click on the picture to enlarge and maybe you can tell me what the heck it is. Can you see it? It's that C-shaped mini snot volcano. Here, let's get a closeup:
Ewwwwwwwwwww!
Now can you see it? It's gross, right?
Goat Thing of the Day: The Goats of Walmart
You may have already been exposed to the viral website known as People of Walmart, but thanks to alert NGIP readers Suebob of Red Stapler and Kerry K., we can enjoy the Goats of Walmart:
That Could Have Been Me! But Not Really.
Did you all have a nice Labor Day Weekend?
Good. Now, let's talk about me and how I almost died.
My friend Erin drove into Sacramento on Saturday with her mom to lollygagging around the State Fair for a few hours. They swung by our house afterward and we all hit Dos Coyotes for a late lunch. You know, the place with the decapitated head that I told you about last month?
The next day, a car drove through the restaurant. I couldn't embed the video news clip, so you'll have to click on the picture below if you want to watch it on Sacramento's Channel 13 news site.
The table where we sat was right about where that car's trunk is in the picture. WE COULD HAVE DIED!
* * *
Did you see what I did there? I gave that story way more meaning to my personal circumstances than was necessary in order to create a lot of drama. Not to mention a lot of attention and sympathy toward myself, which was completely unnecessary and undeserved.
Why do we do that? How many times have you or someone you know said things comparable to, "I almost took the cruise that hit the iceberg. That could have been me!" or, "Oh my God, I was on a Zeppelin flight just last week. That could have been me!"
There must be some psychological term for it, but I don't know what it is, so I'm calling out to all my Psych major people to tell me what it is. In the meantime, I will call it Manufacturing Fate Where It Doesn't Exist, or M-FWIDE, for short.
I knew someone who suffered from M-FWIDE. She managed to connect every single reported disaster to herself. The news would report a hurricane clear on the other side of the country and I would wait, and sure enough, she could still pull out something like, "We thought about going there for our vacation. Boy, it's a good thing we didn't. That could have been me!"
Are we actually impressing our friends when we brag about the coincidences in our lives? I mean, did you really think, "Holy Cow, Nanny Goats was sitting in the exact same place where that car is! That's SO amazing! She's lucky to be alive!" And then you go around telling all your friends that we're BFFs, so that they will be impressed that you're really really close to the person who almost got nailed by three thousand pounds of Volkswagen?
Really?
OK then, did I ever tell you about the time I flew on the American Airlines flight from L.A. to Chicago ON THE SAME DAY AS BUT THE FLIGHT PRIOR TO the one that O.J. Simpson took from L.A. to Chicago the night his ex-wife was murdered? Oh yeah. Totally true story.
P.S. If you didn't get enough car-crashing-into-Sacramento-restaurants news, you can read or watch a story about someone who drove into a Starbucks, also on Sunday.
Good. Now, let's talk about me and how I almost died.
My friend Erin drove into Sacramento on Saturday with her mom to lollygagging around the State Fair for a few hours. They swung by our house afterward and we all hit Dos Coyotes for a late lunch. You know, the place with the decapitated head that I told you about last month?
The next day, a car drove through the restaurant. I couldn't embed the video news clip, so you'll have to click on the picture below if you want to watch it on Sacramento's Channel 13 news site.
The table where we sat was right about where that car's trunk is in the picture. WE COULD HAVE DIED!
* * *
Did you see what I did there? I gave that story way more meaning to my personal circumstances than was necessary in order to create a lot of drama. Not to mention a lot of attention and sympathy toward myself, which was completely unnecessary and undeserved.
Why do we do that? How many times have you or someone you know said things comparable to, "I almost took the cruise that hit the iceberg. That could have been me!" or, "Oh my God, I was on a Zeppelin flight just last week. That could have been me!"
There must be some psychological term for it, but I don't know what it is, so I'm calling out to all my Psych major people to tell me what it is. In the meantime, I will call it Manufacturing Fate Where It Doesn't Exist, or M-FWIDE, for short.
I knew someone who suffered from M-FWIDE. She managed to connect every single reported disaster to herself. The news would report a hurricane clear on the other side of the country and I would wait, and sure enough, she could still pull out something like, "We thought about going there for our vacation. Boy, it's a good thing we didn't. That could have been me!"
Are we actually impressing our friends when we brag about the coincidences in our lives? I mean, did you really think, "Holy Cow, Nanny Goats was sitting in the exact same place where that car is! That's SO amazing! She's lucky to be alive!" And then you go around telling all your friends that we're BFFs, so that they will be impressed that you're really really close to the person who almost got nailed by three thousand pounds of Volkswagen?
Really?
OK then, did I ever tell you about the time I flew on the American Airlines flight from L.A. to Chicago ON THE SAME DAY AS BUT THE FLIGHT PRIOR TO the one that O.J. Simpson took from L.A. to Chicago the night his ex-wife was murdered? Oh yeah. Totally true story.
Goat Thing of the Day: Labor Day Goat
I thought Labor Day in the U.S. was like Memorial Day and Veterans Day and Independence Day, where we had parades to celebrate something American and patriotic. You know, three cheers for the red, white and blue, and all that rot. But, no.
Labor Day is a holiday that was lifted from Canada after some American dude saw people celebrating with parades and stuff in Toronto. It's less about U.S. soldiers and more about labor movements and trade unions. It's also called May Day and International Workers Day and held by most countries on May 1. So, not only are we copying everybody else, we are also late.
So in the spirit of vague knowledge of holiday history and its questionable patriotic American notions, not to mention severe lateness, I give you the Labor Day goat:
Thanks to Keith for sending this one in.
Labor Day is a holiday that was lifted from Canada after some American dude saw people celebrating with parades and stuff in Toronto. It's less about U.S. soldiers and more about labor movements and trade unions. It's also called May Day and International Workers Day and held by most countries on May 1. So, not only are we copying everybody else, we are also late.
So in the spirit of vague knowledge of holiday history and its questionable patriotic American notions, not to mention severe lateness, I give you the Labor Day goat:
Click pic to enlarge
Thanks to Keith for sending this one in.
Wanna Flick My Bic? I Got a Million of 'Em
I sprung up from the chair and bounced to the door barking like crazy, nearly peeing on the tile entryway when the FedEx gal rang my bell yesterday. I wanted to knock her down and lick her face when she asked me to sign for the package I was expecting.
Instead, I stoically thanked her, closed the door and burst into my office looking for the scissors. Boy, oh boy - they're here! They're here!
Wanna see?
There's just one thing...
They required a minimum order. You know, like drinks at a comedy club. Only I had to buy more than two pens.
I'm gonna be giving away goat pens until the cows come home.
In an effort to begin passing these out, the first 10 people to say "I want an NGIP pen" or something closely resembling it, I will happily send you one. Heck, I'll even send you two! No, seriously. That box? 300 pens.
I might also add that these are good pens, as in, pens that work. Not those crappy free pens that your insurance agent sends you with that useless calendar/refrigerator-magnet/bottle-opener/4-inch-ruler combo thingee. I knew I had ordered good pens. How? Because Stimey over at Stimeyland gave me one of hers at the BlogHer conference a few weeks ago and I begged her to tell me where she got hers.
So that's how I knew.
Anyway, you first 10 people showing the slightest interest in an NGIP pen, just make sure you leave your email address in that first part of the comment form (which is invisible to everyone but me) and we'll coordinate shipping. If I normally see you in real life, you don't need to say you want one because I will be giving you one (or twelve) the next time I see you whether you want one (or twelve) or not because: 1) 300 pens, and 2) That's a lot of pens.
{UPDATE: Due to popular demand, corporate has just authorized me to send out a pen to anybody that wants one, so in the words of Oprah...."EVERYBODY GETS A PEN!!!! EVERYBODY GETS A PEN!!!!" }
I would like to thank Kathcom over at Magick Sandwich for not giving me an award. No, really. She totally passed me over and I could just kiss her.
Instead, I stoically thanked her, closed the door and burst into my office looking for the scissors. Boy, oh boy - they're here! They're here!
Wanna see?
There's just one thing...
They required a minimum order. You know, like drinks at a comedy club. Only I had to buy more than two pens.
I'm gonna be giving away goat pens until the cows come home.
In an effort to begin passing these out, the first 10 people to say "I want an NGIP pen" or something closely resembling it, I will happily send you one. Heck, I'll even send you two! No, seriously. That box? 300 pens.
I might also add that these are good pens, as in, pens that work. Not those crappy free pens that your insurance agent sends you with that useless calendar/refrigerator-magnet/bottle-opener/4-inch-ruler combo thingee. I knew I had ordered good pens. How? Because Stimey over at Stimeyland gave me one of hers at the BlogHer conference a few weeks ago and I begged her to tell me where she got hers.
So that's how I knew.
Anyway, you first 10 people showing the slightest interest in an NGIP pen, just make sure you leave your email address in that first part of the comment form (which is invisible to everyone but me) and we'll coordinate shipping. If I normally see you in real life, you don't need to say you want one because I will be giving you one (or twelve) the next time I see you whether you want one (or twelve) or not because: 1) 300 pens, and 2) That's a lot of pens.
{UPDATE: Due to popular demand, corporate has just authorized me to send out a pen to anybody that wants one, so in the words of Oprah...."EVERYBODY GETS A PEN!!!! EVERYBODY GETS A PEN!!!!" }
I would like to thank Kathcom over at Magick Sandwich for not giving me an award. No, really. She totally passed me over and I could just kiss her.
Goat Thing of the Day: Goat Photobomb
If you don't know what a photobomb is, it's when somebody poses in other people's pictures. Some say the photograph is ruined when a random yahoo crashes in on their photograph. In some cases, though, the photo becomes more fabulous, and spreads around the internetz like wildfire including a guest appearance in National Geographic, say, like this:
The squirrel photobomb became such a sensation that you can now insert the squirrel into your own photos with the Squirrelizer.
The question is, if a goat bombs a photo, is the original picture ruined? Or enhanced?
(Thanks to Felicia G, for learnin' me about photobombing and showing me the above photos)
photo by Melissa Brandts via National Geographic
The squirrel photobomb became such a sensation that you can now insert the squirrel into your own photos with the Squirrelizer.
The question is, if a goat bombs a photo, is the original picture ruined? Or enhanced?
from This Is Photobomb
The other question is, how the does the ghost of the Grim Reaper, who has also apparently bombed the photo, affect the picture?
(Thanks to Felicia G, for learnin' me about photobombing and showing me the above photos)
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