The Junk Drawer

Always on the lookout for offbeat blogs, I stumbled onto one that pays tribute to the very best of the worst mailboxes. Yes, mailboxes. Check out UglyMailbox and thank God you don’t live in those neighborhoods.

While out and about today, Dave managed to catch a glimmer of a fairly hideous one that I could submit to the site. I’m not sure it’ll make the grade, but we think it scores pretty high on the ugly scale. I’ve never seen a mailbox with fish hooks on it, or eyes, for that matter. Truly awful.

StumbleUpon is one of the best ways to discover blogs and websites you would have never found otherwise. It’s how I came upon an entry at Kavefish.com that showcases the freakish artwork of Ron Mueck, an Australian-born, hyper-realist sculptor working in the UK.

If you are intrigued by this disembodied head, then click over to Kavefish and really get an eyeful. Halloween feels like an appropriate time to share stuff like this. Enjoy!

You wouldn’t know it to look at me, but I possess two amazing superpowers. First, for as long as I can remember, I’ve had bionic hearing. Even before Lindsey Wagner (pictured left) acquired hers. You know, the Bionic Woman, now world-famous spokeswoman for Sleep Number Beds. (I bet she never saw that coming.) My husband, Dave likes to call my special ability "dog hearing." Woof.

I don’t know of any other superhuman entity who can hear as well as I can. Someone should wire me up to a machine and study me. I would find it extremely gratifying to be listed as a freak in a medical journal. It may be the only way I ever get published.

Listen up. Here’s how my ears work.

I can tell if a television is on in the next room, even if it’s muted.

I can hear the ever-so-slight noise a VCR makes when it records a program, so much so that I made Dave go with me to Circuit City to buy not one, not two, but three different VCRs until I found one that taped quietly enough. The man is a saint.

Once while working alongside a technician in the computer repair shop where I work, I repeatedly asked "What’s that noise? I hear a noise." The technician kept looking around trying to find its source and he had a lot of trouble since he couldn’t hear it himself. After flipping random switches and turning assorted knobs, he found the machine that was causing the noise and turned it off. I breathed a sigh of relief. He looked at me, cocked his head slightly and then splashed holy water on me because he thought I was the anti-Christ.

I hear my DVR machine recording. A DVR is able to freeze-frame and play back live broadcasts because it’s always taping the current channel. I hear it doing its job, but nobody else can.

I once had a very unusual problem in my car where when I made hard turns, I could hear fluid sloshing around in the dashboard innards. I’ve had four people in my car at various times when this noise made itself known. Nobody but me could hear it. They asked if I was on medication.

I now know better than to ask people "Do you hear that noise?" because the answer will always be "What noise?" I haven’t figured out how I can put my special powers to good use. I know the Bionic Woman would always pull her hair back and point her souped up ear toward bad guys who were up to no good. Then she’d save the day because she overheard secret information and then used it against them. Yeah, I wanna do that. But I don’t know how to work that into my non-espionage life.

My other superpower is one that I have not perfected yet, though it has served me well when it’s worked. I can mentally cancel meetings I don’t want to attend. I do not always want to skip meetings, so I only pull this skill out when I really need it. My record stands at 8 out of 12 meetings successfully killed. And, yes, I’m keeping track.

Before you ask me if I can help you get out of meetings, don’t bother. The talent is non-transferable. I’ve tried, but it only works when I’m the one who doesn’t want to go. It’s a shame, because imagine the money I could make if I could stop one of the world’s biggest time-wasters on behalf of others. I’d be a millionaire.

Sure, there are other superhero women out there with special abilities, but can they hear inaudible sounds without bionic help and cancel meetings at will? I’m certain there is a place where these skills would come in handy.

If you can figure out how I can put these two talents together to save the world or something, drop me a line. I’ll get back to you if I’m not in a meeting. I’d like to hear about it.

Today I’m giving a hearty shout-out to one of my favorite blogs, The "Blog" of "Unnecessary" Quotation Marks. The blog’s brainchild, Bethany Keeley, documents the needless double quote marks that wind up transforming an everyday phrase into a seemingly disingenuous one. One example shows an East India Tea & Coffee LTD bag labeled Old Fashioned Sassafras Herbal "Tea." It may be tea, or it may not be tea. Inquiring minds want to know.

It took about a month, but I was able to find a sign with unnecessary quotes, take a snapshot and send it in. It’s from a catering business near the Allentown (Pa.) Fairgrounds. She posted it on Saturday.

If you want to see more like it, check out her blog. It’s a really "enjoyable" read. Wink wink.

If you’ve ever made the mistake of leaving the house wearing two different shoes, you don’t want to run into me. I will mock you mercilessly. I did just that to a co-worker once, in the form of this PowerPoint tutorial, titled "Shoe Lessons." Once there, click View Published Presentation in a New Window. Page through the slides at the bottom of the screen.

My victim took it well when I sent it to her originally. And she’s been matching her shoes properly ever since.

The slideshow had the added benefit of making my mother laugh for the one and only time during her excruciatingly painful bout with shingles. And, by the way, I would rather have two broken legs, an intestinal parasite and a flaming case of poison ivy — all at once — than suffer through shingles. I managed to get my mother skin patch narcotics you slap right on the pain points and even that wasn’t enough. It’s a truly horrible condition.

My friend Jason showed me a ridiculous item in a cheapo catalog he got in the mail a couple weeks ago. It illustrates just how fat our country has gotten.

I give you The Easy-Fit Waistband Stretcher

From the Heartland America website,

If you’ve added on some winter weight, your favorite pants have shrunk after washing, or you’ve had a temporary weight gain, don’t go out and buy new clothes. Easy-fit waistband stretcher to the rescue! Gently widen your snug jeans, skirts and shorts by putting the device inside the waistband and adjusting until you find the most comfortable size. Works on waist sizes 21-50. 1-year limited warranty.

Don’t go out and buy new clothes?!?!? What? That’s too humiliating? It’s any better to stick this stretching machinery into your jeans, thinking they’ll fit properly? I imagine when you’re done using this device, your pants will be the perfect size and shape to fit Homer Simpson. Not a flattering look.

Oh, and if this works on "waist sizes 21-50," you have bigger problems. You do NOT need to make your pants larger. You need to make your gut smaller.

I haven’t heard of such an idiotic device since the FloBee. You know, the vacuum cleaner that happens to also cut hair. I’d like to say I can’t believe there’s a market for pants stretchers, but I absolutely can believe it. Our country would rather jam our sausage bodies into too-tight pants than get on a treadmill every once in a while.

If nothing else, this discovery makes me more motivated to get out and exercise. I may not get down to my "skinny jeans" weight again, but you can be sure I won’t be ruining any of my clothes to make them fit. Homer Pants aren’t a good look for me.

My sister Marlene treated her daughter, Amy, and me to an afternoon at Dorney Amusement Park on Saturday. Every year her company gives its employees free passes, plus two for their guests. Excellent deal, since tickets normally go for something like 30 bucks. I know I’ll still pay a fortune on food, drink and at least one impulse purchase. But since I’m not starting out $30 in the hole, it’s all good. Plus, the park hosts "Halloweekends" in October, where they decorate every square inch for the fall holiday. Even if you don’t go on rides, it’s really nice to just stroll around and get into the Halloween spirit.

But I do go on rides. At least the ones I think I won’t die on.

We meet at my house and pile in one car. For the next half an hour, we complain about the extra weight we’ve put on, how we hate exercise and that we’re doomed until we get serious about weight loss. We get to the park, walk through the entrance, look around and the first thing out of our mouths is "Where do we want to eat?" What did we JUST SAY people???

We head down a pathway that leads to one of the park’s many Dippin’ Dots carts. Dippin’ Dots is (are?) ice cream molded into the shape of tiny beads. Strangest ice cream I’ve ever had, and difficult to maneuver, since half of those little buggers tend to escape and roll away with every spoonful. Whatever. We each pay $5 for a small cup. And I do mean small. I’m done with it in 2.5 minutes, but that could also be because half of the beads have jumped the cup and are now bouncing happily away.

We decide it’s time to consider going on rides. When I say "we" should go on rides, I really mean just Amy. I’ve appointed her the ride inspector and the "oh-come-on-you’ll-be-OK" motivator. It works this way — She picks out a ride she likes, or thinks I’ll like, gets on the ride and then reports back to me about how violent said ride felt. Then I decide whether I can handle it. She gives me the blow-by-blow account of each one, and then we determine how much I would cry and how embarrassing a scene I would make.

While discussing whether I’m going on any rides, Marlene whips out her digital camera and begins taking the first of several hundred pictures in the park. We shall refer to her now as The Sisterazzi. Nobody’s safe. "Look over here! Amy! Kathy! Stand in front of this! Over here! Just one more picture! Oh, wait! Come over here!"

We tolerate this because she loves taking pictures. But we have requirements. Our hair can’t look like any of the scarecrows dotting the park. Above-the-waist shots only. No rear shots. We think Sisterazzi complies, but I haven’t seen the pictures yet. It was too sunny to make them out on the tiny screen.

We head over to the one ride I’ll consider, Talon. It’s one of the best in the park due to its smoothness. Steel tracks are the best. Wooden ones will cause teeth to fall out of your head and you’ll be a bruised and battered mess when it’s over, assuming you survive at all. We wait for Amy to go on Talon once, alone. She’ll report back about how long the line is and whether the teenaged ride attendants look responsible enough to trust our lives with.

Sisterazzi is busy taking pictures of other people on other rides, while I’m getting my stomach in knots just thinking about going on Talon. What freaks me out most is not the ride itself. The ride is awesome. It’s having to walk the stairs to the platform where you queue up for seats. I have real trouble standing still in high places. I have no problem hurdling to the earth at breakneck speeds (possibly literally break neck speeds), but I can’t handle waiting in line up really high, long enough to realize that the ground is way down there and I’m way up here.

Amy returns from her quick trip on Talon and begins her motivational speech. She assures me she’ll talk me through the ascent and that I’ll love it as much as all the other times I’ve been on it. And, no doubt, we’ll ride in the front row. If you ride a coaster, the only good seat is the front seat. Totally clear view of the ground coming up fast at you. There’s no better thrill, except maybe bungee jumping or skydiving. Those I won’t do, because I can’t hang my life on a string. But I will fly through the sky if I’m nailed to a seat.

We decide around now it’s time to eat a real meal and head off to a pizza place. The line is very long, so we briefly contemplate going over to a Subway instead. None of us wants to eat healthy, despite our complaints about wanting to lose weight, so we remain in the long line and then pay a small fortune for a slice of pizza and bottled water, $10. Extortion pizza.

As soon as we sit down at a table in the shade, Sisterazzi is at it again. This time, taking pictures of Amy and me with stringy cheese hanging out of our mouths. Thanks for that. We feel better now that we’ve had food and gotten out of the sun. But it’s a record-breaking 85 degrees on this October day, and we’re suffering a bit from meaty paw syndrome. Amy suggests we could cool off more if we go on Talon and I’m back to stressing about whether to go on it.

We slowly walk up the hill toward the ride and I remind myself that the reason I want to do it is for the exhilaration of flying through the air for little over a minute. There are four inversions: a vertical loop, a zero-gravity roll, an Immelmann loop (whatever the hell that is), and a corkscrew.

Two things happen in this environment. You briefly cannot breathe (wheeee!) and your hair winds up looking like this. At least mine does.

I decide I’m ready for the climb up the stairs and onto the platform. Fortunately, the line is short and I don’t have to spend time standing still on the stairs. But I do need some encouragement from Amy. She distracts me from the reality of my situation by discussing a very boring topic. Routers and wireless access points.

She goes into a long discussion about what kind of network she has at work and talks about getting a wireless router for home. I ignore where I am for a moment and talk about a new laptop and wireless router I’m thinking of buying so I can blog anywhere in the house. I’m hearing all kinds of screaming from passengers already on the ride, but I ignore this. Amy also directs me to look at a spot on the platform full of people and that doesn’t overlook the ground below. I pretend I’m anywhere but there.

We are soon led like cattle into the front row chute. We are shocked that they’re sending the ride out without a full front row. What’s wrong with these people? The front row is the BEST seat in the house. I’m all cocky about it — until it’s my turn to get in the seat.

Blogger’s note: I’ve begun to sweat just writing this. The memory of front row seat lockdown is fresh in my mind and I’m very tense right now. My keyboard has asked me to stop pressing so hard.

So we are led to our seats and we get nailed in. I’m thankful that the ride operator clicks the metal harness into my lap even lower than I got it to go myself. This makes me happy for two reasons: 1) It tells me that my stomach is not as huge as I thought it was, and 2) I’m 100% bolted in. I no longer worry that I’ll somehow slip out of my chair and die a horrible, screaming, bloody death. Wheeeee!!!!

We begin our ascent up the 100+ foot hill and Amy’s still talkin’ about routers. I have my eyes closed because I hate the ascent. She asks me if I want to know when we get to the top, and I reply "No, I’ll know it when we’re about to fall off the face of the earth. Thankyouverymuch."

The ride is exceptional. Smooth, fast and breathless — exactly as I remember it. Since it’s hard to scream when you can’t breathe, I opt for the silent descent. I just smile a toothy smile the whole way through.

Without further ado, here’s how the ride went. It’s my one impulse purchase. The park used to offer still shots of riders screaming their heads off, but now they offer DVDs of riders screaming their heads off. That’ll be me on the left, and Amy on the right. We appear 30 seconds into it.

Amy wanted a picture of me when we got off because I looked like I’d just been electrocuted (sign of a great ride!). We don’t have a camera, but of course Sisterazzi does. She gets the shot and now we can relax a little because I don’t have to stress anymore about doing this ride. I’ve done the deed.

We stroll around the park for another hour or so, jump on a train that chugs throughout the park and decide we’ve had our fill and start thinkin’ about what to eat again. Everything we do begins and ends with food. Will we never learn?

So Saturday was the day I didn’t die on a ride. I’ll have to pencil this in again for next year and, with Amy as my co-pilot, I’ll do just fine.

Last month I wrote about 10 Things That Annoy Me. If you follow my blog, you know there can’t be only ten things. There can’t be only a hundred, really. So keep checking back for more lists.

Let’s get on with the show!

10 More Things That Annoy Me:

1. People who get on their cell phones as soon as they put their cars into gear. What? You couldn’t have had that conversation before you pulled out onto the open road where you will pay zero attention to other drivers while you order take-out?

2. My nose runs when I eat. Doesn’t matter whether I’m eating hot or cold food. I just finished a snack bag of Doritos and had to blow my nose. A co-worker saw me do it and asked if I had a cold. I lied and said "Yes, but I’m fine." That’s better than explaining the issue with my nose. No one understands. It doesn’t have a cool medical name. It garners no sympathy. It just runs.

3. Giada De Laurentis, host of Everyday Italian on the Food Network. She speaks perfect English without the slightest trace of an Italian accent. But when she says any word of Italian origin, suddenly she’s Sophia Loren. "Now we’ll add our ree-GAUGH-ta cheese and Rrrr-egiano parmi-GEE-ano…." Oh my God. I just want to punch her.

4. Two of my cats do not understand how to use their water dish. One won’t drink water unless it’s coming right out of the faucet. And the other picks up his food with his claws, while hovering over the bowl. He lets the morsels drop into the water and then promptly gets P.O.’d that there are chunks of food floating around in it. So he tips the bowl over and drinks off the floor. Guess which cat.

5. I’m physically unable to burp. The closest I get is a gurgle, which sounds like a sink backing up. It’s not only annoying, it’s painful. Please do NOT suggest I guzzle a carbonated beverage. No burp will come of that. It only backs up the pipes more.

6. Kazoos, bugles and bagpipes. They’re not instruments. They’re noise-makers. I used to work in the same office with someone who played a CD of nothing but bagpipe "tunes," if you can believe someone made a CD of only bagpipe music. I was tortured slowly for a few months, for no good reason.

7. My answering machine. It takes the stupid lady forever to GET TO THE FREAKING MESSAGE ALREADY! Have a listen.

8. Toyota, for not understanding that a sun visor has to be big enough to, you know, BLOCK THE SUN. Both Toyatas Dave’s owned never had long enough visors, so when I’m riding in the car, I have try to keep really straight and tall, squint, and wear sunglasses.

9. Starbucks, for making it impossible to order a cup of coffee without a PhD. Coffee used to be so simple. A friend of mine who has a PhD helped me out by writing this on a store business card. The front reads: "Please help this woman." On the back: "Mocha. Extra shot. Dark choc. Whip." Works for me.

10. Saran wrap. Tear off a sheet of cling wrap, and it does exactly that. It clings to itself and then you have to ball it up, throw it out and try again. I would never use this stuff if not for the need to see which of my leftovers is turning into penicillin in the refrigerator. What someone needs to invent is clear tin foil! Anyone? Anyone?

I’m throwing in a bonus 11th annoyance — this one from my husband, who wants to get in on The Annoying List action. He’s not a very annoyed person by nature, which is why we’re a perfect match. If we were both as annoyed as I am, we couldn’t live in the same house. But apparently some things do bother the man.

Here’s what annoys Dave: People who put slashes through 7’s and 0’s. His rant goes thusly: "And it’s always the ones who have perfect penmanship!!! It’s the slobs who need it, but they never do it, and the ones who do are probably the same people who write xx’s in place of zeros on their checks. You’re supposed to write 00/100!!!! Numbers go on checks! An ‘x’ is not a zero you half-wit!

Oh-kaaaaay.

After reading my post But I don’t want to look like Cher, my niece Amy wrote me about a cool tool at MyHeritage.com. You can upload a picture of yourself (large, front-facing ones are best) and have it tell you which celebrity you resemble the most.

When I first tried it, I got rather unexpected results:

Imagine my disappointment when it reported, "Sorry, no faces were detected."

I informed Amy that MyHeritage thinks I don’t have a face, at least not in that picture. Because my niece is not as lazy as me, she cropped out just my face and resubmitted it.

Drumroll please………!!!!

MyHeritage thinks I look like figure skater Michelle Kwan. Do you agree?

If you have a face, submit it here and drop a comment in the drawer to let me know who it thinks you look like. Then I can imagine who my readers are!

I’m cranky this week because it’s been so busy at work that I thought Tuesday was Thursday already. It really felt like four days’ worth of work crammed into two. We have our old ugly furniture paired with our new tables and now it looks like Unclaimed Salvage & Freight in my living room. And we’re starting to wonder if La-z-Boy will ever send us our new furniture. I have to fight for space at my kitchen sink because my fat cat insists on drinking her water straight from the faucet … and I keep letting her. How stupid am I? Don’t answer that. Plus a spider may have just crawled into my cup of coffee.

What better time to post a list of 10 things that annoy me. I’m so in the mood!

1. People who can’t control their car alarms. Guess what? No one cares if your car is getting broken into, stolen or damaged in any way. In fact, is there anything I can do to help?

2. People who pay for groceries with a check. A check? Are you kidding me?

3. Brittney Spears. Tell me, why is she still here? After Sunday’s MTV Music Awards disaster she needs to pack up her lingerie in a really tiny suitcase and call it a day. Call it a career, actually. And take your dancing pole with you.

4. Billy Mays, the ear-piercing, high-octane infomercial pitchman for OxyClean and something orange that cleans everything. I can never get to the mute button fast enough.

5. People who let their dogs crap on my lawn, and then walk away. You’re supposed to be carrying it around in bags, aren’t you? And, by the way, how does that steaming pile of poo feel when you pick it up with your bare hand from the inside of the bag? Reason number #284 why cats rule.

6. Red light runners. Um, you do know you can kill people doing that, right?

7. Microsoft for too many reasons to list. But just for today, you annoy me because you think everyone has the 20/20 vision of an 18-year-old. Why on God’s green earth can’t you make the Office 2007 program buttons bigger? You know, the ones people use a hundred times a day? Plus now to open the File menu, you have to click that big gumball Office logo, that’s if people even know what it is.

8. That lady who drove practically attached to my trunk yesterday who was not only talking on a cell phone but smoking a cigarette. It was fun to watch how you managed that and I did want to see you get into an accident, just not with me.

9. Hard plastic packaging you have to risk life and limb cutting open. Since when did a $10 cable require Fort Knox protection? Seriously, can’t it just go in a box with a lid?

10. This video and accompanying song. I stumbled onto it a while back and now every time I see a furniture commercial, I’m reminded of it. Not as bad as Pop Goes the Weasel, but it’s in the general vicinity. Beware.

Please don’t write me to say "lighten up." If you do, you’re going to make my next list.

While trying to get to Lauter’s Furniture store in Easton on Sunday, Dave and I got sidetracked by numerous road closings due to what I later learned was the Via Lehigh River Relay Marathon. We tried every conceivable way to get to our destination, but kept getting redirected elsewhere by policemen.

In frustration we turned around and headed west up Northampton St. and as we approached 7th St., I shouted "Let’s stop at Easton Baking!" At least the trip wouldn’t be a total loss. Easton Baking is a fixture in town, been there forever. Located on a tiny residential street, there’s nowhere to park, but nobody cares. You just throw your car in park wherever you want and run inside. The neighbors must love this.

I dart into the store and get in a very long line. I’m not worried about the wait, since it’s moving quickly. Almost too quickly. I wanted time to peruse the selections, but the line moves so fast, I couldn’t get a very good look. It was all just a sugary blur.

I see immediately they have a system here and everyone but me knows how to work it. You get in line at the right, announce your order, have your money in hand and pay on the left. Absolutely no deviation is allowed. If you’re familiar with the Seinfeld "Soup Nazi" episode, this is the bakery version of that. I get the sense if you don’t do it right, an angry mob will chase you out the door and beat you senseless with fresh and crispy baguettes. "No bread for YOU!"

My anxiety is made worse knowing I haven’t a clue what to buy. When it came my turn, I blurted out "Just grab a big box and I’ll point at stuff I want!" I figured this was the fastest way to go about it and would ensure that others behind me wouldn’t punish me for not being prepared. I managed to fill the box with an assortment of stuff I may or may not have wanted.

While waiting to pay, I met eyes with a guy who’d been staring at me a while. I thought for sure he was going to say "You don’t have a clue, do you lady? You silly, stupid woman." What he did say weirded me out a little:

"Has anyone ever told you that you look like Cher?"

"Um, no. That’s a first. Thanks…. I think."

Maybe it’s the longish curly hair, maybe it’s the nose, maybe I looked all drag queen at 11AM in the morning. For the record, I don’t see the resemblance, and neither does Dave.

But it got me thinking of other women people have told me I looked like. Here goes:

Stacy London of TLC’s makeover show "What Not to Wear."
I think we have the same nose, and I can’t say I’m happy about it.

Justine Bateman of "Family Ties" fame. Back when I wore my hair straight. And again with the nose.

Amy Winehouse, who has a popular song out now called Rehab, with a running lyric "They tried to make me go to rehab, but I said no, no, no." She’s in rehab now.

Madolyn Smith Osborne, the actress who played opposite Chevy Chase in 1988’s Funny Farm.

So what do you think? Do I look like any of these women? You can leave a comment, but if you stick one Cher song title, one Cher reference, one Cher anything in there, you’re banned for life.

With Dave and I being far enough away from our furniture shopping hell experience, it occurs to me now that our adventures weren’t 100 percent bad. There was one bright spot in our travels around the Valley and that’s the Nazareth Furniture Store.

Located at 75 S. Main St., Nazareth, PA, the store is housed in what was once the Nazareth Inn. Built in 1771, the building looks no worse for wear and oozes charm throughout. Their furniture and accessories collection is high end and one-of-a-kind, and that makes them pricier than most other places. It’s also the reason we didn’t buy anything from them, unfortunately. While we loved so many pieces and did consider buying a couple tables, we just couldn’t justify their cost.

What makes the store so fun to browse is that each of the former hotel rooms is furnished and decorated uniquely with its own style and personality. As you weave in and out of each room, creaking and cracking over thick wooden floor boards, you find yourself going back in time. I imagined back when it was a hotel and guests milled about. In the intense heat, though, I also wondered how they managed without air conditioning. When we got to the fifth floor, I just couldn’t take it anymore in the mid-August heat. God, we’re so spoiled.

One other major plus here is the laissez-faire attitude the owners take when you shop. Imagine our surprise when we browsed for a full thirty minutes without seeing even one sales person. They really let you explore on your own and for that we were intensely grateful. When we did run into one floor person, he was gracious and helpful, not pressuring us in any way. We almost wanted to buy something – anything – as a simple thank you for not jumping on us. Our experience at most every other store was the complete opposite, so it was refreshing to be treated more as guests in someone’s home than off-the-street strangers.

So hats off to the Nazareth Furniture Store. You know, we still need new lamps, so we might just take another trip. If we don’t find anything, it’ll still be a fun visit. This place is a real gem!

Blogger’s Note: If you read my blog regularly, you know by now I’m cranky about a lot of stuff. This post is proof that I don’t actually hate everything. Yeah, you’ll still find me complaining about poor customer service, tech support headaches, idiots in general and how badly the English language gets butchered. But I’ll try to sprinkle some kudos around in the future. Stay tuned for more stuff I don’t hate!

The results are in! I polled readers on what tech toys they couldn’t live without and I was a little surprised by a few things. First, here are the items in order by popularity:

1. Internet
2. Books, cable TV (tie)
3. DVR
4. Cell phone/iPod (tie)
5. Digital camera

I’m not at all surprised by Internet’s first place finish. I know the weekend I had to go without it made me wonder what I did all those years in its absence.

What did surprise me was the lower ranking of the ubiquitous iPod. I thought I was the last person on earth who didn’t have one and is thus not hopelessly addicted. I also think I’m the last person who hasn’t read the Harry Potter series or watched an episode of American Idol beyond the first couple weeks when the worst singers perform. That’s gold!

I’m also surprised that cell phones weren’t first on the list. I know few people who don’t have theirs within arm’s length at all times. I have one for work purposes, but not for personal use. Perhaps part of that is because I don’t have children, so I’m not in need of constant communication with people who need to know when I’m picking them up and what’s for dinner.

I’m not entirely shocked that video games didn’t get a single vote. It may indicate that no one under 20 years old reads my blog, except for my niece who just thinks I’m so cool for having one. Even she places her iPod and cell phone above video games. You know, they don’t make enough video games for girls. There must be a shortcut on programmers’ keyboards for "blood" and "more violence!" since that seems to be what sells best. And girls are just not into that.

My heart warmed to see books so high on the list. With all our digital paraphernalia it’s nice to see people still love to curl up with a good book. You don’t turn it on, it doesn’t need to be recharged and it won’t crash or be incompatible with anything.

By the way, I highly recommend Crashing Through by Robert Kurson. It’s a riveting story about Mike May, a man blinded by a chemical accident at the age of 3. May gets a chance to see again through revolutionary and risky surgery. May’s experience isn’t at all what you’d expect for a person who regains his vision after a virtual lifetime of blindness.

Thanks to all those who participated in the poll. And if I didn’t list a gadget or technology that you can’t live without, comment below and tell me what it is!

What’s remarkable about this chip isn’t so much that it has a heart built into it, but that it’s eight months old and isn’t sporting any hair, mold or little green fuzzies. Dave’s been saving it since winter for my Food That Looks Like Stuff site, reminding me periodically to take the damn picture already so we can throw it out! But I’d always forget. He moved it from place to place and I guess I thought it was gone for good.

Just today he found it in a kitchen cabinet behind some junk. It’s very scary to me that it has not aged a bit. Looks just as good as the day I pulled it from the bag. I’m sure they use the same preservatives in chips that they do in McDonald’s french fries. Beware the potato snack.

After a couple of weeks free of furniture shopping, we just got a call that our tables will be delivered next week. Woo hoo! The couch and chair aren’t far behind. Now we have to get serious about getting rid of the old stuff. I have to call my township and/or trash hauler to see if they have special days when you can put furniture out on the curb. We’d set it on fire in the backyard, but I kind of think that’s illegal.

The cocktail and end tables we used are still in great condition and I’d like to try and sell them. I’m a bad judge of how to price used items, and have little yard sale expertise. I’ll never hold another one ever since I practically gave away Dave’s Super Fantastic Deluxe set of Christmas tree lights that "you can’t find anywhere now and why did you sell them at the yard sale?!?!?" Live and learn.

Here’s a picture of the tables we want to sell. I’m guessing we paid over $1,000 for the set, so I suppose asking a hundred bucks is reasonable. They’re glass top with wrought iron legs, as you can see. And they’re really freaking heavy. If you or someone you know would like them, drop me a line. You’d have to pick them up (Hanover Township, PA). Come to think of it, you can take the lamps, too. Cat not included.

On a flight home from Vegas a few years ago I browsed the household tips Q&A section of a Reader’s Digest. I couldn’t believe it when I spotted a question submitted by a good friend of mine. When I got back in town, I called her excitedly to say I’d seen her name in the Digest.

Her reply surprised me: "Well, that wasn’t actually me who submitted it. My cousin works there and she needed a name to put with a question that they wrote themselves." Evidently, this happens sometimes when editors have just the right question in mind, but nobody actually asks it. I’m of the opinion that Judith Martin (aka Miss Manners) is doing the same thing.

How else do you explain this ridiculous question that appeared in her column yesterday in the Morning Call?

Dear Miss Manners: My boss says that it is inconsiderate to the workplace to leave the top off of my 12-ounce bottle of water/tea when I am not drinking it. He has a terrible tendency to knock it over. He also claims that when customers come in to the office and I have left it on the counter that, they too, knock it over. I now have to unscrew every time I want to drink and hope that I don’t lose the lid to screw it back on. Could you please clarify what is the proper way to handle your water bottle in the office? I do not wish to be uncourteous, but I think he is just clumsy. Please advise.

This week I watched as my local grocery store jammed its shelves with Halloween candy. We’re not out of summer yet, but we have our sights on fall already. I’m sure the onslaught of Christmas isn’t far behind.

In the tradition of preparing for holidays well before its time, I give you Butterfinger eyeballs. These make a fun addition to your Halloween parties and kids just love the "gross out" factor.

They’re very easy to make. Here’s the recipe. In place of Goobers, I used Butterfinger BBs for the pupils. Be warned, though. The eyeballs are very sweet. One goes a long way.

Dave and I recently ended our furniture hunt. After two agonizing weeks of searching for accent tables, we decided to get a set we’d seen back at La-Z-Boy while looking for seating. I liked it immediately, but he didn’t. Not until he saw the exact same thing at Lauter’s in Easton did he conclude that he liked it. I suppose it was because he saw it matched with other furniture in better lighting. I wasn’t peeved that we could have saved all that time continuing to shop. I was really just happy the nightmare was over.

One of the worst experiences we had while still searching was at Raymour and Flanigan. We stupidly went to the Quakertown store thinking it would be different than the one in Whitehall, where they hire massively aggressive sales people. One in particular was the pit bull of salesmen. If you go, you’ll know him because he’s going to jump all over you and lick your face when you walk in the door.

The Quakertown store was as bad as Whitehall, if not worse. No less than six sales people were huddled at the front door, waiting to attack. We should have just turned around and left right then and there. You always think you can get past their tactics, but they make it VERY hard. Despite our ingenious plan to divide and conquer, (“I’ll go left, you go right, we meet back here.”) the sales staff nucleus quickly broke apart and began their descent, trailing us in both directions.

My technique at that point was to completely ignore them, mumbling or grunting short answers when they asked what we’re looking for. Dave felt this was rude, but I figure “Hey, they don’t know me. I don’t know them. I don’t owe them anything.” Besides, any minute some other poor saps are going to walk in the front door and they can have their way with them. I also kept my sunglasses on so I wouldn’t have to make eye contact. It made me seem a little crazy. All the better.

I know they work on commission and their jobs can’t be very easy with most of the people walking in and walking out without buying anything. But for crying out loud, we might have actually wanted something in the store, but we were so preoccupied with getting some privacy, we couldn’t take enough time to really see anything.

Here’s what I propose to you, Raymour and Flanigan. If you follow these simple rules, we can guarantee your sales will increase exponentially:

1. No touching. The attack dog at the Whitehall store kept patting Dave on the back and grabbing his shoulders like they were old friends who go way back. Keep your paws off.
2. When we have something to say, we’ll come get you. Be like polite children: Speak only when spoken to.
3. Don’t huddle around other sales people quietly talking about who’s going to “take us on.” We can see you, we know what you’re doing and it’s annoying.
4. No tailgating. When you say “I’ll be right here if you need anything,” stay in that spot. We’ll find you if we need something.
5. If we ask you a question, it means we just have a question. Answer it and then retreat.

If you had followed these rules, you might have made a thousand dollar sale. How’s that for screwing yourselves over?

I was talking to my student assistant yesterday about some really bad pictures of me as a kid. It happens I had some particularly embarrassing ones floating around on my website and showed him this. The poor kid. Didn’t know WHAT to say.

Christmas, 1970. There is so much scary stuff in this picture. I think I’m wearing a smock-thing made of really bad fabric probably not meant for clothes. What is Ann wearing? Those pants!!! What is with the pants?!?! And just what is Dad doing? Is that part of a bike? A balloon animal in the making? Bert and Ernie are hanging out behind us. Ernie still had his hair. He later lost it in the "Scissor Incident of 1971," perpetrated by me.

Stay tuned to this channel for more of the same. The best (or should I say the worst?) pictures are not surprisingly from the 1970s.

While talking with one of my colleagues yesterday, I slipped and used a phrase I hear all too often at work: "Sounds like a plan." I surprised myself that I even said it, given it’s on my list of stupid phrases to avoid. I should probably submit it to Lake Superior University’s Banished Words list and see if it makes the cut. The school accepts submissions for words deemed mis-used, over-used and just plain useless. View the whole cringe-worthy list here.

In my opinion, the 2007 list is a little weak. For instance, I see no particular violation in using the phrases "went missing" or "healthy food," but that’s just me. I do agree that "Ask your doctor" in pharmaceutical commercials makes little sense. What am I asking him for? Shouldn’t he be telling me what I need?

Other phrases that drive me (and my sister) nuts: moving forward (would you ever move backwards?), adds functionality (an unnecessary mouthful), grow your business (just doesn’t sound right) and I see what you’re saying (you don’t actually, unless you can lip-read).

My all-time least favorite word in the English language is youse, as in "Are youse guys taking Mary out to lunch for her birthday?" Well, it’s not a real word, and that’s precisely the point. I once worked alongside a woman who used that word ad nauseam. It didn’t help we work for a university, where one expects to find reasonably good use of the English language. She eventually took another job, and for all I know she’s still "yousing it" around a new crop of stunned co-workers.

What words or expressions drive you nuts?

My brother-in-law is currently on a decidedly un-fun business trip in China. Between the inadequate rest, long flights, long waits in airports and interesting food choices when he dines with his hosts (pigeon, anyone?), he’s ready to come home. The emails he’s been sending to my sister tell tales of travel hell, which reminded me of one of my favorite trip movies, Trains, Planes and Automobiles. Here’s a memorable scene from that great Steve Martin and John Candy flick.

Ever since Groman’s Bakery on Second Ave. in Bethlehem closed shop, I’ve been on the lookout for great new bakeries. My vegetarian friend and colleague, Jason Slipp, recommended Vegan Treats at 1444 Linden Street. For Dave’s birthday I bought an assortment of cakes, brownies and their awesome Chocolate Bombs.

This collection cost about $35. Pricey, perhaps, but totally worth it. The shop boasts a wide array of delectables, making it tough to choose just one. And aside from the vanilla cake, front row left, you’d never know they were made from vegan ingredients. The cake was slightly dry, and a little "off" tasting from normal cakes. But the rest were heavenly! That Peanut Butter Bomb in the front and Chocolate Bomb in the back got "forked" as soon as Dave lifted the lid. He ate his way through each decadent dessert little by little over the next week, right out of the box. Who needs a plate?

One other thing to love about this terrific little shop — they have a wonderful sense of humor. The day I visited they had the front door propped open with a miniature cast iron cow.

With our couch and chair shopping behind us, we went out after work today looking for coffee and end tables. We went to about five places. A couple things interested us, but not enough to stop looking. We realized exactly when we should stop looking when we returned to the car after one visit to find the doors unlocked and the keys still in the ignition. We’re done for a while.

For a time, Dave and I loved our living room furniture. We’ve had it for ten years and only started hating it recently. Both the couch and chair are oversized and overstuffed and aren’t the design statement they once were. Now they just look and feel ridiculous. It’s like crawling in and out of those big bouncer gyms you find in backyards at kids’ birthday parties. The older I get, the less ladylike I look getting on and off of them. Sorry old set, it’s time to move on.

We started shopping for new stuff Friday morning and didn’t finish until four days later. Here’s how it went down:

Our trek began in Whitehall, where the largest furniture stores are located. We figured it’d be a cinch to find something in the first big store we went to. Ha! We remember how excited we were on Friday. By Monday, we wanted to kill each other.

We thought we’d immediately find several things we liked and spend a few minutes sorting them out to make a final decision. Our goal was to find either a wrap-around couch, or a couch/chaise set. Over the next couple days, we moved from store to store. Some we visited twice in one day. But after not liking either of our target configurations, we moved on to Plan B, which was to get a regular couch and a recliner. This was a problem because we realized we had to return to stores we already visited to look at Plan B configurations, since we hadn’t even looked for that stuff on the first go-around.

So we ventured back to the same stores, and also stopped at new stores. I insisted on testing every single couch that had a snowball’s chance of being The One in every single store. Dave was soon getting sick of me planting myself on couch after couch, and I was starting to embarrass him because I test for the real world. This means I laid down on them, curled up on my side and pretended to have a remote control in my hand. I fake clicked, too.

On and on we went, in the brutal 90+ degree heat. In and out of a baking car that barely cooled up enough before we hit the next store. Even though we were fast losing steam and getting heavily on each other nerves, we were still on a mission and forged ahead. Over the four days, we visited La-Z-Boy six times, Thomasville Gallery four times, Raymour & Flanigan three times, and six other stores once each. We left every store in disgust over either not finding the right set, or finding one piece in one store and remembering another one we liked in a different store. We took measurements galore and tried to dodge as many sales people as possible until we were ready to ask a question. But once you open your mouth, they latch onto you like Super Glue and you can’t fling them off. Speak at your own risk.

We took swatch after swatch home and back again, because when we had a feeling we liked a certain piece, we allowed ourselves to test fabrics against our living room walls. On Sunday we thought we were ready to make a purchase at Thomasville, but it turns out the couch alone would have cost $2,300 with customized fabric. I just couldn’t part with that much money for a couch unless it had a built-in massager and talked dirty to me. We did, however, find the perfect recliner there and made a mental note of what it looked and felt like.

At one point, we borrowed swatches from Thomasville Gallery in plums and reds and brought them with us to another store to test. When we got to Raymour & Flanigan, we came upon the most disgusting purple couch and Dave exclaimed “Look, Kath, this is the same color as the plum we like! Look. See the comparison,” as he laid the swatch on the seat. “That’s plum??? Oh my God, we just dodged a huge bullet. We almost put that color on the couch at Thomasville!!!” If a guy had shown up to deliver me a plum couch I would have needed oxygen and defibrillation paddles because obviously the color plum on a swatch translates to “Barney purple” on a couch.

Redoubling our efforts in the Great Couch Search, we headed back to La-Z-Boy for the fourth time in as many days. Feeling they had the best overall selection, we figured our chances, no matter how slim, were at least better there than anywhere else we’d been. After walking the showroom in circles, I found myself repeatedly gravitating toward one couch called “The Woodrow.” Hint: If you find yourself going back to the same couch or chair more than once, BUY IT IMMEDIATELY. IT’S THE RIGHT ONE. I laid on The Woodrow for a good five minutes doing my fake remote control thing. I really didn’t care at this point if a sales person or another customer thought it was rude or poor form to be sprawled out all over the place. They don’t know what we’ve been through.

While I thought about whether I loved The Woodrow or not, Dave found a recliner similar to the one we found at Thomasville and dragged me over to see it. It took all of ten seconds to agree that we were going to buy this chair. Not only was it less expensive here, but it was a lot more comfortable. A wave of relief came over us both. We were finally making some progress.

Back at The Woodrow, I began to believe that this could be The One. Because we were so tired and unsure of ourselves, having looked at now hundreds of pieces, we thought it wise to sleep on it before giving our stamp of approval to the couch. Back home, we went online and used La-Z-Boy’s design tool to pick fabric types and colors, and lo and behold, were able to settle on two color groupings. A red/earthtone combination and a blue/floral combo.

When we awoke Monday, we announced with absolute conviction “This is it. We have to do this today.” So we piled back in the car bright and early. I swore I saw online that stores opened at 9AM, but because I can’t be trusted with the simplest things, we discovered stores opened at 10AM and we had to decide what to do for an hour. We killed some time at a Wal-Mart nearby and then headed over to return some borrowed swatches to Thomasville Gallery. To-date, we’d been there three times and bought nothing, so we worried the sales people would see us driving up and shout to each other “The Fredericks are back. RUN!” We watched and waited for someone to come unlock the doors at 10:00. As we approached the store from the side, we inched our car ever closer to the front door and then the hell of our experience reached a crescendo in the form of punch drunk silliness. Dave started to hum the theme from Jaws as he drew closer and closer to the entrance, all the while supposing that the employees are hiding behind really big furniture trying to avoid us. I laughed so hard I started to cry and then worried when the lady came out to let me in, she’d think I totally lost my mind. She would be right.

After returning the swatches to the nice woman who finally came to the door, we drove over to La-Z-Boy one last time with hope in our hearts. Please, God. Let us still like the couch and let these colors work. As soon as I walked in and sat on The Woodrow again, I realized I still liked it, loved it actually, and gave Dave the much-awaited thumbs up. Now all we had to do was pick colors, and thanks to Sharon, their wonderful sales assistant, we settled on floral for the chair and deep blue for the couch. She advised us on how to pattern the four couch pillows to match the chair, and then we were DONE! Thank God Almighty. Our ordeal is over.

We calculated we put in 14 hours of drive time and showroom walking in order to get this set. I’d like to say it wasn’t so bad, but it really was. When it comes time to replace this new set, believe me when I tell you – we’re hiring a designer and we don’t care what it costs. Our next goal is to get new coffee and end tables. We think this might be easier since we have the seating pieces accounted for. Really, how hard can it be?

UPDATE: The new furniture arrived on Sept 26. Check it out here.

Exercising my brain, that is. Every week Will Shortz, editor of the NYTimes crossword puzzle, hosts the Sunday Puzzle on NPR’s Sunday Weekend Edition. He presents an on-air quiz and gives a challenge to listeners at home. Those who answer the puzzle correctly and submit it to NPR get the chance to go on-air with Will for the next week’s puzzle.

Here’s one example: Name something commonly found in an office. It is two words, with five letters in the first word and four letters in the last. Both words are the last names of famous singers. What is the office item, and who are the singers?

The challenges are sometimes easy, and sometimes brutally hard (like the one above). I share them with some of my colleagues at work so we can all exercise our brains. Check out the recent puzzles and see if you don’t go as mad as we do!

I’m always on the lookout for food that looks like stuff. No, not the Virgin Mary on a piece of toast. More like a meatloaf that looks like a human brain. See for yourself.