Showing posts with label Terry Gross. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Terry Gross. Show all posts

Thursday, May 31, 2012

Ten Quick Randoms: Volume 1

Here are ten quick randoms from my couch this evening. Monumentally unimportant. So please--know that before spending any significant amount of time reading them.

Here we go.

1. First up-- this. I was so overdue for a good flash mob. Mo and Ant -- thank you both for seeing to it that I got this little slice of YouTube sunshine.



OM-expletive-G. This flash mob made me almost as happy as the one Gary did for Brad on It's a Brad Brad World.  Flash mobs are right up there with Key Lime pie for me. Seriously? If you are trying to decide if you should surprise me with a flash mob (or invite me to participate in one) at any time, please know that the answer is . . . .

DO IT.  

2.  How does anyone manage to eat bleu cheese? Or feta cheese? Without feeling like they are directly consuming toe jam? Please. Somebody, anybody tell me this.




*Sorry. Just threw up in my mouth a little bit.*

3.  Yesterday I spent nothing less than two hours trying to hunt down the source of a motley crew of fruit flies that have decided to have a convention in my kitchen. I looked for fruit. I looked for old potatoes. I even checked out the bread. Nada.


A fruit fly takedown is serious business, y'all. Especially in the South. I get rather OCD about it all and go crazy trying to find a source. Which is funny because I am terrified that I will find some Stephen King looking fruit fly fest somewhere. Fortunately, I never have made such a discovery but did once get close with a renegade sweet potato.

Eeew.

4.  Finally I got on the internet and learned about "drain flies."

And yes. Before you even say it,  I had been pouring bleach down the drain but this is Georgia and our flies drink bleach with their breakfast. And then they belch in your face.

I am 100% certain that people like Ms. Moon knew this already but did y'all know that putting a bunch of ice and dishwashing detergent down your drain and running the disposal gets rid of them?


Ummmm hmmm.

In yo' FACE Drosophila!

5. Hmm. What else? Oh, of course. Am I the only one who just adores Mrs. Obama?



Love. Her.

She is all that and a slice of Key Lime pie. And she wears clothes from H&M and TARGET. Seriously? Seriously.

6. Oh yeah. Speaking of First-ish Ladies. . . have I told you of my growing fascination with Duchess Kate? (Who clearly has excellent taste in friends.)


Yeah, I'm kind of digging Duchess Kate. She has that iconic style of her late royal mother-in-law, don't you think? Apparently when she wore this dress pictured above she totally crashed the website that sells it. No disputing it--the girl has style. And proves that you can look feminine and pretty without looking like a hoochie mama.

Which reminds me -- wasn't Princess Diana awesome? I loved her style both figuratively and literally. And she also looked fresh and feminine without looking like a hoochie mama.

Plus -- she OWNED that short haircut long before it was super cool to do so.


(And clearly I am partial to those who aren't opposed to whacking all of their hair off.)

No, I'm not British but I was sad when she died in that car wreck back in '97. Yes. This African American from Los Angeles watched her funeral in a stuffy call room late one night instead of reading her Harrison's Textbook of Medicine. I cried like a baby when Sir Elton John sang that remix of Candle in the Wind.


Lawd.



I think that Di would have approved of Kate. I also think Kate would have approved of Di's short haircut. And I approve of their non-hoochie-mama-ness.

Oh, and I love Elton John, too.

7. Speaking of fascinating women with short haircuts. . . . did you know that I secretly have a dream of being interviewed by Terry Gross on NPR's Fresh Air?

Not. Kidding.

I imagine her saying, "My guest today is Dr. Kimberly Manning, author of the blog 'Reflections of a Grady Doctor' and multiple New York Times Bestsellers. She is also a regular contributor here on NPR and on CNN and a professor of medicine at the Emory University School of Medicine. . ." (Can't you just hear Terry's voice?)



I'll let y'all know when she calls me. Or when her people call my people.

Oh yeah. Speaking of Terry Gross . . . . I just went back and laughed my head off at this old post on my friend Ann's blog. It was about how she's a little bit Terry and a little bit rock 'n' roll. Dang, I feel that way sometimes, too. Warning: You might have to be a Fresh Air fan to find the humor in it. Cracked me up. (Ann always does.)

8.  I got my toenails painted sea foam green this weekend. In fact, it was this exact color.


I was so happy to be getting a pedicure that I told Cindy, the nice woman working on my feet, to choose whatever she thought would be cute--and that wasn't an extra fee (because clearly I'm cheap.) Then I fell asleep in that massage chair. She chose this bizarre color called "Thanks a Windmillion" which, at first, I was rather digging.

Today when I put on my taupe peep toe shoes to go to work, I looked down at those toes and immediately regretted it. This is the problem -- I let her choose a "flip flop color." Totally.

Thanks a Windmillion, Cindy.

9.  I recently saw this man who had immigrated to the United States a few years ago and his main complaint was erectile dysfunction. Or as he described it "I cannot do thee do."

Anyways.

After some questions, my female resident and I learned that even though he had medical problems that could potentially explain this problem, it was likely related to some issues he was having at home. This man looked at us with a very, very straight face and said, "Our women are not like you American women. You American women want to do it, do it, do it all thee time." (NOTE: Please insert accompanying arm-pumping gesture here.) "You American women want it all thee time. Even when you get off of work. You wear thee negligees and thee high heels to get your man in the mood. Our women just lay there like a bump on a log and say, 'Aaaaahhh. Just come and get it.'"

0_0      0_o

Uuuuuh. . . . . .okay.

10.  And last but not least, a few extraordinarily random snaps of Zachary and me on the MacBook photo booth (which he LOVES by the way.)











Yes, people. Admit it. This is exactly what you come here for. Heh.

Wards start tomorrow. Wish me luck and lots of F.P.s. .   .

***
Happy Thursday.



Wednesday, November 3, 2010

The Last Word.


Two weeks ago, my son Isaiah demanded that I do a few things while in the car with Zachary and him "from now on." :
  1. Not talk on my cell phone, even with an "ear-bug."
  2. Not make them listen to NPR with me.
  3. Especially not make them listen to "Fresh Air" on NPR . . . .which they giggle at profusely when the host says "I'm your host, Terry Gross"--like she's really gross or something.
  4. And since I won't be doing 1 through 3, talk to them instead. (Unless, of course, I want to pop in a DVD and let them watch TV or play on my iPad, which negates 1 through 3 and allows me to do the default "whatever you feel like doing, Mom.")
It's actually worked out quite well so far. First of all, it's a wonderful way to grow your kids' vocabulary and to see what's going on with them. Second of all, it's a great time for bonding. Kind of like the kitchen table, but without the kitchen or the table.

Here is our unabridged conversation that took place on the way home two days ago. Brought to you straight from the back seat of Mommy's thinly veiled attempt at avoiding the mini-van a.k.a. the Volvo SUV (which equally screams "soccer mom" . . .sigh. . .I know, I know.)


Isaiah:  "Hey Mom?"

Me:  "Yes, Poops?"

Isaiah: "Mom, why did you want to be a doctor when you grew up?"

Me:  "Hmmm. I think I wanted to be a doctor because I wanted to help people."

Isaiah:  "But you can help people even if you aren't a doctor."

Me: "Okay, sick people."


Isaiah:  "You don't have to be a doctor to help sick people."


Me: "But you can't tell them what's wrong or give them special medicines if you aren't a doctor."

Isaiah:  "Remember that time when I told you that Zachary had a fever and you said, No he doesn't, and I said, Yes he does? I knew what was wrong with Zachary and I am not even a doctor.

Me: "But you couldn't give him special medicines, though."

Isaiah:  "You couldn't either, Mom. You called our pediatrician, remember?"

Me: "That's because it's not good for me to be you and Zachy's doctor."


Isaiah:  "Then why be a doctor in the first place?"

Me: "Because being a doctor is . . . . cool."

Isaiah: "Well, it's not so cool if you still have to take your kids to the doctor after learning all that stuff."

Silence

Zachary: "Mommy?  I'll be a doctor, okay? Does that make you happy?"

Me: "Zachary, I want you to be what makes you happy. Wait, I mean what makes you happy and gainfully employed enough to live by yourself in your own house and not with me."

Zachary:  "Okay then I don't want to be a doctor I want to be a ninja."

Me:  "Do ninjas get a paycheck?"

Zachary: "Ninja turtles do."

Me: "Cool beans, dude. Works for me."


Silence

Isaiah: (brow furrowed) "You know, Mom. . . .If I were a. . . painter, I would definitely paint my own house. Definitely. Seems like it would be dumb to learn how to be a painter but have to call in another painter to paint. . . .especially if you are real, real busy. "

Me: (in mirror to myself)  "What the . . .?"

Isaiah:  (folds arms and smirks) "That's what I think about that, Mom."

Silence


 (Terry, I don't think you're gross.)

Terry  Gross through my VERY LOUD radio:  "You're listening to Fresh Air, and I'm your host, Terry Gross. . . . "

Well, that's what yo' mama thinks about THAT.