Tuesday, September 8, 2015
Monday, September 7, 2015
THE GRIND
Because I am so engrossing and we live in an era that celebrates the glory of accomplishing absolutely nothing, I’d like to share with my friends and family a day in my fascinating, engrossing life.
3:00am – I am awakened from a troubled sleep by a circus troop of raccoons assaulting the family trashcans.
3:13am – Motion sensor light comes on as the raccoons form “HUMAN” pyramid. That’s right; I said HUMAN. I imagine the raccoon heap now measures 4’ 11” inches in height and comes up to my chin.
3:20am – I race outside in my fluffy bathrobe with a broom to confront raccoon troop. Trip over garbage slung thirty feet in all directions. Realize raccoons have thrown invisibility cloak over themselves.
3:27am – Shake broom at nothing. Watch hair on arms stand up when the coyotes start howling.
3:28am – Go back to bed. Attempt to sleep.
5:00am – QUIT trying to attempt to sleep.
6:00am – Say a simple prayer of thanks that every man-jack of us have lived to see another day. (Note: We will be the first to admit that our family may occasionally merit Biblical destruction.)
6:09am – Check out cable news. Feel vindicated that every prediction I’ve ever made is coming true. Turn up the volume when it’s reported that a woman in North Carolina was attacked in her sleep IN HER BED by a surly—also rabid—raccoon.
6:12am – Shuffle to the bathroom and because I’ve caught my great grandmother’s arthritis, I daydream about my granddaughters having to push me to the mailbox in a wheelchair every day. They will chatter happily as they push. Say a prayer of gratitude for such a wonderful granddaughters.
6:31am – Limbs and appendages begin to bend. Postpone nursing home reservation.
7:27am – Feed good animals (not garbage eating night marauders) stuff.
9:00am – Go to yoga and during meditation time, when I’m supposed to be emptying my mind of all stressful thoughts, I try to calculate the force necessary to kill a raccoon with a rock.
10:07am – Declare yoga a bust. Decide to try combat kick boxing next time.
Noon – Eat macaroni or rice or beans. I’m not kidding.
12:00pm to When-I-run-out-of-steam-or-the-coyotes-howl: I scribble and scribble words on virtual paper. Words that no one may ever read, but I still feel compelled to write, in spite of the fact that it makes me look like an agoraphobic shut-in.
Bedtime – When the sun sets and the chickens go to sleep, because I’m saving precious energy and resources for future generations—also I can work in bed while wearing pajamas. Don’t be jealous.
Tomorrow – Rinse and Repeat
Linda (Night Stalker and Fascinating Person) Zern
3:00am – I am awakened from a troubled sleep by a circus troop of raccoons assaulting the family trashcans.
3:13am – Motion sensor light comes on as the raccoons form “HUMAN” pyramid. That’s right; I said HUMAN. I imagine the raccoon heap now measures 4’ 11” inches in height and comes up to my chin.
3:20am – I race outside in my fluffy bathrobe with a broom to confront raccoon troop. Trip over garbage slung thirty feet in all directions. Realize raccoons have thrown invisibility cloak over themselves.
3:27am – Shake broom at nothing. Watch hair on arms stand up when the coyotes start howling.
3:28am – Go back to bed. Attempt to sleep.
5:00am – QUIT trying to attempt to sleep.
6:00am – Say a simple prayer of thanks that every man-jack of us have lived to see another day. (Note: We will be the first to admit that our family may occasionally merit Biblical destruction.)
6:09am – Check out cable news. Feel vindicated that every prediction I’ve ever made is coming true. Turn up the volume when it’s reported that a woman in North Carolina was attacked in her sleep IN HER BED by a surly—also rabid—raccoon.
6:12am – Shuffle to the bathroom and because I’ve caught my great grandmother’s arthritis, I daydream about my granddaughters having to push me to the mailbox in a wheelchair every day. They will chatter happily as they push. Say a prayer of gratitude for such a wonderful granddaughters.
6:31am – Limbs and appendages begin to bend. Postpone nursing home reservation.
7:27am – Feed good animals (not garbage eating night marauders) stuff.
9:00am – Go to yoga and during meditation time, when I’m supposed to be emptying my mind of all stressful thoughts, I try to calculate the force necessary to kill a raccoon with a rock.
10:07am – Declare yoga a bust. Decide to try combat kick boxing next time.
Noon – Eat macaroni or rice or beans. I’m not kidding.
12:00pm to When-I-run-out-of-steam-or-the-coyotes-howl: I scribble and scribble words on virtual paper. Words that no one may ever read, but I still feel compelled to write, in spite of the fact that it makes me look like an agoraphobic shut-in.
Bedtime – When the sun sets and the chickens go to sleep, because I’m saving precious energy and resources for future generations—also I can work in bed while wearing pajamas. Don’t be jealous.
Tomorrow – Rinse and Repeat
Linda (Night Stalker and Fascinating Person) Zern
Friday, September 4, 2015
Social Media Code Smack
When I was a girl, the phone sat in one place on the kitchen counter. It did not hitch rides in our pants. It did not display text messages from the bug man. It did not beep, bleep, blink, or monitor heart rates. It was a simpler time.
Now, there is social media and people talking smack in tech shorthand.
It’s like drowning in Babylonian graffiti.
I have absolutely no idea what is going on.
“You have to be on Twitter,” my kids said.
“I am on Twitter. Haven’t you friended me?”
They didn’t even have the good manners to look uncomfortable.
“I don’t get Twitter,” I #complained.
They didn’t even have the good manners to hide their #scoffing.
“Seriously. What are those weirdo messages? I can’t understand anything on Twitter. I mean what is #Xtl #blog #skip amc long $25.00 #skip #to #my #Lou supposed to be about? What happened to subjects and predicates? What happened to #language.”
They didn’t even have the good manners to look up from their blinking machines. I’d lost them down those LCD rabbit holes. I sighed.
Daughter #2 (that means number not a hash-tag) looked up from her machine to say, “Mom, you really need to be on Instagram. It’s the latest thing. It’s like Twitter but with pictures.”
“What? You mean picture writing like on the walls of an ancient temple?”
The green glow of her computer screen highlighted her cheekbones. She scrolled away, presumably on Instagram.
It’s okay. I’ll keep trying, to connect, to decipher, to find the Rosetta Stone of social media shorthand. That’s what I keep telling myself. But then I check my Facebook page and see a message that says, “The stump is healing nicely.”
Whaaaaaaaat????????? What stump? Which limb? Who’s body parts? Huh?
Linda (Hash-Tag Harpy) Zern
Now, there is social media and people talking smack in tech shorthand.
It’s like drowning in Babylonian graffiti.
I have absolutely no idea what is going on.
“You have to be on Twitter,” my kids said.
“I am on Twitter. Haven’t you friended me?”
They didn’t even have the good manners to look uncomfortable.
“I don’t get Twitter,” I #complained.
They didn’t even have the good manners to hide their #scoffing.
“Seriously. What are those weirdo messages? I can’t understand anything on Twitter. I mean what is #Xtl #blog #skip amc long $25.00 #skip #to #my #Lou supposed to be about? What happened to subjects and predicates? What happened to #language.”
They didn’t even have the good manners to look up from their blinking machines. I’d lost them down those LCD rabbit holes. I sighed.
Daughter #2 (that means number not a hash-tag) looked up from her machine to say, “Mom, you really need to be on Instagram. It’s the latest thing. It’s like Twitter but with pictures.”
“What? You mean picture writing like on the walls of an ancient temple?”
The green glow of her computer screen highlighted her cheekbones. She scrolled away, presumably on Instagram.
It’s okay. I’ll keep trying, to connect, to decipher, to find the Rosetta Stone of social media shorthand. That’s what I keep telling myself. But then I check my Facebook page and see a message that says, “The stump is healing nicely.”
Whaaaaaaaat????????? What stump? Which limb? Who’s body parts? Huh?
Linda (Hash-Tag Harpy) Zern
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