Saturday, March 27, 2010

Chicken Forum

Hey there, World:

I hope you are doing well.  I started out the day thinking about a good post subject for tonight.  Around 11 am I remembered an idea from my pre-blog life that I always thought would make a good blog subject. By 5pm I had forgotten it.  I think it was good, but I have to accept that if it is gone it wasn't meant to be.  Onwards.

So I started perusing all the blogs out there hoping one would strike me and inspire something that I could express in "Chickanese". For the first time, I made extensive use of the "next blog" link at the top of my page.  I noticed a couple of things:

1.) There are really not as many humor blogs out there as you would think (or at least as I thought).  There are many that are very family oriented and probably meant just for family members. I feel a little like Gladys Kravitz on these blogs, peeking out from behind her curtains getting the lay of the land in order to report it later at a dinner party over a manhattan (two cherries please).  I try not to look too closely.  Then there are the younger generation blogs, which are way interesting but bring out too much of the mother hen instinct in me.  In other words, I want their cell phone number and I want to know what time they are planning on being home tonight.  Too much anxiety, thanks so much.

2.) When I do find a blog I like, I never can seem to find enough information about the blogger to suit me.  I want to know the real deal.  Who are you? What motivates you?  I want pictures, dammit.

My favorite part of blogging is the comment section.  You write something, you post it, and you wait for the world to come back to you.  They tell you what they think.  Lively conversations with folks you really do not know, and some you do, ensue, and it is so stimulating.  I can understand Emily's loneliness, for there was no blogspot in her day.  No way for that introverted genius to post her letter to the world and wait for the support and understanding that surely would have come.  I believe she would have been less morose in this day and age. 

Anyway....that leads me to tonight's post.  Let's play Bloggy games.  Rudolph, you are definitely invited.  We all want to know where that red nose came from. And non-blogger buddies, I hope you will also join in.

I have questions. Fun ones, though. If you have a question, you can post it and within reason (why do I always need a qualifier?  Why don't I just say I will answer anything and then proceed to ignore whatever I don't want to answer?) I will answer.

1.  What writer/musician/other inspires you the most and why?

2.  What is your favorite speech/book/song of all time?

3.  What "celebrity" do you admire and why?

4.  If you are familiar with Myer's-Briggs typology, what is your type? (if you are not familiar, here is a link you can go to:  Myers Briggs Type )

5.  In the words of somebody great who was not me, "What would you do if you knew you could not fail?"

6.  If you were a cartoon/superhero character, who would you be and why

7.  What makes you happy?

8.  What makes you sad?

9.  Who do you look like?

10.   What do you find most endearing about yourself?

I hope you'll play because I want to know. You know I have an enquiring mind and I've outgrown my fondness for shark attacks.  So be sarcastic, humorous, serious, or whatever.  Answer all the questions, answer one.  It is up to you.

Now it is your turn and........5,4,3,2,1, we're on

Chicken out

Friday, March 26, 2010

In Which Chicken Wins an Oscar

Ha, Got you again, World,

But I promise on Pinocchio's nose I will not keep misleading you like that.  Because, eventually, you will wise up.  Hopefully, by that time you will be addicted and I won't need the misleading post titles to convince you to Click That Link.  Annnndddd Welcome to CLICK THAT LINK!  Tonight's celebrity hosts are.....

Not sure where I was going with that because when I sat down I had something completely different in mind, but I am definitely reusing that one.  That is a potential great post.

ahhh. But anyway.  Last night I got a comment from Lucky Punk, who's posts flow like a lazy river.  And she said that SHE was awarding ME with a Beautiful Blogger award.  Imagine that! It looks like this:


It's sort of like a certification.  It sort of makes me a real blogger.  At least, this is my perception.  Pearl Annabelle Lafleur is so proud that she says she is sprouting peacock feathers.  She is throwing me a Cajun Celebration later this week and you all are invited.  There will be fiddlin' of course, and the Neville brothers are going to make an appearance.  I can't wait.

World, this is going to be a long post.  I will try to edit tomorrow when I am not so giddy.  This often results in a post half the length.  If you haven't the strength right now, come back later.  I don't mind a bit.  In fact, it will probably reflect better on me if you did.

Anyway, there are rules involved and in my usual scattered way I skimmed over them.  What I got was 1, 7, 5.

Thank the giver.  Reveal 7 things about yourself. Pass it on to five bloggers you admire.

Lucky Punk,  I know I've been thanking you all over the place but let me make it official.  Thank you for reading my blog and for thinking of me.  I joke, but I am very flattered.

7 Things You Do Not Know About Chicken (or maybe you do but don't spoil it for the rest, ok?)

1.  I've been secretive because Stalkers.  Scary.  But just this once, because I know people kind of want to put a real face to the name, this is me:


That's an atrocious lie.  Here I am:

2.  I'm a little odd.  I didn't truly understand this until I once described someone else as being a "bit odd" in a work meeting and my boss's boss snorted, then kinda laughed/coughed.  Then I laughed, too.  Because. Well, the evidence is certainly there.  So what?  I'm odd in a fun way and the World needs a little bit more of that (in my odd opinion).

3.  When I was little, besides being an Indian, which you may have already read, I wanted to be a Cub Scout.  I had no use for the Brownies.  Stupid name, that. Who wouldn't rather be a cute little wild animal than a sweet concoction? 

4.  I know the Gettysburg Address by heart and given half a chance I will recite it because I love every single word and Abe, I think you rock.  Now, I have also become very fond of General Patton's speech to the third army, and I am working on that one. 

5.  I played Little League when it wasn't usual for a girl to do that.  I could not compete with the Hamel twins because they could actually connect the bat to the ball, but I was very good in the field and God, I loved the uniform.

6.  You may have read that I played trumpet, but I also played the oboe.  And attended band camp, for real, for, like, seven years.  Oh the stories I've yet to tell about band camp (totally sniffing my armpits right now and I hope you get that because otherwise it is a really weird statement.  Oh God, I can hear the snort/laugh/cough in my head right now).

7.  If I could be anything I wanted for just 24 hours, I would be a boy.  A really good looking one with a lot of, uh, testosterone.  Afterwards, I would consider myself well rounded. 

Well, that's that.  Now ON TO THE AWARDS.  On to you Pearl:

Well, Chicken, first up on our Roster is Four Dinners because he was the first blogger to become our bloggy pal and has been supportive ever since.  Let's hear it for Four Dinners (raucous applause and catcalls are required for the lovely and charming Four Dinners).

Second up is Stolen Sentiments aka Musical Musings because she reminds us of the cutest, most playful puppy you've ever seen, always leaving the greatest comments and once she left us a Fiesta, people, which charmed the socks off us.

Third would be Mrs. P from Quilting In My Pyjamas because we think she may be Chicken's female soul mate.  She's probably received a BB award before but we hope she doesn't mind receiving another.

Fourth is Joann from Laundry Hurts My Feelings because she cracks us up and we have the same taste in rockstars.  She has also, I'm sure, received this award but we couldn't help it.  Laughter wins. 

Fifth is Becca from Neurotic Girl because we are pretty sure she could care less about any award and we are busting her beans.  We love her witticisms and stories, and in extension, we love her stalker, D. 

Wow, I think I followed all the rules for the first time ever and now I am off to warn the unwary (I almost forgot that one).  Thanks again you Lucky Punk. 

Chicken out

And don't forget the Chicken.  The one Crossing the Road.  Click THAT Link, and you shall get lucky.  In a totally virtual sense.










Thursday, March 25, 2010

Chicken, Sam and the Ghost...

Hi World,

I did not think I had a story for you today but then, like a miracle, I remembered that my house is haunted.  If you recall, I was going to tell the electrician all about it in a recent post.

My two oldest children and Teenager Who Lives in the Basement have always sworn to this. Even though I can't vouch for their experiences, I can tell you about the one experience I had about a year after moving in.  It was the middle of the day in the middle of summer and I was home alone except for our dog, Sam.  We were dozing lightly in the living room. 

When suddenly...

BigB came home.  I heard the door off the kitchen open, I heard him put down his keys, and I waited with my eyes still closed for him to come find us.  But he didn't.  Then I listened for him.  I couldn't hear him.  I opened my eyes and looked towards the kitchen, which I could see from where I was stationed.  I looked at Sam, who was also fully awake and looking at the kitchen, with her head cocked to one side.  Sam looked at me.  We looked at each other and said, "Rot-Ro". 

Then Sam said, "You go", and I said, "No, you go".  Sam said, "Why do I have to go?", and I said, "Are you kidding me, Sam?  I'm a Chicken.  You're a dog.  If you need an egg, you ask me.  If I need some muscle I ask you. That's the way it works!".

It took a minute or so to get that settled and still, no further sound from the kitchen.  Sam said, "Whatever Chicken", and ambled off to the kitchen while I cowered behind peeking from over the top of my quilt.  In the kitchen, she sat on her haunches, cocked her head again, and stared towards the kitchen door area, which I should have mentioned, is not visible from the living room.  She stayed like that for 10 seconds or so, came back, shrugged her shoulders, which is not easy for a dog because the shoulders are attached to the leg bones, in their case, and laid back down.  I said, "Well????".  Sam said, "Well, what?  There's no one there, Chicken. It was our imagination." 

"Oh.  Our COLLECTIVE imagination, Sam?"

"Exactly.  Group Think"

It shouldn't come as a surprise that my dog would be a smartass.

And then we went back to sleep and later when BigB came home I asked him why he had been home in the middle of the day, and he said....wait for it.....he hadn't been home in the middle of the day.

Sam died shortly after the ghost incident. Fast forward.  It is Christmas 2009 and BigB, littleb, and I, well mostly BigB, are struggling with the Christmas tree lights.  littleb is intent on using the camera and I am drinking wine and content to let him realize his intentions.  (Ha.  That was fun).  Anyway, he snaps the following photo:


OMG, What the hell is that????
Just kidding. That's our ceiling.

But this one is a little harder to explain:


OMG What the Heellllll is that.
Yes, that's what I said.
That is a gnarled pile of Christmas lights.  They were lying on the floor.
Somehow, in littleb's picture, they ended up on the ceiling. 
If anyone can explain this to me (in words I understand), please, enlighten me. 
Because.  I was thinking, "Damn it Sam, that is NOT funny".

And now off to bed with you, wee rascals.  I promise there is nothing under the bed.  Except maybe for Sam. 

Chicken

(And by the way the Chicken Crossing the Road features some verra fine dancing tonight)

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Chicken's Dirty Laundry...

Hi World,

I'll bet you are thinking, here we go, Chicken has a scandalous secret to tell, a skeleton to reveal, some primo gossip. Or maybe she's just drinking the wine again, which can also be entertaining...

Nope.  Just needed to entice you to come out and play and when I asked your mother, she told me no way is she letting you play with a nasty Chicken. 

But.  Hi! 

Now that you are here, you may as well stay, and we can talk about my dilemma.


Pictured here are one of my socks, One of Teenager's socks, and one of littleb's socks.

Can you tell which is which?

Exactly.  Laundry day is a nightmare.  I'm exaggerating.  It is merely annoying.

I am 46, Teenager is 14 and littleb is 3.  How can this be possible?

Now, take a look at this.



This is one of BigB's socks and one of mine.

My point?

BigB always has socks and I can never find mine. And that does not seem fair.

That's what I told your mother when I stopped by to see if you could play.  Then she reminded me that Life is not fair ("Dear").  That reminded me of these socks.

Chicken out

And yes, I did photograph them against a black background hoping they would look whiter.  Why give your mom more ammunition?  Remember to click the chick.  Or don't.  Whatever.

Monday, March 22, 2010

Unfinished Chicken Business...

Hi World,

I was on Mrs. P's blog and as she is a quilter, I mentioned in jest the quilts I began but never finished 14 years ago.  I know.  Chicken quilting.  Who would have thunk it.  I love quilts.  They appeal to the country girl in me as well as the ADD (all those patterns, and colors, and shapes-oh my).

She asked for pictures and so I dug out my camera and obligingly took some.

Without further ado, here is a quilt that I never finished.


This is an Ohio Star quilt that I started when I was pregnant with my oldest son.  Who is now 14.  It was to be his crib quilt and because I am sentimental like that, I wanted it to be all hand sewn. Note the little hand sewn stitches:


Very "Little House on the Prairie", don't you think?  But as it turned out, nine months was not quite long enough and after he was born I could drink wine again.  So I never finished it. 

Here is another quilt I never finished.


I call this the "Clipped Geese" quilt because, having never done it before, the triangles aren't quite triangles.  This one was done on my sewing machine.  I know.  It's kind of fugly.  It won't hurt my feelings if you say so.  It was my first attempt.


Not sure why I never finished the quilts.   Maybe I just don't like to hem things in.  Maybe I like my quilts to live outside the box.  Whatever the reason, here's the proof that Chicken does have somewhat of a nesting gene despite the irreverant sense of humor. 

True to my nature, which is annoying even to me, what started out as a simple task to provide Mrs. P with photos of my unfinished quilts turned into an introspective exercise, and I began looking about for other things I have started and not finished.

For instance, 7 or 8 years ago I thought it would be fun to start knitting and I promptly went about acquiring all the materials, picturing myself the knitter of cute sweaters and homemade mittens and hats, like my Grammy Nat tried to teach me to knit way back when.  Grammy Nat had an enquiring mind, however, and there was always a big stack of  the "Enquirer" to catch up on at her house. At 12, the Enquirer was way too much to resist.  All that relevant information!  I was too busy reading about shark attacks and UFOs to learn how to properly cast on or retrieve a dropped stitch, never mind casting off.  My knitting projects never really got off the ground, but still all the colorful yarns look quaint in their little basket, don't they?  If someone walked in and saw it, they would be all like, hey, Chicken knits, isn't that adorable?  Of course, this would have to be someone I've never met before who has never heard me swear like a sailor and demand that everyone have another margarita.  Here's my knitting basket:




littleb likes to borrow the knitting needles and pretend he's Charlie Watts.  That's why you only see one.  In reality, I have at least 5 sets languishing throughout the house, ready for any drumming opportunity that may arise.  If Mick Jagger ever pays an impromptu visit, littleb is prepared.  Don't worry.  I always warn him in my best David Sedaris voice not to run with them. 

Speaking of rockstars and unfinished projects, that reminds me of a story that I have not told you.

WhenI was 39 I had what might have been, looking back, a small mid-life crisis.  I decided that I needed to learn how to play the guitar.  Because, you know, I have always secretly wanted to be a rockstar.  Come on.  I cannot be the only one, so 'fess up to your inner rockstar people, and tell me all about it.  Anyway, I decided I wanted to learn to play the guitar and started searching E-bay for a used one.  I am fussy.  It couldn't be just any guitar, it had to be a special guitar.  And in case you do not know me very well, I am a big Springsteen fan.  



Naturally, I needed to find out what kind of guitar the Boss played, and as it turns out, his favored brand is one named "Takamine".  I needed me a Takamine.  Even though I have no idea how to pronounce Takamine.  If ever I was talking to a real guitarist and mentioned that I play guitar and they asked me what kind, I would be all sorts of embrrassed.  I'd be like, "TAK-a-meen-e?  Ta-KAN-a-Meen?  ta-ka-MINE?...here, let me write it down..."  Anyway, I found one.  Here it is:



And just in case you don't quite believe me:


Maybe you can't quite see that with the glare, but it is a genuine Takamine.  Certainly not the model that the Boss spins his lyrics upon, but in the family.  A great nephew, perhaps.

I bought the guitar and stocked up with "Guitar for Dummies" books.  For weeks I practiced diligently. 

You see, I had a plan. 

Bruce Springsteen was scheduled to play at Gilette Stadium on my 40th birthday.  My plan was to write Bruce ahead of time to let him know I'd be there, that I knew how to play the guitar, and that it was my 40th birthday.  Because I know Bruce to be a real down to earth sort, I was sure that he would be responsive to my letter, and would probably send me complimentary tickets.  I mean, I know that's what I would do if I was a rockstar and a Chicken wrote to me.  Then, when I got to the stadium, somehow, miraculously, I would be in the front row.  Bruce would play all my favorite Bruce songs, and then he would announce to the audience that it was Chicken's 40th birthday.  He would pull me up on the stage, hand me a Takamine and we would play together.  I would finally have my Rockstar moment.  I think maybe "Human Touch" was the song I had in mind but I don'treally remember. There are so many great ones.  And then there might have been vague fantasies of a private interlude due to the sudden, harmless disappearance of both Patty and BigB.

Anyway, and to tie this whole sordid story together, I never did get around to teaching myself to play guitar, and I never did write Bruce or attend that concert or meet my destiny.  Just another thing I never finished, like the quilts and the knitting.  But I will be turning 50 in a few years, and if Bruce is still up for it, so am I.  Maybe if I start practicing now...

Take care,

Chicken out

(and as to the Chicken Crossing The Road, I'm sure you know what you will find.  If you are a Bruce fan, go there:-))