Affirmation or why I haven't bought a digital camera yet:

"Nikon FM3A (my camera) hard to find; Nikon came out with this all-metal manual focus body in 2001. It is a beautifully balanced camera and, with a 50/1.4 lens, will take much better pictures than what 99 percent of digital camera owners capture with their cheap kit zoom lenses."

Only thing is, I don't have the 50mm lens. I have the 45mm lens. I wonder if the reviewer feels the same way. I hope so. It's a spectacular lens.

See, I want a new camera. But, what I want and what I need are two different stories. Do I really need a professional digital camera? Probably not. Maybe some day I will buy one.

More on the Dancing Chicken

Here's an actual video of the Dancing Chicken from a couple posts ago. Apparently, her name is Venus. Sadly, the signage looks pretty large. I guess I couldn't read it because I was speeding down the street. It has nothing to do with my eyesight. No, nothing at all. Anyway, here's the video.

The Famous Dancing Chicken

I am a dork.

After services at Temple, there is punch, coffee, cookies, fruit, etc. As I partook in some fresh fruit, the Rabbi came up to say hi. Instead of talking about something important, some great issue, I spent five freaking minutes talking about my hair.

I felt really dorky afterward.

"Agatestone," you may be pondering, "Why did you spend five minutes acting like an idiot talking about your hair with the Rabbi?"

Well, because I chopped all my hair off, dear reader. My long mane of black hair is now gone. I am short-haired again and it's such a shock.

You may also be asking, "Is 'partook' a real word, Agatestone?"

Dear reader, I have no freaking idea if partook is a word or not. But, that's the best I can do right now. So be it.

Thank goodness.

Thank goodness that although the Rabbi's wife (our childhood rabbi, not current rabbi) again was working in our office, she didn't disturb my fragile existence by tempting me with the chocolate goodness that she normally shares with our department. For once, my karma stayed in balance.

Her glorious brownies, though wonderous, tend to cause havoc, and throw my karma out of whack. I'm not sure if its the hint of hazelnut or the pinch of holiness, but seriously, havoc is invariably wreaked when I acquire one of her brownies.

I think what I need to do is tip the scale in my favor. Do extra karmic credit. Then, when I'm tempted by baked goods baked by the Rabbi's wife, my karma will stay balanced. My life will not swirl out of control. I won't break, spill or bump into anything. Disasters will not ruin my day. I will be able to eat said brownies with a light heart.

Chicken Dancing.

Oh man wearing a Detroit Red Wings jersey over a Chicken suit, standing on the side of the road. As you danced your seductive dance, waving that placard up in the air, let it be known that I would have bought whatever you were selling, except for the fact that the lettering on your placard was too small. As I sped down the road, ensorceled by your captivating dance, I pitied the fact that all I could read was $6.99. What were you selling, dear Dancing Chicken, for only $6.99?

Oh how I wish that you had printed your sign in a large, more bold font, with better kerning and leading. If only you had, I would have stopped. Yes, I would have interrupted my trip to talk with you, to share with you, to hand you $6.99 to purchase whatever magic item you were advertising.

Alas. I sped again by that corner today. You were not there. Did you sell out whatever it was you were selling? Did you take your glorious dance to another corner? Maybe one day, one day soon, I will see you again, Dancing Chicken.

Words I don't care for. And one that I do care for.

Wordsmith.

Jewess.

Newbie.

One of my favorite words, however, is chiaroscuro . I love saying chiaroscuro and I like paintings that exhibit chiaroscuro.

Thinking cap.

Ok readers. Please put on your thinking caps. I need some direction. I expect to have a bumper crop of grapes this year. I grow very very (I cannot stress this enough) very sweet Concord grapes. Obviously, the bunches are still small, but when they mature over the coming months, I will be swimming in grapes.

I am not a jam or jelly person. So, what else can I do with said grapes? Just to give you an idea of what they are like, they taste exactly like Sweet Tarts. I need some ideas, please.

Or, would you like some grapes to make jam for yourself. Of course, it might be kind of far to send you, the Violet Diva, grapes without them turning to raisins, but my local readers, the Amnesiac Concert Flautist, the Breakfast Czar, the Chocolate Whisperer, Willow, and Edna (gosh Edna, you've got to get yourself a nickname), well, you are more than welcome to have some to preserve.

I actually made grape preserves two years ago and never really ate them, because, as I stated before, I'm not really a jam/jelly type person.

Catastrophe.

So, Sunday, I was on the go from 8:30 in the morning until evening. I had a gazillion errands and then I needed to attend a Mother’s Day mid-afternoon meal with my family. In the midst of my travels, I stopped at Starbucks for a icy cold drink to soothe my soul after the miles upon miles I had driven already.

I continued onward to my next stop, heartily enjoying the the refreshing treat...that is, until I reached the end of the beverage. You see, even though I had sipped the last drop, I still wanted more, and would even settle for the melted remnants of the drink. Sadly, however, the ice left over in the cup had frozen into a hard chunk. My straw was trapped, crushed and no more beverage was available.

So, while driving, I attempted to break up the ice and free my straw by squeezing the cup. This was not a good idea. I squeezed quite hard, causing the ice to break up, as I wanted it to. But, unfortunately, I squeezed so hard that the ice didn’t just break up. It exploded up. And up.

My powerful squeezing caused the cup lid to fly off. Now free from any barrier, the ice kept flying upward until it came in contact with my person. Then, it began a slow plummet. Down my shirt. I ended up driving down the road with a cup of chocolately ice down my shirt, melting. The moral of the story is for one not to be greedy when one reaches the natural end of one's beverage.

Last Passover story of the year

1) Desperation has forced me to secret my one last tub of Israeli Nestle's Quik out of town. My cousin the Chocolate Whisperer is holding on to it for me. I requested that she not give in to my pleadings and wait a few months before returning it to me.

2) I have two boxes of leftover Passover matzo just gathering dust at Casa del Agatestone. And I just discovered an artform that I never knew existed. This will be the perfect way for me to dispose of the leftover matzo and could cause me to embark upon a new artistic path.

Forever and a day.

Does anyone understand the new Forever stamps? I don't get it. Won't they be losing money in a few years with this endeavor. Anyone?

Capricious.

I don't like capri pants on me. I think they look lovely on other folks. But not on me. I look stubby. I threw my faded black pair of capri pants away recently. I hated them as they made me look stubby, but I wore them anyway. I found another pair on sale and I am currently wearing them. And, I look stubby. I am wearing high heels to no avail. I look stubby.

I am just not a person who can wear short pants. My pant legs have to go past my ankles. There is nothing I can do about it. It's the only way that I don't feel stubby.

Although, tomorrow, when I am galavanting around town in the hot weather, I could potentially be wearing these capri pants again. But it would only be to combat the hot weather. I would still think I look stubby in them. Is there a way not to look stubby in short pants? What is the secret. Anyone?

Bad karma.

It's friday again and what should appear on my desk, another brownie baked by the Rabbi's wife. Not my current Rabbi, but our childhood Rabbi. His wife bakes brownies. It's pretty random that I should be receiving brownies baked by our former Rabbi's wife, but said brownie baker does work in a non-baking capacity for our company. She just happens to bake brownies and brings them to us when she is here doing work.

My problem with her brownies is that I think they upset, no not my stomach, but my karma. Besides chocolaty goodness, I believe that her brownies are dusted with a pinch of holiness.

I'm afraid that if I eat this brownie, my karma will be shot to hell. It's happened before, and I cannot afford it to happen again today. I'm working on a photography project that will be completed, knock on wood, by Sunday. If my karma isn't balanced, something horrible could happen to my project. And if that happens, well, it won't be the end of the world, but it will be disappointing.

So, I'm going to work on my project at lunch today. We'll see how it goes. If things turn out smoothly, I will think about eating this brownie. It can't hurt my karma to just have it sit on my desk today. Oh, the temptation.

OK. It's a couple hours later now. The photography project isn't going well. There are problems. Those problems occured even though I shunned the brownie. So, I decided there was no harm in eating the brownie after all. And I must say it was a wonderful brownie. I'm not sure if it was the extra pinch of holiness or possibly a hint of hazelnut, but my it was a welcome and fulfilling treat. And, if you look at it another way, the marvelous brownie could help me drown my sorrows in the problems I'm facing with the project. It's karma coming around from the other side, basically.

I like socks.

I like buying shoes, but I don't like wearing shoes. Is it too old-ladyish to admit that every pair of shoes I own hurt my feet, except for my brown flip flops? Even my black flip flops hurt, and they are the same model as the brown flip flops. The only difference is that they are black, not brown.

I like socks. But, what causes them to magically disappear? I purchased a three-pair pack of socks one day at lunch in hopes of staving off the pain of my shoes. I put one pair of socks on my feet and the two other pairs, I put in my purse. When I got home from work that night, I reached into my purse for the two pairs of socks. There were only three individual socks in there. What happened to the fourth sock? It is gone. Disappeared! Is there a chemical in socks that cause them to occassionally dissolve? Are invisible aliens stealing our socks? Is there a cabal of sock stock owners that’s sending stealthlike sock stealers into peoples’ homes to steal their socks so as to drive up sales of socks?

I like pie crust, but I can’t say I’m a huge pie fan.

I don’t like the fact that my favorite coffee shop closed.

I like the Brady Bunch and any media associated with the Brady Bunch. I have seen all the tv series (the Brady Brunch, the Brady Brides, etc.). I’ve seen all the movies, including the cheesy made for tv movies, like the one where Bobby was a race car driver, as well as the big screen movies with Shelly Long. I’ve even, believe it or not, seen a stage version of Brady Bunch. Instead of chairs, the audience sat on cushions and beanbag chairs to watch a recreation of that famous “Mom said don’t play ball in the house” episode. The memorable “Oh my nose!” flashback scene was recreated by throwing numerous Nerf footballs slowly at Marsha’s nose. Ah, the sweet, sweet memories of a glorious theatrical masterpiece.

I really like the sandwiches at my local “Snubflay” shop. Why oh why do the sandwich engineers at Snubflay have to be so un-hygienic? If they’re not draping their dirty shirts over my sandwich, they’re cracking their gum, open-mouthed, while they are engineering said sandwich.

I like the egg white omelets created by our local health food emporium, Beyond Juice. I wonder how healthy it is to eat numerous egg white omelets weekly? They are just so yummy.

I like doing pottery. But, should I have opened my eyes and cheated, even though the teacher told us to close our eyes, while we sculpted our masterpieces at the class I took recently at the Detroit Institute of Arts? I will try to post a photo of said “masterpieces,” but all I can say is that boy did they do a good job glazing them. Because, due to the fact that we were instructed to keep our eyes closed while sculpting, my bowls look like they were fashioned by a monkey. Not your average monkey, but a one-eyed left-handed monkey just getting over a heroin problem, who, while sculpting the bowls right-handed, was also painting a self-portrait with his feet and opening and eating a plantain with his dominant and more artistic left hand. That’s how bad these bowls appear. But, on the bright side, as I said before, the glaze looks marvelous.

To conclude, as this post is getting long and a tad tedious, I like the color green.

weird observation

So, while eating hors d'oevres with my relatives today, I noticed that since my uncle rejected the offer of a napkin, he only had two choices for proper disposal of his cracker crumbs. He could either brush them on the floor or collect said crumbs and put them in his pocket.

He chose the second option. I wonder if this is a one-time thing or he does this frequently.

Another weird dream.

I know ACF that you like more observational humor stories, but this dream has been nagging at me all day, so I have to put it out there for everyone to see. So, I'm giving a classical concert on saxophone. The only problem is that when I reach the stage, I realize I don't know how to play the saxophone. So, I hum the concert. I was not a success.

Why did I dream this? I have no clue. I have been listening to quite a bit of classical music lately. A song that I greatly love, Spem in alium, by Thomas Tallis, composed around 1570, is awe-inspiring. My recording, published by National Public Radio, sounds like angels are singing. It's in heavy rotation on my CD player so maybe that is why I am dreaming of music concerts.

Fluffy.

I think my imagination is broken. Generally, when I stare up at the fluffy clouds, all I see are mundane images of puppies, kittens and bunnies in varied situations. Some people see great wonders in the clouds: tall ships, a map of the British Isles, majestic sequoias. I never see anything interesting. Just puppies, kittens and bunnies.

Oh, besides today. Today I saw something interesting in the clouds. I saw a 15th century Spanish monk wearing a pointy hat. But, that is the exception, not the rule.

Tomorrow, well tomorrow, I’m sure when I look up at the clouds, I’ll see the usual: a cuddly puppy, a kitten wearing a beret, or a tap dancing bunny.