Doughnuts, swimming, and music I love doughnuts. I especially love doughnuts when they are available, free of charge, in the lobby of my office. Apparantly, one of the head-honchos wanted to say thank you to all his "employees" (I say that in quotes because he didn't really hire us, we work for the government) by buying doughnuts. Why might he want to say thank you? Because we raised money for the United Way on the condition that he shave his head. Don't you love the things people will do for a fundraiser? It started out as raising money for some other dude to shave his head. But then, we overshot that goal, and the new goal was for two cueballs at work. So, now we've been given doughnuts. Talk about positive reinforcement. My favourite kind of doughnut is a jelly-filled one with icing sugar over it. These are really messy though. If the jelly doesn't get you, the icing sugar certainly will. Have you ever tried to brush icing sugar off your jeans? It's nearly impossible. It just smears. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I went to a childrens' birthday party yesterday. It was the birthday party for three childern actually. All siblings and all under eight. They're good kids, and I'm sure their friends are too...but all together, they're just really noisy. It was fun though. Their dad rented a pool for an hour and that was fun. The pool had a water slide, a hot pool, rope to swing on, and some foamy floating rafts. Doesn't get much better than that! Their dad also fed us hot dogs and veggies and dip. Yay! I love party food. Still, it was a kids party, and kids are very wearing, very quickly. It was the drive home that pushed me over the edge. Apparently, the girls were lying to the boys about what their real names were and the boys, intent on getting what they wanted, were trying to make the girls repeat the phrase "Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a pencil in my eye". The girls, clever as they are, were changing the words while repeating it (and thus escaping any binding influence to tell the truth the chant might have) and so the boys, undaunted, would repeat the proper words...and on, and on, and on. Kids might be cute and fun in a wide open space, but when you're locked in a small enclosed space with them they're awfully close to torture. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I've started listening to a new radio station here. It actually broadcasts somewhere outside of the city limits, so it's designed as a small town radio station. It's 100.9 FM, the Eagle. All hits, all the time. This morning when I turned it on, Call me Al by Paul Simon was playing. Then it jumped into Indiana Wants Me, by R. Dean Taylor. How can you go wrong? It plays all the popular songs from the last 3 decades. And, since I already know all those songs from an early childhood experience with the local oldies station, it couldn't be better. I can sing along to almost everything they play. I'm officially in radio heaven. I've often felt that someone played a very cruel trick on me when I was being put together before birth. I've been given the desire to sing, but not the voice. It's one of the ongoing tragedies of my life. Singing makes me happy, but no one wants to listen to it. |