Things And Stuff

I have some random thoughts I’ve been meaning to write down. So here they are, in no particular order.

The other day, that old song “Knock Three Times” came on. You know the one, “Knock three times on the ceiling if you want me, twice on the pipe if the answer is no.” this made me think some strange thoughts. You wouldn’t want to do that in a building with rusty, clicky pipes. Otherwise, you might here click click, and think the guy was blowing you off when it was just clicky pipes. Then he’d knock three times and you’d be so confused. Is it yes? No? Should I meet him in the hallway? I don’t know! I heard three knocks and two clicks. Yeah, I’m a loser with a twisted mind.

Yesterday was Valentine’s Day, and I had a pretty good one. Steve and I went out for dinner at Eastside Mario’s, mmm…Eastside Mario’s, and Steve gave me the Pacman Talks game. It’s Pacman for blinks! I’ve wanted this game for a while, but the Canadian price looked like a ripoff, so I wasn’t getting it. But because Steve is king at finding another way, he found a way to pay through PayPal for the right price. So I now own Pacman Talks, and I’ve discovered I’m a big loser! Ok, there’s a training mode where the ghosts stay stationary. Yeah, they don’t move. Even so, I still have managed to lose all my lives! Yeah, I suck. But I’m getting better, and have managed to pass one level so far. Woo Give me a gold star! I’m addicted, and have already played the thing more than 10 times, because I’m all over my high score standings that only have 10 spots. They’re totaly lame scores, and anyone halfway good at this game could clean my clock. But there they are.

I noticed something the other day that persuades me that languages are weird. We were flipping around the digital music channels that come with our cable, and landed on the French kids’ music channel. Because sometimes that can be kind of entertaining, we stayed there for a minute. This pretty little song came on, and we started listening to it. The chorus said something about “J’suis avec Maman, j’suis avec papa, avec la tortue, le poisson rouge et puis le chat.” Translation: I’m with mom, I’m with dad, with the goldfish, the turtle and the cat. Notice anything, anyone? A goldfish, when translated into French, becomes a red fish. Why? Anybody know?

And here’s another anybody know question. What happens if it’s a leap year and a baby is born on February 29? Is that the baby’s birthday? Or do they change it for the dday before or after? What do they do, since that day only shows up once every four years.

Since Trixie got to talk about how she was doing the other day, I figure I should give you guys a quick update from my perspective. Now that we’ve stopped putting boots on the poor beast and started putting on wax, she’s better, although the wax isn’t standing up to the crazy salt that is put down. Let’s list off all the things I have tried for her feet so far.

  • a set of boots with the brand name Fashion Pet. Yeah, because that sounds like they’ll work. They didn’t. They would fall off at the drop of a hat.

  • Muttluks. They fit a lot better, but they’d still fall off, and Trixie found an art to removing them. She wasn’t happy when I then attached some straps to her back like those mitten straps for kids so that if the boots fell off, they were still attached. They were a bitch to put back on on the move, especially on cold days! My fingers would go numb, and numb fingers don’t put boots on well. Gloved fingers don’t work either.

  • A set of boots called Barkn boots. I haven’t even left the house with them because Trixie won’t heel properly in them, and jumps around in the hopes of shedding them, which happens.

  • A product you spread on the pads of the paws called Pawsitive Therapy. It seems to keep the pads soft, but it does not act as a proper shield against the salt, as promised, and that’s what I need.

  • A product called Biobalm that the vet wanted me to test. It does better than Pawsitive Therapy, but it’s not durable enough. She guides a hell of a lot better with this stuff on, but it fades mid walk, and I don’t think reapplying it on the move is a good idea, since it doesn’t get a chance to dry before hitting wet snow that would probably just wash it right off.

I’ve ordered something called Mushers’ Secret. That’s supposed to be the holy grail of foot protection! Let’s hope it is! The yeeeping needs to be prevented. It breaks my heart. I’ve also been given a lead on booties for injured paws that are supposed to be unshakable. Expensive, but unshakable. So, one way or another, Trixie won’t suffer anymore.

Yeah, I mentioned that she’s doing a lot better. I’m amazed at the difference comfortable feet are making. For a while, I was actually afraid to go out alone with her because she was so wacky. With the boots on, she would just stop walking at random. I couldn’t be sure if she was stopping to show me something, or just stopping. My confidence took a pounding, and it made it hard to do anything, because getting there was such an epic struggle! People would comment about how badly she was guiding. I hadn’t heard that…ever! Even in the “new dog” days, that was all it was, wondering if she was new. But this was so bad that people were saying it didn’t look like she was guiding me properly. I called my field rep from the school, and he told me I wasn’t the first one who had troubles like this, which made me feel a lot better. He sent me more boots, which weren’t the ticket. But he told me one way or another, we would get through this.

Now, with this wax, even though it fades half way, I feel safe with her. She’s gotten a few corrections for trying to walk way too fast to be safe, and she seems to have realized that the same rules apply even when the ground is covered with white and there are mounds of snow everywhere. I come home happy after walking somewhere, which I didn’t do with the boots on her. Now I just need the protection to be longer-lasting. Come on Mushers’, get here now!

I’ve noticed something else weird she does. When we’re out relieving, if she sees another dog she’d like to play with, she makes the weirdest noise. It’s barely audible. It’s this low, short grunting sound. When I first heard it, I froze in terror. I thought some other wild animal had found its way into the spot where Trixie goes pee, and we were about to meet it up close and personal. I put my hand down, and then felt Trixie’s throat vibrate when I heard the grunt! It was her! Steve hasn’t even heard it. The closest description I can give is the noise chickens make when they’re thinking about breaking into a full buckbuckbuckbuckbuckock, but havent’ yet.

And that’s about it. What a pile of randomness. Hope it was fun.

Something Tells Me this Death-Defying Stunt Won’t Defy Death Too Much Longer

Hmmm. Is it a good idea to force a circus act to continue for another year just because the contract says so, when it involves one person firing a crossbow at another’s head if the shootee is the shooter’s recently estranged husband? I know the show must go on, but isn’t this a little too risky?

The Power Of Prayer

I thought this joke was pretty good, especially considering Carin’s
post
from the other day.

In a small midwestern conservative town, there wasn’t a place to get a drink for miles around, so a local entrepreneur saw an opportunity: He started to build a tavern.

Liking a “dry” town, the local church started a campaign to block the bar from opening with petitions and prayers. The businessman was polite when congregants came to protest, but work continued on the tavern.

But the night before the grand opening, a lightning strike hit the bar and it burned to the ground.

The church folks were rather smug in their piousness after that — until the bar owner sued the church on the grounds that the church was ultimately responsible for the destruction of his building, either through direct or indirect actions or means.

The church vehemently denied all responsibility or any connection to the building’s demise in its reply to the court.

At the first hearing, the judge held up the paperwork and took in the lawyers and both sides of the lawsuit.

“I don’t know how I’m going to decide this,” the judge said, “but as it appears from the paperwork, we have a bar owner that believes in the power of prayer, and an entire church congregation that doesn’t.”

Raaar!

You know, after living on this earth for 29 years, I should be used to this by now, but it still annoys the hell out of me whenever it happens. What is it exactly? People freaking out because of the whole blindness factor.

A couple of weeks ago, I decided that my French really sucks now, and it’s about time I did something to bring it back to at least a passible level. I don’t want to say I can speak French in a job interview, and then when I’m tested, splutter like a stalled car in need of a trip to the mechanic. So I called the French department at the university where I got my minor, and admitted the horrid fact that even though I took a minor in French, it’s as good as dead in my brain, overwritten by dog commands, computer stuff, and who knows what else that I use more than French. I asked them where I could take some courses in conversational French or meet up with other like-minded folk who are struggling to keep French alive. The lady at the French department referred me to the Continuing Education Centre. “Ah!” I thought. “A lead!”

So, I called the Continuing Education Centre, and spoke to a lady who sounded like she’d spent too long breathing in the same stale air. She sounded like she was desperately in need of a nap, just being kept awake by the fear that someone might find her sleeping on the job. I told her that I needed to take a course in conversational French. She told me that there were afternoon classes and night classes, and four levels. I decided I wasn’t ready for the final level, but perhaps the level below. She said those classes were held on Thursdays. I signed up on a Wednesday. She told me that I had already missed two weeks, but it was a nine-week course, so she would give me a discount, and I could start the next day. I thought, “perfect!”

Then, I asked her where exactly was the closest bus stop. She said for getting there, I would have to cross a major street in Guelph. This was fine, until I learned I would have to J-walk. As for getting home, there was a stop right outside the building. It eventually came out that I was blind, so I guess I would have to cab there and then I’d bus home. She didn’t freak out too much, but she decided that she should let the instructor know about the blindness factor.

the next day, I got a call from the instructor. “uh, Hello. Zis is zee French teacher from zee continuing Education cen-ter. I hear you want to take zee course, French in Progress, but you cannot see. How is ziss going to work?” I’m not doing this ziss thing just because she’s teaching French. This is how she sounded. I asked her if this was in fact a conversational French class. “non non non! Ziss is written French!” Zee only conversational French class is zee real French at last course, and zat one is on Wednesdays!”

Ok, so this meant that not only did the woman at the desk have no clue and sign me up for the wrong class, but I had now missed 3 out of the nine sessions, and I have other appointments on Wednesdays that I scheduled that way to free up my Thursdays, which means missing more days. But this didn’t hit me until later.

I agreed to take the Wednesday French course, and she was still freaking out. Ok, I can half understand her freaking out about the written French course, although I could have worked something out, but she’s still freaking out, This is oral French. That means students use their mouth and ears. Last time I checked, blindness does not affect the mouth and ears. Well, you learn to be more outspoken and you hear things that others may not because you notice them, but that’s it.

I asked her what she thought would be impossible in her oral French course for a blind person. “Well,” she panicked, “Zere are some sings we read, I give to zee class and zay read zem or we talk about zem.” I told her that all she’d have to do is email me the copy of what she’s going to hand out before class starts, I’ll read it before class, and then I’ll just flub along. I’m a pretty good flubber. Being blind, your memory becomes really good.

She is still stammering. “Email zem?” she cried. “You realize ziss is more preparation, and I’m already doing a lot of preparation!”

Oh come on lady. I doubt you’re handing out hand-written pieces of writing. They’re likely typed, and if they’re typed, all you have to do is open a message and attach the document. Even if you’re getting newspaper pieces, a lot of newspapers have their recent stuff available online, so send me the friggin link. Or, give me the subject matter andI’ll use google news. I’m not asking you to re-type whole pieces of material.

The fact is, Froggy Froggerton, I know, that was mean, you’re teaching a class. That means you’re going to have to teach for different learning styles and think outside the box. If you can’t handle that, maybe you shouldn’t be teaching.

Then she said, “Maybe you should take a private class with me. I charge $20 an hour.” Hmm. $95 for 9 weeks, or $20 an hour. What do you think is more affordable? And isn’t the point of taking a class being able to interact in a group? She grudgingly agreed, but kept saying, “If it doesn’t work out, you can always get a refund.” It was like she just wanted me to give up. It would be easier for her.

And this isn’t the first time this has happened when I’ve just tried to take a simple course. Another time, I tried to take Yoga. I had taken Yoga before, so this wasn’t a new concept. I knew some of the terms, and figured if I was doing it wrong, Yoga instructors are very physical and will correct you, blind or not, and think nothing of it. So I signed up. When the instructor saw me, she freaked. “I can’t do this! You must find an assistant! If you need help, you will be impeding everyone else’s Yoga experience! I don’t have time to help you…but if you pay me an extra $10 per session, I might be able to do it.” That was when I snapped and asked where the time comes from if I fork over extra money? I signed up to the gym because Yoga was included. It doesn’t seem fair to make me pay extra even though she still may not have the time. Without saying it, I basically proved she was making excuses. I told her that it would be hard to find an assistant, since recreational volunteers were not in abundance at this time of year, and I’d taken Yoga before, so I wasn’t completely new to this. She eventually came around and became a pretty awesome Yoga instructor. But the struggle at first was insanity!

And then people wonder why I’m not lighting the world on fire with employment prospects. Look at what happens when I try to take a course! Look at the bullshit I have to slog through to take a course in spoken French. There are places where I expect bullshit, but this was not one of them.

Sorry if I sound like a whiny baby. I’m just a little sick of having to blaze a trail even when it comes to simple things. Can’t I just improve myself without sending the teacher into spasms of fear and horror? My eyes don’t work. My mind is perfectly functional, and apparently more open than most.

After all that, I had to cancel the course because I remembered the whole Wednesday appointment thing, so I’m taking it next session, in April. I’m sure the French teacher is rejoicing. She’ll cry when I come back into her life again.

As an aside of extra stupidity that has nothing to do with blinkitude, When I canceled, just for canceling, they decided to refund my money, but deduct a $10 cancelation fee. Stupid bureaucracy. What possibly costs that much to push a button? There aren’t materials to get for this course. Man it’s dumb. It’s especially dumb, since the woman signed me up to the wrong class! It’s her fault I have to cancel in the first place!

I hope this makes sense to someone and doesn’t sound like a pile of raving lunacy. Well, whether or not it does, there it is.

As Long As YouTube Lives, So Will This Song!

Oh Matt, ya better run, run far. Why? Because even though the original animation that drove you insane has been pummelled off the internet by hits, I have founda replacement! Someone was thinking, and captured it on YouTube, and I, being an enormous loser, googled it out!

Ya wanna know what’s freaky? I finally know what this song is called, and there is a Wiki for the Finnish folk song from which this thing was derived, and the animation itself! Now, tell me, people, what is so fascinating about some videogame character spinning a leek? Tell me, tell me do! Is it just because it’s hypnotic, like the music?

So, finally, because the video fell down, I proved myself to be a giant loser, and solved the Dagga Dagga Doodoo mystery.

Trixie’s Got The Winter Blahs.

Trixie speaks
You know, I’m a pretty patient dog. I’ll put up with a lot of stuff. But there is a point where I’m going to lose it, and I think I’m reaching that point.

So first, this white stuff comes. Snow? Yeah, that’s it. Snow. I could deal with that, sort of. Then the city put down something on the sidewalk so the humans don’t slip and fall and hurt themselves. Maybe they should walk on all fours like smart dogs do so they’d have better balance. Anyway, this salt stuff. It hurts me. I step on it, and yeeeep! Then I start limping. Yeeep yeeep! Get it off! I kick my foot. Yeeep yeeep yeeeeeep! Carin frantically rubs my foot until I stop yeeeeping. She mutters something about “I’m sorry.” Sorry isn’t good enough. Stop walking me through the yeeeepy salt if you’re so sorry! Then people stare. Ya know what? I challenge any of them to walk on this stuff in bare feet and not yeeep.

Then, Carin does something very weird. She starts putting shoes on my feet. She’s all happy because she thinks she’s found shoes that will fit me. Then she walks me around the house and laughs at the way I go clip clop clip clop. She calls me her little horsey doggy. I put up with this. The shoes aren’t on very long. If this makes Carin laugh, I’ll put up with it. Then she walks me around the building. Ok, this public amusement is a little much.

Then, she expects me to work in these shoes! Work? Ok, let me get this straight. I’m supposed to focus on keeping both of us safe, which is harder now since the city doesn’t move the white stuff very well off the sidewalk, and I’m supposed to do this while all I can think about is how I have these shoes on my feet. Carin has to be out of her mind. She has to be.

I express my disgust at these shoe things. I run from her when I see her break out the shoes. Then she gets mad. I go to bed and stay there. She herself said my bed was my own personal zone, a zone that no one could invade. . But it seems she can break this rule. I can’t break any rules without hearing about it, but she can break all the rules she wants? She drags me from the bed and says I’m going to wear the shoes. No fair. No fair! No fair no fair no fair! I stamp my feet. I riggle. I twist my paws. I fight fight fight. She just hangs on and puts the shoes on anyway. She does give me kibble after each shoe. Hmmm. Something good comes from this. But it’s not good enough to make me happy. My tail still droops. I’m miserable.

I did manage to figure out a way to get them off. Do I chew on them? No. Do I shake my feet? Nope. But if I roll around in the snow when Carin takes me out to pee, that works. Or, when we’re walking, if I hit deep enough snow, that works too. Wooo! Something good can come from snowbanks.

After I did that enough times, something else changed. Not only did I have to wear the shoes, but I had to wear this other thing on my back that she attached the shoes to. If I wasn’t completely miserable before, now I was. I couldn’t move well because it would wiggle jiggle. It would tie up my tail. It wasn’t easy to sit, but she still wanted me to. It was so distracting, so much so that I would walk, stop, walk, stop, walk, stop. I couldn’t think about working at all! Not in the least!

Now, she doesn’t seem to make me wear shoes, not shoes that I can see anyway. Instead, she has this thing of goo that she gets out in the morning. She takes my paws and rubs this goo all over my pads and between the pads. I don’t like it much either, but maybe it’s better than those shoes. Maybe I’ve won! Maybe I’ve been liberated from those horrible shoes! But if the stuff wares off, I still yeeeep! So I’m still not happy.

I have never seen anything like this weather before. Now I understand why I have fur for my fur. Without that other fur, I shake shake shake! There is so much wind here some days. Sometimes, it feels like the wind is an actual thing. It pushes me. I lose my sense of direction. I just want to find the nearest entrance to a building and go in. We don’t walk very far anymore. I miss the long walks. But there’s no way I would walk very long in this horrible stuff. I just want the nice stuff to come back. Will it ever come back? Please, I’m looking up at the sky. Yeeep yeeep. I’m begging you. Can’t you hear me? Yeeep Yeeep yeeep! Bring the nice weather back!