gemstone's Blurty

Subject:	Life is short.
Time:	7:43 pm.

“Life is too short to fold underwear.” Oh, I believed it… I lived it. I never folded my underwear (even if they were actually too small to fold anyway, but honestly, they’re not… okay, some). Why fold underwear when you can be out there smelling the roses?

I’d fold everything else, including my whole family’s underwear. But my own "unmentionables," nah, just tuck them all in the drawer – panties, bras, along with the socks and hankies. Life’s too short.

Then one day, fate blessed me with all the time in the world to wash all the laundry in one day. As I dumped all of my stuff into my underwear drawer, I realized that I had been saving time by not folding my undies, but every time I needed something, I'd spend a lot of time digging into the pile, matching the sets and pairing the socks.

Okay, I said, life may be short, but my life span will become shorter if I have to rummage through this chaotic heap one more time.

So, I poured all the contents of the drawer onto the bed and very gently folded every single piece of lingerie. It became somewhat therapeutic. And what a sense of accomplishment to see my “secrets” drawer finally neat and organized!

Ergo, no, life’s not too short to fold underwear. I say life’s too short to dig into a pile of unfolded intimate apparel.

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Subject:	Waking dreams
Time:	4:57 pm.

I woke up this morning to the sound of a mockingbird belting away next to our bedroom window. It wasn’t even 8 am, and on a Sunday, disturbing my waking dreams before 8 am would be a mortal sin. I lay there close to cursing the animal, who obviously believes it’s already spring (another freak 75-degree morning in Orlando in the dead of winter).

Amazing how that tiny songbird could tweet away non-stop! I was hoping it would eventually get tired and maybe fly away and pester another neighbor since she already succeeded in waking me up prematurely.

But no, she just kept tweeting away! No, not the regular ordinary tweet-tweet-tweet – it was a repertoire of tweets and beeps in different frequencies and wavelengths and amplitudes. I listened intently until it occurred to me that she was actually doing the Viper car alarm tweeting sequence! Twit-twit-twit, bee-beepbeep, bee-beepbeep, trrrrrilll-trrrrilll, tweeeeeeeetttt-twit-twit, beeep-twit-beeep-twit! Unbelieveable!

The mockingbird is known to improve its repertoire of chirps as it matures – by mimicking sounds it hears from its surroundings.

So, did the Viper folks pattern the car alarm horn sequence after the bird sounds, or did this bird grow up next to the Viper alarm factory?

Want to hear a mockingbird in action? Try this.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I’d like to lift a quote from the Newsweek Jan 2 article “The ‘Code’ Breakers” about the movie The Da Vinci Code. The paragraph’s about why Tom Hanks bagged the lead role. And I quote: “Tom is wildly intelligent,” says screenwriter Akiva Goldsman, “and you can’t fake intelligence. A good actor can act anything – except the sense that he’s thinking deeply if he really isn’t.” End quote.

That’s something to think about.

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Subject:	ICE!
Time:	12:20 pm.

Some people squirrel away a ton of savings in order to fly to Orlando to see the theme parks and the seasonal shows. Not us. We live next to the mouse house, we’re a stone’s throw from Universal and Seaworld, and a skip and a hop from Busch Gardens. All these magical happiest places in the world are literally just a couple of stoplights down the road!

So when we heard that Gaylord Palms will do the ICE! thing again this year, we marked our calendars. Besides, this plush and expensive hotel is just at the next corner.

I read the Gaylord Palms ICE! feature off their website, so my partner and I were ready with our 9-degree attire, complete with gloves and bonnet. We went at about 7:30 pm, an hour before closing time. We figured there wouldn’t be too many folks anymore. Boy, were we wrong there.

A long line led to the ticket booth, and another long line formed at the door of the exhibit. Once they let us is, Disney-crowd-control-style, we had to stand in front of overhead TVs that showed how the ice sculptures were carved… by ice sculptors who had to fly in from a town in China… which is famous for its ice carvers and carvings.

After that 10-minute intro, we were herded to the next station, still outside the exhibit area. We were again in front of TVs that, this time, showed how we were going to be given super-insulation parkas, how we should wear them, and how we should be careful when we do the ice slides. I, personally, knew how to put on a parka and didn’t particularly care for an ice slide, so that segment was a total waste of time.

Finally, we were allowed to move forward to get our parkas and put them on. We were then a bit bogged down by the families who wanted to pose for a photo-op with Santa.

So, at last, there was the door to the ice kingdom. It was like going into a frozen meat warehouse. I won’t go into the details of what were in there, but when it was all over, we were thankful it was only $17 a head, with a free cup of hot cocoa (which we had to walk halfway across the hotel to get).

Okay, the nativity scene was great. But I was disappointed to notice that the sculptures were made by stacking regular ice blocks – like the ones you see getting unloaded at the back of Chinese restaurants. And the sculptures weren’t as massive as I expected. I wanted to see HUGE ice sculptures like in the Bond film “Die Another Day” – not figures you’d see on a buffet table.

Oh well, maybe next year they’ll have it again, and maybe then they’ll try making grander pieces in more spacious halls.

Okay, I’ll be nice… they actually did a pretty good job considering they had to set that whole thing up in Florida. A bigger exhibit hall with grander sculptures would probably mean higher ticket prices with no freebies. Or they can tell us to just fly to China.

But hey, the saving grace was the nifty souvenir items we bought at 40% off.

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Subject:	Dear Virtual Santas...
Time:	6:08 pm.

This is the first time I dare to post a call to the virtual Santas of my son. Quincy is... well, not exactly a little boy anymore; but he did say what he wants for Christmas.

"Quite figuratively, two front teeth." He said he has a terrible toothache and needs to see the dentist as soon as he can.

We all know why dentists are richer than Paul McCartney (who is allegedly "richer than God"). So, I'd like to appeal to everyone who has the slightest inclination to give my son a present this Christmas... cash to pay the dentist, please? Remember... it's the tooth that counts.

Tooth matters.

The tooth is out there.

The tooth shall set you free.

Merry Christmas to all! And may you and your loved ones have a joyful and prosperous New Year!

[Here's a not-so-recent photo of Quincy...]

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Subject:	Just one more thing...
Time:	1:32 pm.

I remember an episode of West Wing when Leo decided to give Bartlett’s graduating daughter an expensive pen. Everyone he told about his gift asked, “What else does it do?”

Last weekend, we were at Office Depot. At the checkout counter was a highlighter pen with a built-in stick-on label dispenser. How convenient is that! While you read and highlight, you have quick and easy access to stick-on labels. A time-saver indeed… about a quarter of a second of time saved each time you need a stick-on label.

Let’s talk about this “swiss-knife-multi-purpose-do-it-all-without-breaking-a-sweat” concept. A refrigerator with a TV screen; a printer that quadruples as a scanner, fax machine, and copier; a couch that reclines, vibrates, and unfolds a console that has compartments for remotes, DVDs, drinks, and frozen dinners; a mobile phone that plays music, takes pictures and movies, hooks up to TV shows, goes online for emails and news feeds, and stores all your bank and credit accounts... The list is endless.

Multi-purpose used to be as cool as a reversible jacket. Now we need to have at least five different purposes built-in to as tiny a product as possible to call it cool.

This has got to be a commercial scam. Our friendly global entrepreneurs come up with these nifty gadgets on the pretext that the innovations improve our quality of life through a long list of revolutionary benefits. Easy, fast, efficient, and convenient are the keywords. Ah, now that you know that these “necessities” exist, you can’t live without them!

Buy, buy, buy! Convenience, here we come!

Then even before we finish paying our monthly installments, convenience starts to walk out the door.

The fold-out arm rest unhinges, so the whole couch wouldn’t be the same, and we’d have to get a new one. The printer’s scanner conks out… the phone’s camera goes on the fritz… then we‘d have to buy new ones, which, by the way, has recently come out in new-upgraded-more-functions-gotta-get-me-one-of-THESE models.

We, poor consumers are slaves… swallowing these infomercials just like they want us to… spending hard-earned money on do-it-all items packed with functions we don’t use or need. We buy because we are sold to the ads that say we can’t live without these gizmos another minute of our twenty-first century lives. "What? Your refrigerator doesn’t have a TV? Ugh! Jurassic!"

Ah, well… I suppose that’s progress… inventing just one more thing that can go wrong.

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Subject:	A Matter of Principle
Time:	10:55 am.

I can't believe I just did what I just did. I turned down an opportunity of a lifetime -- to write for the magazine of a major commercial enterprise for "$1.50/word to start." They found me through my website, and they think my writing style and wide topic repertoire are just what they're looking for. They asked if I would join them.

The pay is very attractive; and the break is something you don't pass up. Unfortunately, I have already expressed alliances with one of their competitors. I won't complicate this journal entry with the details of that alliance, but the bottom line is... it's a matter of principle.

I can't believe I turned down a very juicy opportunity. But I can sleep at night knowing I resisted the temptation to compromise my integrity. Other writing opportunities will come.

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Subject:	DeoxyriboNucleic Acid
Time:	12:09 pm.

I knew there was a reason my biology professor of many… many… many moons ago made us memorize deoxyribonucleic acid. Because sometime in 2005 its acronym DNA will be the most used word in primetime TV. Heck, it will be the most used word at home – “Here’s the serving spoon, Son, don’t contaminate the mashed potato with your DNA” or “Honey, this lab report says our daughter’s DNA isn’t even close to mine.”

Just by watching all these crime and mystery series on TV, you learn a lot of neat, geeky stuff… like GSR. That’s gunshot residue that the CSI officers, or crime scene investigators, lift from your hand, clothes, or any other surface including a mosquito’s wing, to determine if a firearm (or a mechanical device that uses a propellant to propel projectiles at high velocity) was recently fired in close proximity.

Then there are those fingerprints. They can be lifted off any solid surface – paper, plastic, fiber, glass, metal, anything! And they don’t have to be complete fingerprints – even palm prints, or partials can solve a crime.

Crime lingo would include COD for cause of death, and MMO for means, motive, and opportunity. Of course, there’s the alpha male general who barks at his staff with an “I need those reports ASAFP!” You notice the F is for “insert favorite F word here.”

There’s also the D word for disorder. Back in my time (never thought I’d ever say that!), we had no ADD (attention deficit disorder) or OCD (obsessive-compulsive disorder) or MPD (multiple personality disorder – also known as DID or dissociative identity disorder) – we were all just plain O-D-D if not C-R-A-Z-Y.

Then when you watch the sci-fi channel, their favorite catchall conundrum is the deadly retrovirus. According to Wikipedia, that’s a “virus which has a genome consisting of two plus sense RNA molecules, which may or may not be identical… it relies on reverse transcriptase to perform the reverse transcription of its genome from RNA into DNA, which can then be integrated into the host's genome with an integrase.” I knew that.

How do they dissolve, disintegrate, or detonate the retrovirus? With an all-powerful top-secret “device,” of course! A device, in the hands of a twisted-but-genius and bad-childhood-but-sensitive hero or hero-ess always saves the human race!

Enough of this. I still have a bunch of taped shows to watch.

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Subject:	Houston
Time:	2:13 pm.

So much is being covered about Houston in the wake of Hurricane Rita (if I hear "in the wake of Hurricane Rita" one more time, I'll... ).

We were in Houston one time, when my partner was assigned to open a branch there. We relocated in 02 22 2002 (how can I forget?). But my partner's company had to bring him back to Orlando because a major account came on. So we moved back. Our stay in Houston was a solid six months. I had just put up the last picture frame when we were told we had to return to Orlando.

Long story short, we were more than happy to leave good ol' Houston, Texas. We didn't like it there. But there were five things we liked (yep, just five):
- Whataburger - We're not really into burgers, but since we discovered these, we're not eating any other fastfood burger ever.
- Pappasito's - Finally! A decent mexican restaurant.
- Blue Bell Ice Cream - About a year after we moved back to Florida, our groceries and convenience stores started stocking their frozen aisles with Blue Bell Ice Cream. Our favorite flavor is the Banana Split.
- Stevie Ray Vaughan - Too bad he's gone.
- ZZ Top - Timeless.

Hmm.... food and music. That says a lot.

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Subject:	An Unknown and Red Cabbage
Time:	4:07 pm.

Unknown

Two days ago, I pulled out a plastic container from the back of the bottom rack of the refrigerator. I didn’t know how long it’s been there, or what was in the container, but from the outside, I could see that the contents were black. I shook the container very gently – the contents swooshed like it may have been some kind of liquid at one time or another. Or maybe it had transformed into a fluid over time.

I was tempted to dump the whole thing in the trash bin – who knows what toxic waste I could release if I try to open it! But the plastic container was relatively new, and, you know, it’s the reusable kind, the from-the-freezer-to-the-microwave-to-the-table kind. I couldn’t just throw that away! I’m a certified packrat!

So, I very gingerly took the container to the sink, held my breath and opened the lid vewwwwy carefully. With as little splash as possible, I poured the contents down the drain. On top of the black fluid was some kind of grayish lumpy gooey growth that stuck to the container along the edges, so after all the fluid had flowed off, the muck held on to the container.

I turned the water on to rinse it out but it held on long enough for me to imagine it would suddenly jump up onto my fingers and cling to my arm and eat me up like that organism in “The Blob”! Eww!

The muck finally fell into the drain, at which point I quickly turned on the disposal unit and doused the whole container with dishwasher detergent under scalding hot water.

I will continue to guess what it was I originally had in that container. I’m just glad to note that I have not had any unusual reactions (like itching, blisters, pulmonary congestion, fainting spells, special powers, or trips back in time) to my exposure to “the blob.”

Red Cabbage

They didn’t have the regular green cabbage at the time, and the red ones were on sale. I said, well, it can’t taste too far off the green variety, and the red color would be a funky way to make the dishes more exciting.

Exciting, indeed. It turned my saute’d corned beef even darker because the cabbage turned maroon in the cooking process. The dark curly strips among the corned beef made them look like dead worms.

I had bought a whole head of red cabbage, so after the corned beef, I still had quite a bit of head. My next cabbage-inspired dish was pancit guisado (rice noodles mixed with pork, shrimp, chicken, cilantro, and, yes, cabbage).

Julliene’d regular cabbage in pancit is supposed to add a sprinkle of green to the gold-ish chicken, red-ish shrimp, brown-ish pork, and white-ish noodles. But because I used red cabbage, my whole pancit dish turned… purple.

The pancit tasted as great as pancit should; but the mouthful of noodles, which should be whitish-gold (because of the soy sauce), they were purple! So, yes, my latest innovative noodle recipe is what I proudly call “Purple Pancit.”

Purple Noodles

But there was still half a head of red cabbage left. Next dish, beef stew (or Nilaga). We put cabbage in our beef stew – the last ingredient you throw in because it cooks quicker than the potatoes, celery, carrots, and string beans.

Well, I knew what was going to happen. The stew turned purple. It still tasted as great as beef stew should; but the soup, it looked like grape juice! So, yes, that would be my latest innovative stew recipe: “Purple Nilaga.”

Purple Beef Stew

Now if I had tried to add red cabbage to a chicken dish, I would most surely have ended up with… “Purple Chicken.” But I think someone already beat me to it.

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Subject:	Scissors
Time:	7:01 pm.

When my friend, Rommel (not his real name), visited his parents in the US for the first time, he shared an interesting observation: “My Dad has a lot of scissors! There are scissors everywhere.”

I don’t know why Rommel didn’t ask his Dad why there were pairs of scissors everywhere – maybe he was afraid his Dad would give him the look and ask, “Why, you don’t have this many scissors at your house?”

So, I’m not sure if Rommel had figured it out, but I think I know why a typical American home would have an extraordinarily high quantity of this cutting implement.

At first I thought it was because scissors were cheap. You could get the 6-inch “As Long As It Can Cut Most Of The Time” model, made-in-the-other-side-of-the-planet, with your choice of fuchsia, lime, or electric blue plastic handles, for a dollar each at the school supplies aisle of any convenience store or supermarket. In fact, you can get a combo set of three different sizes for one dollar at any Dollar Store.

But there are countless other stuff that are also particularly cheap, like rulers, paper clips, and white glue—so, why scissors?

I pondered on this question for a while, trying to find the answer every time I pick up a pair of scissors. Then the answer sort of accumulated on me… through the number of times I needed to use the tool.

We have a pair with orange handles tucked in a wicker basket on the counter between the kitchen and the dining area. We use it to cut open childproof decongestant tablets. We pull it out to open a “fresh-packed” bag of potato chips. We reach for it to unwrap hermetically sealed products that we purchase – which is practically all electronics and accessories, most household products and paraphernalia, and the majority of brand new items meticulously packaged to prevent scratches, pilfering, or mislabeling.

Public safety is paramount here in the US, so everything that could be potentially hazardous to a child is packaged securely. To open, you need scissors.

Product freshness is also important here – potato chips and pork rind can’t be sold in bags that can easily, accidentally prop open. You can struggle at ripping open these nearly indestructible “sealed-in freshness bags,” but using scissors would be the least messy way to get to your crisp snacks.

Finally, product integrity and merchandizing is high up there in the list of matters of consequence in every capitalistic society, so almost everything you purchase here is shrink-wrapped, contour-packed, or sticky-labeled shut. Fancy labels and fine print all securely plasticized in place. I bet they’re deliberately packaged that way so that scissor makers at the other side of the planet can continue to hone their skills (haha!).

Rommel (not your real name), if you’re reading this, that’s your answer. Your Dad is wise to have scissors all over the house--he doesn’t have to use his teeth to tear out a cold tablet, or walk to the sewing machine to unwrap his new headphones.

Did you know that Leonardo da Vinci invented the scissors? And that it took him 10 years to paint Mona Lisa’s lips? I didn’t either.

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Subject:	Harnessing ADD
Time:	12:02 pm.

Like most parents dreaming of the best for their children, mine wanted me to be a doctor. When I told them I failed both my Qualitative and Organic Chemistry courses, their dreams faded into oblivion. Over the years, I realized I couldn’t have been a good doctor, anyway—and it was their fault… because they gave me ADD.

There was no “Attention Deficit Disorder” back then. We, young ones, were just “distracted” (it was the dawn of color TV!) or “over-stimulated” (good ol’ rock ‘n’ roll!). Most of the time we were just experiencing a surge of hormones. Nobody thought we had some kind of “disorder.”

It’s only now, in this semi-retirement phase of my life that I finally understood why I’ve been constantly curious and “highly creative” – I have ADD. With a craving to learn something new, my short attention span takes me from one body of interest to another. Many times, I would exhaust a passion to the point where I can say, “I’ve done that,” and then I’d move on and try something new. That’s not such a bad thing, is it?

Lately, I’ve noticed that I’ve actually structured my activities to jibe with my ADD. For example, my handicrafts projects (like the bookmarks and notepads I sell online) require drying time, so after I’m done with one task, I can pull out and do something else. When I write or edit, I give it one or two passes, then I pull out and go back the next day with a fresh set of eyes. When I do my jewelry, I have several projects on-going and move from one inspiration to another. In between all these, I cook, surf the ‘Net, garden, take photos, workout, and putter about. I’m never bored and I learn something new everyday. It’s all so exciting!

In a way, I feel that I’ve successfully harnessed my ADD. My parents may have been disappointed that I didn’t become a doctor, but they’d be happy that I’ve made the most of the genes they handed down.

So, I should end this here… I feel this big urge to learn metalsmithing. Where’s that site I bookmarked?

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Subject:	Me, Me, Me!
Time:	4:18 pm.

I love how my site tracker makes my day. I finally have something to write in my blog.

I followed a visitor link back to a fellow writer's blog that praised my Web site before it said that my blog was "a little too much me, me, me." I beg to disagree -- my whole site, not just my blog, is me, me, me. That's the point. I have a portfolio site, with a blog, to sell nothing but me, me, me. Don't you?

Tell me, please, what else would I write about in my blog? I am open to suggestions. Just a few caveats: I don't do religion, sex, or politics. I'm not too happy with my humor, and I'd rather not pretend to be holier/wiser/hotter/cooler/greater-than-thou. And I won't blog about how you can be a good writer -- I already do that in my Web site.

My Suite101 column on inspiration/motivation is already about you, you, you, with some us, us, us, and a few he, she, it, them. Okay, there are a number of I, me, myself there, too, but only to add a personal touch to the life lessons I share.

Admittedly, I started doing a blog just last year (half-heartedly, at that). I've had my Web site since 1998 and saw no need for a blog since I code my own HTML and can very quickly post anything I want. So, when I finally succumbed to the overpowering wave of the blog phenomenon, my dilemma was its focus.

I looked around and, guess what, bloggers mostly wrote about their own day-to-day experiences, unsolicited opinions, and states of mind. Unless they had ulterior motives -- like become famous. In which case they do religion, sex, politics, humor, and holier-than-thou columns.

I don't want to be famous. I just want to share my simple joys -- handmade jewelry, pancakes, frogs, and chocolates. If in the process I end up talking about me, me, me, I'm sure you'll understand. After all, it -is- MY blog!

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Subject:	By Bread Alone
Time:	6:01 pm.

Wheat bread is supposed to be healthy. Or at least healthier than white bread, which is supposed to be made of refined flour that when consumed in large amounts turns the consumer into a paper mache piñata.

So, I stood in the supermarket’s two-mile long bread aisle, facing tall shelves packed with all sorts of bread –from cheese to chalah, herb to Hawaiian, oatmeal to potato oat, pistachio to pumpernickel, raisin to rye, zwieback to zuccini, among others. I saw slices, loaves, buns, rolls, bagels, and baguettes. Where do all these breads come from?

Narrowing it down to as close to “wheat” as possible, there was whole wheat, wheat germ, wheat/grain, wheat/bran, dill wheat, whole grain, and multi-grain. Then I saw a “Honey Wheat” loaf that said, “Healthy Line, Light, Only 40 Calories Per Slice, 0 Grams of Trans Fat Per Slice, An Excellent Source of Fiber, No Artificial Preservatives, Colors, or Flavors.” How healthy can it get? Can it even still be considered bread? I knew it was all marketing hype, but, well, I bought it. Literally.

That was a week ago. I finished the loaf just now, and I said to myself, “Wow, I’m glad I’m done with that experiment. That last slice tasted like cardboard.”

I checked the packaging -- it said “Best before Feb 27.” No wonder. Midnight of the 26th, it had started to deteriorate back into its native state. In another two days it would turn into sawdust.

Tomorrow I’ll stand in front of that endless aisle of breads again and start another experiment. Maybe I’ll try one with artificial flavors -- at least it won’t taste like hay.

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Subject:	The Case of the Missing Chocolates
Time:	2:08 pm.

My best friend in Oregon called me a couple of weeks ago to say she ordered some chocolates for me. It was an online order, which was confirmed for delivery within five business days. So, time whizzed by and the five business days came and went, and no chocolates arrived at my door.

Today was the 9th business day, so my friend called me to ask if the chocolates ever arrived. I said, no. She said she had called the courier, who said they delivered on the 5th business day, and in fact, someone signed the receipt with the initials GEE.

“Check the address,” I suggested. After so many times she had sent stuff to my home address, it would be unusual that she’d make a mistake, but when she checked her confirmation e-mail, it did show a wrong apartment number. She started freaking out.

The package was delivered six days ago – the chocolates would have all been consumed by now. We had the same thought. She said she’d replace it. I said, no need, it’s the thought that counts. But it won’t hurt to ask, so I said I’d check out the apartment that was supposed to have received my goodies. Luckily, it was just a few doors down.

I knocked, and, luckily, the residents were home. I started explaining to her that a package had been erroneously delivered to their unit. She said, in her thick Hispanic accent, “No. Package not deliver here. Deliver at leasing office. They call me. Give me package not my name. I give it to tall white man. I show you.”

We walked over to the office, which was, luckily, just a few meters away. The tall white man was luckily there, so she said to him, “Remember last week, I have package here not mine? She belongs to it.”

Luckily, the tall white man remembered. He went to the back, and asked, “What’s the name again”? I yelled out my name, and he said, “Oh, ye, here it is.”

With the precious chocolates finally in my hands, I thanked the lady for going out of her way. And I thanked the tall white man for not throwing away the package -- clearly marked "perishable" -- after it had sat there for six days. Luckily, my friend didn’t try to send me moose meat.

So, I called my friend back to say that we had been pretty lucky with this missing chocolates episode -- in more ways than one.

In case you’re curious, these are Oregon Host Premium Chocolate Covered Hazelnuts. Absolutely to-die-for! Want some?

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