Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Default hair

You know when you reach that stage where your hair is in need of a cut and style and just sort of hangs there all at a loss as to where to go or what to do? I call that my default hair, and I'm experiencing it now. In the absence of a good style, my hair just defaults to a state somewhere between apathy and desperation. Many a photograph has captured my default hair over the years. In fact, you could look at photos of me at various points in junior high, high school, university and adulthood and think I'd never changed my hairstyle. Sure, the length varied somewhat, but in that space between cuts and styles, my hair assumed the same comfortable (though unattractive) default state that said, "I just can't be bothered." I was just thinking today that my hair is in dire need of a cut and style, having defaulted to blah. I went to see a friend I hadn't seen in a while and she said, "I love your hair." Seriously? It's in default mode. It's not good. Please, don't encourage it.

I remember several years ago when one of my nephews was about four I had just freshly gotten my hair cut and styled when he saw me. "Your hair looks nice," he said. "Awww..." I thought. How sweet of him to notice. "It usually doesn't," he continued matter-of-factly. Someday, if he hasn't already, he'll learn about default hair, and he'll understand. In the meantime, my wish for him - and for all of us - is that our hair be plentiful and our default days few.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

LOL

You won't ever get an e-mail from me that contains an "LOL," nor will I include that or any variation thereof (LMAO, ROFL) in my Facebook status updates.

Are people REALLY laughing out loud when they write "LOL" or is it simply the modern-day version of the age-old "ha ha," which often appeared in handwritten letters? If something you write causes me to laugh out loud, I will deem this worthy of writing a full sentence in response, such as: "That made me laugh out loud." To say "LOL" somehow cheapens the experience - makes it identical to so many thousand other LOLs in the run of a day - here an LOL, there an LOL, everywhere an LOL. To me, the LOL says, "I'm much too busy to respond in more than three letters. I may even be too busy to laugh. You'll never know for sure."

I ask you: The next time you use "LOL" check to see if you have in fact made a sound that could be registered in decibels. If so, use the LOL and/or its relative e-abbreviations liberally. If not, perhaps a colon/end bracket smile would be more appropriate :)

Monday, November 8, 2010

A recipe for grammar and spelling

I recently found a great recipe online for easy peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. More rewarding than the recipe find, however, was the online conversation that appeared below it. The originator of the recipe had included the instructions, "Make fork indentations in cookies in criss cross fashon." Her spelling faux-pas launched readers into the following exchange. I take no credit for what you are about to read, and only hope that you appreciate the humour as much as I did.

  • you spelt fashion wrong!

  • dont matter | August 13, 2008 at 9:31 am - §

    why does it matter how she spelt anything shes being kind enough to share a recipe with us.

  • I use proper grammar. | October 16, 2008 at 2:54 pm - §

    You SPELLED spelled wrong.

  • ahah ! | October 28, 2008 at 10:01 am - §

    why does it matter if you use proper grammer or spell things wrong?as long as you have the recipe and make the cookies. And they work there shouldn;t be a problem

  • lol | November 8, 2008 at 5:03 pm - §

    this could develop into a funny conversation. In fact it already is.


Monday, November 1, 2010

Psssst....Wanna buy a box of Girl Guide cookies?

I recently volunteered to sell chocolate mint Girl Guide cookies for my 10-year-old niece. Actually, the word "sell" gives me more credit than I'm due. I offered to put the word out that if people wanted cookies, I could be their source. No pressure. Completely hands off. I expected I might sell half a dozen boxes. Little did I realize that chocolate mint Girl Guide cookies are the crack of the cookie world.

No sooner had I put a supply on the table outside my office than they disappeared, $4 (or multiples thereof) slipped quietly onto my desk. Before long, the table was empty, and I was surrounded by desperate wanna-be cookie buyers, waving bills or toonies in my face.

"Where are the Girl Guide cookies?" they cried, while I called my source for a fresh supply.

"Don't pressure me into buying any more," said one friend after she had bought one box.

"OK," I said.

"Alright I'll take another box," she said, defeated. "Just stop pressuring me."

As quickly as I could replenish them, the boxes disappeared, my original buyers bringing friends to their newfound source. "I hear you're selling Girl Guide cookies," the newbies would say, their eyes scanning the room for the tell-tale green box, seeing none.

"I've got more," I'd assure them. "Just wait 'til tomorrow." They'd pay in advance, not wanting to take their chances.

Buoyed by my success at the office, I put a note on Facebook. Within minutes, I had seven orders. I would require yet another replenishment.

I called my sister, "I need more cookies," I said, to her delight.

"I'll drop them off at mom's and you can pick them up," she promised.

I made my way to the pick-up point to pick up the agreed-upon two cases. When I entered, I sensed something was wrong. I saw two lonely boxes of Girl Guide cookies atop my mother's dining room table.

"Where are the rest of the cookies?" I asked, my chest tightening.

"That's it," replied my mother. "Two boxes."

I gulped. "No, not two boxes. I need two cases! You don't understand. People have already ordered. They're counting on me to come through!"

I took a few deep breaths while my mother called my sister and explained my dilemma. My sister would call the Girl Guide leader and see if she could negotiate at least another case to satisfy my existing customers. It was a tense few hours as I waited for the call. Relief. They could come through.

I took the bus to work the next day, and carried the case of pre-ordered cookies with me. A stranger lit up when she saw me.

"Are those Girl Guide cookies?" she said much like a child might ask, "Is that Santa Claus?"

"Well they are...." I said, hesitating, but unfortunately they're all spoken for. "I'd sell you a box if I could..."

"I understand," she said, the light draining out of her eyes.

I have since received a few more boxes, and have seriously considered taking the bus again on the chance that I can find her (and perhaps other prospective buyers).

With only a few days and six boxes of cookies left, I'm not satisfied to return any unsold. I'm not saying you should buy them. That would be entirely up to you. I'm just saying: Mmmmm....chocolate mint. $4 a box. You know where to find me.