Laura Bush is a funny woman. No, really, not “there must be something wrong
with her” type of funny, but, funny-funny as in she can tell a mean joke. Or
at least that’s how she came across at the White House Correspondents’ Association
Dinner this past Saturday night. According to Dan
Froomkin of the Washington Post who reported the story.
Some of the out takes of Mrs. Bush’s jokes:
- “George always says he’s delighted to come to these press dinners. Baloney.
He’s usually in bed by now. I’m not kidding. I said to him the other day, ‘George,
if you really want to end tyranny in the world, you’re going to have to stay up
later.’ I am married to the president of the United States, and here’s our typical
evening: Nine o’clock, Mr. Excitement here is sound asleep, and I’m watching ‘Desperate
Housewives’ — with Lynne Cheney. Ladies and gentlemen, I am a desperate
housewife.” - “But George and I are complete opposites — I’m quiet, he’s talkative,
I’m introverted, he’s extroverted. I can pronounce ‘nuclear’. The amazing thing,
however, is that George and I were just meant to be. I was the librarian who
spent 12 hours a day in the library, yet somehow I met George.” - “So many mothers today are just not involved in their children’s lives. Not
a problem with Barbara Bush. People often wonder what my mother-in-law’s really
like. People think she’s a sweet, grand motherly, Aunt Bea type. She’s actually
more like, mmm, Don Corleone.” - “I saw my in-laws down at the ranch over Easter. We like it down there.
George didn’t know much about ranches when we bought the place. Andover and
Yale don’t have a real strong ranching program. But I’m proud of George. He’s
learned a lot about ranching since that first year when he tried to milk the
horse. What’s worse, it was a male horse.” - “Now, of course, he spends his days clearing brush, cutting trails,
taking down trees, or, as the girls call it, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. George’s
answer to any problem at the ranch is to cut it down with a chainsaw — which
I think is why he and Cheney and Rumsfeld get along so well.”
Who would have thunk it? A smart, successful, capable woman would marry beneath her… Oh, yeah, that’s right, I had to remember what planet we live on. Smart, funny, capable women marry beneath themselves all the time.
Yeah, I know, its been eons since I posted. Its certainly not from lack of stuff happening, nor a lack of desire to post, but rather- its been a lack of time. Yes, my free time has significantly dwindled once I started going to school full time, in addition to my full time job… anyway, summer is just around the corner, and I will be in school during it, but not nearly as intensely… I hope.
Check this space in the next week or so for images of my art(ha!) from my drawing and painting classes this term… I promise I will completely underwhelm you with my artistic skill and abilities!
Tomorrow, I start my first painting class and in about 6 weeks (perhaps less) we’ll learn whether or not my art gene plays well with paint. No, not latex room paint, not finger paints or even water color paints, but real live artist oil paints, you know, the kind that the great masters use(d). Believe me, I’m not naive or even stupid enough to group myself in the same category as the great masters. Rather, its just cool that I finally am taking that step to a new medium – one that has fascinated and terrified me for years. Who knows, someday you might find my stuff sold at those hotel “starving artist” sales. Yeah, right.
I always wondered what happened to good old Frank Perdue, that funny curmudgeon who hawked his chickens as being better than most. I remember when his son, Jim, took over as the face and day to day management of the Perdue company in the early 90’s. Its taken Jim and his ad team many years to finally figure out how to be almost as funny as his father in his tv commercials, but it seems they’re succeeding. But I digress, Jim’s dad, Frank, has finally gone to that great chicken plucker in the sky after a brief illness, reports the Washington Post.
I am a Perdue Loyalist
I have been a loyal Perdue fan since, oh, 1997 when I really started to cook on a consistent basis, and found the Perdue brand to have done a lot of clean up work that many store brands just don’t care about. We’re talking about removing the ucky light yellow fat deposits from the sides of the chicken breast before my hot little hands ever have the chance to touch the slimy suckers. Yeah, I know, real appetizing, but thats exactly my point, Perdue does that for you, so you don’t get grossed out.
I never got to say thanks to Frank Perdue for entertaining me, for providing a superior chicken product all these years, and for doing the dirty work. So, thanks Frank and Jim. You make cooking chicken just a little easier and less gross.
by Carollynn on 15 March 2005 Today, as I logged into email, I found myself going into my catchall account first, which is strange as usually that account gets checked last. It was as if subconsciously, I knew there was something special waiting for me. And I was right. There amongst the flotsam and jetsam of marketing spam, was an email from a genealogist who had been hired by my long lost cousin Jeff to rediscover our Polish roots.
I was overjoyed to see my cousin’s name – we haven’t spoken in years, but at the beginning of my life, he was a close to me as anyone could possibly be. And these last 14 years, I had mourned the loss of our friendship. So hope springs in my heart that we may be able to rekindle some sort of relationship via this project he has begun.
I wasn’t really able to add much to the information they already discovered but I loved hearing all the cool stuff the genealogist had been able to dig up about my maternal grandparents. This is an area where I know so little, not having known my grandfather since he died when my mother was an infant and talking with my grandma very late in her life when her memories were less than clear wasn’t very productive. And now, with both of my parents gone, the eternal questions “Who am I?” and “Where did I come from?” seem to resonate and become more and more important.
Things I always suspected, but never knew for sure:
– Grandma’s father was Jewish, her mother catholic
– Grandma ran a bar to support herself, my mom and uncle (read: speakeasy!)
Anyway, the saga is just beginning to unfold, more as it comes.
In a world where change happens at the speed of light, and people reel from what has been coined “Future Shock,” there is that strange peace of mind that comes from knowing that one of your life companions will always do what is expected of them, or at least, what is in their nature to do.
For example: Abby has always been a garbage picker – she started her life of crime at the tender age of 4 months by knocking over her first trash can. She was no mere thrill seeker, there was a purpose to her crimes – the search for extra food. Soon, it did not matter how tightly the lid was attached, or how sturdy the plastic, she became the master trash can lid cracker. I can image the glorious bounty of old food, and wrappers that she felt just awaited her within those trash cans in my kitchen. In my various attempts to foil her I have installed doors where there weren’t any (and in most cases, shouldn’t need to be), placed the trash behind pantry doors, and finally employed the godsend of all kitchen appliances (for me at least)- a garbage disposal. The more food that went down the drain, the less that went in the trash, therefore, ipso facto, the less temptation of the dog to engage her trash tipping ways.
Abby’s been my faithful (if piggy) companion for 10 years, so you would think I had learned my lesson all those years ago, uh huh, sure I know how to Abby-proof a house. So it was with great surprise this morning when I was getting ready to leave for work when I spied Abby greedily tearing and licking at the paper towel and muffin wrapper that had held the crummy remains of my blueberry muffin breakfast that she oh-so-carefully and oh-so-sneakily retrieved from the trash.
As I yelled “Aaaaabbbbyyyy! Nooooooo!” she tucked her tail between her hind legs and then with the most pitiful “what did I do wrong” expression I’ve seen on her little face, she ran away from me. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. You see, she was only doing what is in her nature to do. I was the one who failed. While I may not have learned all the ways to foil her food thieving nature, it is rather comforting to know, that she remains the same dog that adopted me all those years ago.
