There's also no spellchekc so bear with me.
Perhaps I'll come to find these quirks charming.
And over to the right there, where it says 'write something about yourself'? I've deleted that three times. yet there it remains.
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As you can see from the varying font size in the last post, this dashboard leaves something to be desired. Sometimes it just refuses to obey commands, like 'decrease font size'. So half the paragraphs it changed and the rest it just went "nope. I like it BIG."
There's also no spellchekc so bear with me. Perhaps I'll come to find these quirks charming. And over to the right there, where it says 'write something about yourself'? I've deleted that three times. yet there it remains.
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Summer Showers
We had a few days to relax and recover after Katelyn’s wedding. Then it was time to ramp up for Katie’s. The very next weekend we had not one but two showers for the girl! The first was at Pam’s house for all the Pivec ladies. It took place in the afternoon of a lovely mid July day. The food was good, the company grand and the games were actually fun. The point of one of them was to make up as funny a story about how Adam and Katie got engaged as possible. Kelly won the prize for best tale. Katie got lots of nice gifts and half way through the party someone pointed out that they were all entertainment (drinking) related. Katie predicted that at the Hubbell shower, all the gifts would be kitchen (eating) related. The very next day was the Hubbell ladies shower. It was at my sister Katie’s house. The magnificent Meg was in charge of dessert and her cupcakes were not merely delicious, they were gorgeous! That girl could wage quite a battle on Cupcake Wars. As expected, the gifts were all food related. It was another beautiful, sunny day. The party actually took place out on the deck. In addition to all the Hubbell gals, from Grandma Punkin down to Bananas and Punkin were several of Katie’s friends. Her three oldest, bestest friends were there, of course. There were also a couple of law school friends. One of them pulled Katie aside at one point. “Are all these girls your cousins and aunts?” she asked. “Yes.” Katie pointed out the four who weren’t. “The rest are cousins.” “Your family is…so attractive!” her friend said. And she hasn’t even seen the boys! After the party, we cleaned up and then Katie, MJ and I walked around the lake. I was wearing semi fancy clothes so I borrowed some safety pins, pinned up my pant legs and walked barefoot. It was great! I did have to wash everything afterwards, by hand. I don’t mind. It’s not like I’m going to wear this stuff every weekend. Now that the showers are over, it’s time to buckle down and get the wedding stuff taken care of. Katelyn and Chadapalooza!!
The wedding was on Saturday at the Depot in downtown Minneapolis. An unfortunate and weird incident happened as we pulled into the parking lot; Jay’s shirt caught on something when he reached for his parking ticket and ripped the seam under his arm. I’ve never heard of such a thing happening! There was certainly no time to go home and change so despite the warmth of the evening, Jay determined not to take off his sport coat. He looked great. I was wearing my cobalt blue Calvin Klein dress. Josie wore a gorgeous floor length, sleeveless dress covered in peach and coral blooms. It looked like it was made for her even though it belongs to her sister. Zack wore a Kelly green tux he bought at a Saver’s in Colorado. When he first showed it to me I was skeptical but he put it on and I had to admit; with his Irish good looks he looked like he was born to wear it. He paired it with a purple bow tie and purple chuck taylors. I wasn’t the only one who thought he looked good in it; a bridesmaid was seen chasing him around all night. Tyler and Megan looked fabulous; Ty rocked the fancy straw cowboy hat Megan gave him for Father’s day. The kids were with Tom and Kelly who need a little grandparent practice; their first is due at summer’s end. The ceremony took place in a large open area; it was decorated with the most gorgeous bouquets of flowers. Shades of blue and purple blooms set atop large, crystal pedestals. Chairs and ribbons and flowers led the procession to the raised platform where my brother JP officiated. Billy and Katie McC did readings. Chad is of Jewish descent (don’t know if he’s practicing or not) and many of their traditions were incorporated into the ceremony. The meaning in the breaking of the glass was explained to the witnesses and we were told to shout “Mazeltov!” at the top of our lungs when Chad crushed it beneath his foot. We did the tradition proud. After the ceremony, the congregation moved out to a beautiful courtyard for drinks and hors d’oeuvres. While the newly married couple greeted their guests, workmen hustled in to clear the ceremony area. Most of the flowers were moved to the dining hall. At one point when there were only a handful of guests left in the hall as the workers cleared the room but at one point, a tall crystal flower stand fell over and shattered on the floor. “Mazeltov!” Yelled a knot of nephews without missing a beat. It was a beautiful evening and we were in no hurry to retreat to the dining room when it was opened but eventually we all found our way inside to a large, gorgeous room filled with tables. Toasts and speeches took place while we ate which was a good way to do it. Woody and Kathy both spoke. They were eloquent and brief. The groomsmen all talked about how Chad had declared his intent to marry Katelyn the moment he first laid eyes on her. Well, Duh; what guy didn’t want to marry Katelyn on sight? She looks like a cross between Beyonce and Carrie Underwood, only prettier. But when her father stood up and said “There’s only one man in this room who loved Katelyn the moment he first saw her and that was me…” the room caught it’s breath. The room was cavernous and the acoustics bad. Some of those who spoke didn’t know how to use the mic and it was impossible to hear them. As maid of honor, our Katie gave a speech. It was hilarious! After the scheduled speeches as most of us were relaxing into our dessert, half the room caught its breath again; Uncle Mickey was toddling toward the microphone. You know how every family has one? Well, Uncle Mickey is ours. Mickey is the quintessential Irishman; he’s known in our neighborhood as the funny, friendly little old man who can be seen wandering all over the neighborhood at all hours of the day or night. He used to love walking around the lake in the middle of the night but health problems have rendered him too blind for night walks anymore. He can tell stories till the cows come home and he knows everyone. He’s also known for saying highly inappropriate albeit hilarious things all the time. When I say ‘inappropriate’, I’m talking Game of Thrones here. At our table, ViAnne turned to Jay and hissed “Stop him!” At the table next to ours, my Dad turned to my Mom with a look of unholy glee upon his face. At every table containing Hubbells, someone groaned “do something!” But it was too late; Mickey had the microphone and the attention of the entire room. “Good evening,” He said, his voice ringing clear as a bell across the room. It figures he knew how to use a mic. “I’m Katelyn’s Uncle Mickey. I’d like everyone to raise their glass for an old Irish toast…” At this point, you could almost feel half the room brace themselves. “May the road rise up to meet you,” Mickey intoned, “May the wind be always at your back. May the rain fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again…May God hold you in the palm of his hand.” It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. He got a standing ovation. As our side of the room wilted in relief, Andy turned to our table and said “The Chicago folks will never know what a collective butt clench the Minnesota people just experienced…” Then the Bride and her father began their spotlight dance to Jimmy Buffets Little Miss Magic. “…and now I’m going to cry.” Andy finished. Then the dancing began. The groom’s Mom flew in a band from Chicago. She apparently didn’t trust the land of Judy Garland, Bob Dylan and Prince to be able to provide a decent wedding band. But her guys were very good. Every song was danceable. The mix of fast to slow was just right and the two lead singers were killer. I sought out my future son in law for a dance. Adam is a fantastic dancer. The guy moves like he’s on strings. I figured it would be fun being Ginger to his Fred Astaire. We danced. Thirty seconds into the dance I realized I was not Ginger; I was the coat rack. It was great! Outside, it had turned into a beautiful cool July evening. The courtyard where we’d had cocktails was the perfect place to retire to when the dancing got too hot and sweaty. Every member of the family was out there at one point or another. Once, I was out there with Margy and Heidi when Billy walked by holding Jen’s heels. “I told her I’d get her dancing shoes,” he explained. “she’s got some flats in the car.” “In 25 years of marriage,” Heidi said, “Joe has never done anything that nice for me.” “Yeah, he’s such a jerk.” Billy nodded. “Off saving the country and stuff.” “Ughh.” Heidi rolled her eyes. Later in the evening, I was outside again when Andy and Finbar (both 16) announced their intention of doing back flips across the dance floor. Andy is a champion diver and Finnie has a black belt in karate and I know both of them were perfectly capable of doing back flips but that dance floor was crowded and marble to boot. After playing for well over an hour, the band took a break. They had a sound track for their break so no one had to stop dancing. In fact, shortly after they took their break, Mm-Bop came on. The wedding guests went bonkers. You’d have thought it was the movie Footloose and none of us had been allowed to dance for decades the way we took to the floor. I’m sure the very talented fella who had just spent the last hour and half singing his heart out shook his head and muttered “F******* white people.” Long before Mm-Bop, Jay had thrown caution to the wind and taken off his jacket. Who cared if there was a tear in his shirt’s arm pit? After several hours of vigorous dancing, the tear extended all the way across his chest to the buttons. The poor shirt hung in tatters. He didn’t care; he was having way too much fun. Taking a break from the dancing, he got into a conversation with one of the guests from Chicago. The Fellow was interested in Jay’s family so the man in the tattered shirt pointed out his son in the Kelly green tux and his other son in the huge cowboy hat. The band sang one more set before packing it in for the night. But that’s when the after party started! Those intrepid partiers who were still on hand were ushered into yet another room where food buffets were set out and a DJ was at a much smaller dance floor. The floor was packed with young people and on closer inspection I saw that they were all my nieces and nephews. Zack and Josie were dancing at the far side of the floor. I grabbed my camera and prepared to take a shot of the two of them when suddenly… Andy and Finbar back flipped the length of the dance floor. It was awesome. They got a huge cheer from their cousins and gasps of wonder and appreciation from the rest of the crowd. After the synchronized flips, Jay and I figured the evening had peaked. So we made sure the kids all had rides home or hotel rooms to crash in and we went home. It was very late and I was exhausted but I still had a hard time falling asleep. After dancing on a stone floor for several hours, my feet felt like they were in a vice grip; they throbbed until I finally fell asleep. It was a great wedding. We didn't have Hubbellpalooza this summer. This year wasn't our typical summertime excuse to get everyone together for a few weeks of fun, this year we had a purpose.
Katelyn and Chad were gettin' hitched. Folks began to gather from near, far and farther away two days before what promised to be the EVENT OF THE SUMMER! Or at least the FIRST EVENT of the summer. The festivities began with a groom's dinner at the restaurant on the top floor of the Walker Art Center. This was a grown up function so arrangements were made for all the tinies to congregate at my sister's house for fun, food and fireworks. Babydoll got to hang with her besties, Bananas and Punkin. Half way through the evening, Katie sent Ty a video of the little girls on the trampoline, bouncing and crashing into each other and laughing their pretty little heads off. Downtown, that's pretty much what we grown ups were doing, too. The party was summer time chic so I wore white linen pants and a sheer blue top with silver sequins. Everyone looked scrumptious. The food was fancy but delicious so no one had to do a Tom Hanks with the caviar. The bar was open but I limited myself to one drink. If I were to get hammered at every open bar party on my schedule this summer, I'd wind up at Betty Ford by September. The Walker does not feature the kind of art I'm interested in. The building itself is fun to see because it competes with the instalations inside; the floors, walls and ceilings are bent at crazy angles and the whole thing feels like you're in an Escher drawing. In other words, it tries really, really hard to be artsy in silly, obvious ways. I didn't know there was an eatery (that's my term for super fancy restaurant) upstairs. Off the main dining room is a lovely outdoor patio with a breathtaking view of the west end of downtown. Everything was wonderful. The night was warm but not oppressive. The speeches were funny and light and we all had a terrific time. We always have a terrific time when we're together. The only drawback to a night out on the fourth of July was that the fireworks being shot off from Nicolette Island were at the far eastern edge of downtown so we couldn't see them. I love fireworks but didn't mind missing this particular show because the night before, Jay and I had been invited to a fireworks viewing party at the home of friends who live in Bloomington, which for some fortunate reason celebrates the night before the fourth. I heartily approve of this, BTW. I think the celebration of the nation deserves at least a week long observance. When the light show was over, a member of our party stood up, got dizzy and fell, smacking his head on the asphalt. Jay immediately went into first responder mode, kept everyone calm, staunched the bleeding and delegating jobs; call 911, get a wet cloth, let the victim have air and assurances etc. The ambulance arrived within minutes and the victim was taken to the nearest emergency room. Someone said to our host "Good thing we had a doctor on hand!" and the host said "Doctor? He's a basketball coach!" I was immensely proud of Jay. He's terrific during real emergencies. He's the guy you want on hand for heart attacks and car accidents. He's no good when you've got a bat in the house. There's a story of a poker game that took place while I was out of town in which that occurred. The tale includes much screaming like little girls. This was the second year in a row in which Jay was called upon to act when someone went face down on the asphalt. Our yuletide motto is 'it ain't Christmas till someone's crying'. I guess our Independence Day motto should be 'it ain't the 4th till Jay's saved a life'. Hyperbole? Maybe. But the MRI showed a shadow on our friend's brain that wasn't caused by the fall but perhaps caused the dizziness. Would it have been caught and treated it if he hadn't bumped his head? No one fell or was injured or inconvenienced in any way at the groom's dinner. It was a perfectly lovely evening in every way. Last week, Jay and I packed up a few things and drove south. We left the house in the very capable hands of Anibelle the Big Game Hunter. I was quite disappointed to return a week later and find that no one tried anything that required Anibelle to eat them, tan their hides and leave a pile of fresh bones on the back deck. That's always fun.
When you drive a thousand miles south in autumn, you actually get to watch the season rewind itself. By the time we got to Texas, we were back in high summer. We had a blast and a half playing with the grandkids for a week. Jay got a lot of work done and several rounds of golf were played. I took advantage of seven days without working to do other things like read books. I finished the Candy Bombers, which I've been reading all summer. That makes it sound like I didn't enjoy it but the truth is that this summer has simply been so hectic I never had time to read. The Candy Bombers, by Andrei Cherny is an excellent book about a wonderful peice of American history that really must not be lost. It's about the Berlin Airlift of 1948. Here's what I knew: the Allies beat the Nazis in WWII. Berlin was the capital of Nazi Germany. Until the '90s, West Germany and East Germany were separate nations, East Germany being behind the Iron Curtain and part of the Soviet Union. When I was a toddler, the Berlin wall was built, physically dividing the city into Free vs. Soviet halves. What I didn't know: the Candy Bombers is the story of how the world teetered on the edge of WWIII a mere three years after defeating Hitler, due to the tensions of Democratic governments refusing to allow Communist Russia (the Soviet Union) to force them out of Berlin. I didn't know that the Soviets, in their attempt to convince the Germans to all become communists, they tried to strangle the western (Democratic governed) half of the city with an old fashioned siege. The Allies (mostly Americans) kept the western half alive with an airlift, the scope of which had never been tried before and is unlikely to ever happen again. In doing so, the American Air force not only kept west Berlin alive, it completely changed the attitudes of the Germans who lived there. Before the airlift, the German people considered the Americans a conquering enemy, as despised as the Soviets who denied them food and coal. By the end of the airlift they thought the Americans were the greatest people on earth. The Candy Bombers is the story of how that happened. It's a wonderful true tale that will make you cry over and over again, first in horror,then in happiness and pride. It's hard to believe that there was a time in our history when all of our politicians recognized the enemy and eagerly did whatever it took to defeat it. All this spring we had record breaking rains and lots of flooding so naturally, I was excited to get over to the Minnehaha Falls. They've been a shadow of their formerly glorious self for the last dry decade or so. I finally had a day in which I could ride my bike over to Longfellow's famous falls. The bike trail was lush and green and only washed out in one spot. It's a gorgeous ride; wooded, deceptively private and I loved every minute of it, even when the chain popped off my bike when I crossed Lyndale. I got the chain back on easily and continued on my way.
I reached the falls around noon and they didn't disappoint. I can't remember when I've ever seen the creek so high or the falls so ferocious. Some intrepid activists had posted a large sign on the rock wall behind the falls saying "Love water, not oil". It was painted on a large sheet of clear plastic. Hey environmentalpatients; you know what irony, I mean plastic is made of, don't you? As if that wasn't bad enough, there was the paint itself. I'm going to give the activists the benefit of the doubt here and assume that they were self aware enough to avoid using an oil based enamel but do you know what latex paint is made of? I'll give you three guesses. When Benjamin Moore, Ace and Valspar tout their new green technology, they're comparing their paint to the way they used to make it. They aren't comparing it to Minnehaha creek. Even if you whipped up some enviro-paint of your own formula in your green house, there's the color you used; cobalt blue. I don't know much but I do know pigments and there's only one way to get that blue. Cobalt is a toxic heavy metal. Which, btw, is being power washed off your sign by the torrential spray of the falls, molecule by molecule into the creek. Thanks for that. I couldn't see how you attached your sign to the eroding walls of the cliff but I do know that it will eventually come loose. Sooner, more probably than later, thanks to the pounding it's taking by the historically strong current picking at it. When it does, it will get caught in that current and rush down the creek to the Mississippi river, which is also running at historic volume. Once caught in the current of the Big Muddy, your plastic sign will keep moving, shedding cobalt molecules, until somewhere between here and New Orleans, it is fished out of the river by some other activist, who will curse the litter bug who threw it in the river in the first place. June 26 marked a third a of a century of married bliss for me and Jay. Of course the bliss has been flavored with disagreements, bad jokes and a few knock down drag out fights but unadulterated bliss sounds as boring as lukewarm mush.
I don't remember the weather ever being less than gorgeous on our anniversary which is only odd becuase June is historically gray and wet around here. We don't always mark our anniversary. Jay and I are not big on special days. For us, every day is a celebration of the best decision we ever made. (Awww. So cute. You can go barf now.) Half the time, we don't even remember when our anniversary is until one of us says "Hey, it's the fourth of July. Didn't we have an anniversary a week or so back?" But 33 years seems like a long time. Well, it sounds like a long time, anyway. That's as long as Jesus walked the earth. It hasn't seemed long at all to me. In fact, I think Jay and I have been married since the beginning of time. The idea of a time in which we were not married, together, a team, a set, a matched pair is as hard for me to imagine as the event horizon of a black hole: being stretched out indefinitely in an infinite moment. See? Can't quite wrap your brain around it, can you? This year we realized the date because it's the day the President came to town. So naturally, we left. We put down the top of the Saab and spent the day maximizing our carbon footprints by driving up and down the St. Croix river valley. We fortified ourselves for the journey at Wally's diner, eating the best roast beef sandwiches in the metro. Then we went south along the river to Prescott. We hit several garage sales along the way. All I bought were a few picture frames but we saw some neat stuff including an antique desk with a ton of carving and details. It needed a lot of work but it would be really fun to refinish. We couldn't put it in the convertible of course so my dreams of bringing it back to it's full glory had to go unfullfilled. We also saw an infants bouncy seat that was shaped like a classic corvette. We could have tossed that in the Saab but decided the grandkids had enough toys. That decision I'll probably regret. But seriously, they have a pony. Don't feel sorry for them. We saw an enormous Victorian B&B for sale. In addition to five bedroom suites it had a full apartment on the top floor and another apartment over the barn in the yard. We had fun fantasizing about a life in which Jay runs the B&B or an artists colony while I live over the garage, painting and ignoring or hiding from the guests/other artists. Due to the Biblical amounts of rain this spring, the roads near the river were flooded but we didn't worry about that. We just followed the detours and took our time. No hurries, no worries. Our timing wasn't perfect. We crossed the river into Taylor's Falls and headed down into the city just in time to hit rush hour. It's never easy to get through downtown during rush hour but it's especially tough when half the highways are closed to allow the Presidential motorcade to pass through town unmolested. That seems unAmerican to me. I know Presidents have been pulling this crap for a long time but I think in this respect at least, Jimmy Carter was right. I don't know anyone who saw the motorcade first hand so I don't know if the reports that Obama's entrourage is so big it requires something like 40 cars are true. I hope not. I hope they're just right wing propaganda because if they're true, O is an even bigger ass than I thought. We picked up some steaks for dinner and Jay threw them on the grill while we sat on the front hill and watched the sun set over the park. I had a glass of wine and Jay had a scotch and smoked a cigar. It was a typical Thursday evening. It's been a great 33 years. I finally got around to watching Matt Damon's sci fi movie "Elysium" right before I went dark in June. There was no correlation but still...quite a coincidence, right?
The premise of the movie is that the world has been over run with Mexicans and now the whole planet is dirty and diseased because, you know: Mexicans. I had no idea Matt Damon hated Mexicans so much. I can only imagine the case of Montezuma's revenge that spurred this little project on. Anyway. All the rich (yes, that means 'white') people, lead by Evil Jodie Foster (who looks great for being 75, btw), have given up trying to maintain society on earth, built a giant space station called 'Elysium' and left. Imagine if San Francisco broke off and floated up into the clouds; like that. They didn't go very far; just up high enough so all the dirty, disease ridden Mexicans can look up and see their floating fairy land of a space station hovering over them in the upper atmosphere, being constantly reminded that they are dirty Mexicans and not welcome in the better neighborhood. The whole idea is ridiculous! Of course there would be Mexicans on Elysium; those goregous lawns wouldn't tend themselves. Oh lighten up, its a joke. I'm in Texas right now. I know plenty of Mexicans have shitty lawns. Side note: on the old blog, I never would have written such a thing because it's offensive and tacky and could even be considered hate speech but I've had it up to my scrotum with politically correct self censorship and I don't even have a scrotum! So there. The plot centers around Matt Damon being the only white guy left on earth and due to someone else's stupidity (nothing is ever Matt's fault. Ever.) he's now dying and naturally there are no doctors or hospitals or medicine left on earth (because: Mexicans) so he has to get up to Elysium for a cure. Turns out it's really hard to hitch a ride to a gated community in the sky. He tries to stowaway but the white folk, being smart enough to build a space station are also smart enough to check their shuttles for Mexicans (or really dirty white guys who didn't make the cut) hiding in the luggage. An elaborate plan is hatched to get Matt up there. It seems that some of the Mexicans are smart enough and have the resources to build massive computer networks and terminals and they can build a shuttle that will get Mattie up there but they can't figure out aspirin or how to set a broken bone. Again, why all the hatin' on the Mexicans? The weirdest part of the plot is that Matt carries a computer virus up there (you'd think with all those mad computer skills someone left on earth would be interested in medical research, no?) which, when inserted into Elysium's main frame, will confer Elysium citizenship upon all the Mexicans on earth, making them eligible for healthcare, education and all the other good stuff the whiteys on the space station have been hoggin' for themselves. Because as we all know, it's not who you are but where you are that matters. Matt makes it to Elysium, breaks into someone's house and uses their self contained sick bay to cure himself of whatever was killing him. How this is morally distinct from breaking into someone's house and using the contents of their refrigerator to cure yourself of hunger is never broached. After regaining his health on someone else's dime, Matt manages to plug in the computer virus the earth bound geniuses spent all that time they couldn't be bothered to use to develop rudimentary sanitation methods into the Elysium computer system, so now all the Mexicans have citizenship and can't be prevented from getting up to that space station and living happily ever after! How the seven billion (7,000,000,000) filthy, lazy, violent illiterates who couldn't make a go of it with the entire planet at their disposal and are now hellbent on leaving earth behind are going to fit onto a space station the size of one US city is never addressed. Who cares? Citizenship for all! The movie doesn't bother to tell you that a year later, Elysium will be as filthy, overcrowded and diseased as the planet they pissed away and left behind. It doesn't have to; it's obvious. If the Mexicans had all of Earth to themselves and couldn't figure out how to bathe, much less farm, they sure weren't going to learn it in space. It's as if the movie were saying "Hey, Mexicans! Without us, you'd be planet of the apes!" I find that offensive. On the other hand, Jodie Foster gets killed so it's not all bad. I guess. Matt Damon really ought to stay away from political propaganda. After the flop of his anti-fracking movie 'Promised Land', this pro-immigration fiasco can't help his box office appeal. Worse than all the Mexican hate and stupidity is the fact that this thing is boring. If you haven't seen it, breathe a sigh of relif that you'll have one less thing to regret on your deathbed. My daughter recently gave me a huge stack of GoodHousekeeping magazines. I had no idea there were so many fat, depressed women out there. Then I began to read the columns. No wonder these chicks are depressed.
As though it weren't enough that we're being asked to believe that there are women out there who actually have these problems, we're expected to swallow the idea that they are so distraught that they've contacted the experts at GH to lead them out of the maze of horror that their lives have become. The answers the experts gave were quite a bit different from what I would advise, should anyone ever burden me with these millstones. So here goes: Q: I used cooking spray on a non stick muffin tin and now there's sticky residue all over the pan. How can I remove it? M: Easy peasy! Put on rubber gloves, pour three tablespoons of ammonia onto a paper towel, place the paper towel and the muffin tin into a plastic garbage bag, carry bag, towel and sticky tin out to the trash and throw it away. Go to the store and buy a new tin. They cost about $5.00. Q: We use dry erase boards in my classroom and I'd rather not buy the cleaner for them Is there a way to make my own, cheaper version? M: What for? I've had a dry erase board in my kitchen for years and I've never cleaned it once. Just wipe it off with a paper towel. Jeez, this isn't brain surgery. Q: I love using my ceramic teapot and matching cups but now the interiors are stained with tea. How can I remove the brown tinge? M: Who gives a bleep what color the inside of your teapot is? Q: Please tell me the best way to get rid of the oven-baked garlic smell lingering in my apartment. M: Open a window. Next month I'll tell you how to get rid of the vampires. Q: My condo in Florida has a lot of mirrors. Over time they've become cloudy. We've tried cleaning them but nothing works. How can we bring back their luster? M: Beats the hell out of me. I'd hang black fabric over them and tell visitors I'm in mourning. Or that I'm a vampire. Either way, black is slimming! Okay. I'm sure I'll get used to this new site.
The old one was super easy to use; even an idiot like me figured it out. I liked it, it was simple so naturally, the host site had to discontinue the product and that's why I've been incommunicado all summer. But I finally had a few hours to spend clicking and dragging and getting frustrated as hell... Anyway, if this all works, as I'm sure it will, I have so much to write about! It was a very eventful summer. Man, I hope this works. |
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