Why Wait, Buy Now!

I was watching the Today Show yesterday morning, as I do every morning, while getting dressed and combing the Brillo pad, known as my hair. Lately it seems every time I comb my hair, enough of it falls out for me to make a small Brillo pad. I have enough “Brillo pads” to set up a table on the corner of Broad and Market and open my own store.

Maybe I shouldn’t use the curling iron on my hair everyday, but like Penny from Good Times, I burn it because it was bad.

So as I was saying, I was watching the Today Show with Meredith Vieira and a representative from Julien’s Auctions was on as a guest. Later this month, Julien’s will be auctioning off items that belonged to Marilyn Monroe and Elvis Presley’s personal physician.

The items aren’t even that desirable, but the hefty price tags make them nothing to sneeze at. Take for example, Marilyn Monroe’s umbrella. It’s being auctioned for $16 to $18,000 and it was only used in a photo shoot. Nobody knows for sure if the darn thing can even repel water.

It will probably never see the light of day. The potential buyer might as well take $18,000, cash, put it in a box and store it in the closet. Same thing.

I will never understand why anyone would pay thousands of dollars for stuff that belonged to a celebrity.

Sure, I admire people, but after they are dead that’s when I sever the relationship. They will not get any more worship or admiration from me.

I know it’s not unusual for a celebrity’s movie, CD or DVD, to see a boost in sales after they have expired, but if I didn’t want their stuff while they were alive, then I definitely don’t want it after they’re dead.

That segment got me wondering about my own personal belongings. In this article from USA Today, “three tablespoons of water said to have been touched by The King at a 1977 concert, sold on eBay for $455. Then, someone else paid thousands for a “guest appearance” by the cup that held the water from which Elvis sipped nearly 30 years ago.”

Shaking my head.

I don’t want people selling my stuff after I die, so I’m going to sell it to you now, below cost.

You can buy the Styrofoam cup I sipped water out of, not 30 years ago, but 30 minutes ago. I will throw in a 16 ounce of bottled water and if you want me to touch the water, please indicate your wishes when you pay.

Next on the lot is a wad of gum masticated personally by me. I’m no Britney Spears, but I have gum and I’m not afraid to discard of it. It can be yours, if the price is right. Please note: It does not come with the happy face. I had to dress it up to make it look more appealing to potential buyers for obvious reasons. It’s. A. Piece. Of. Chewed. Gum!

Justin Timberlake’s half eaten toast sold for $3,100? Well, I was running late yesterday morning and didn’t get a chance to finish my breakfast and I also have a half eaten piece of toast. Unlike Justin, I will throw in the napkin used to wipe my hands and mouth.

I don’t know if my piece of toast is worth $3,100, the loaf of bread was only $2.50, but I’m almost certain if you hold it up to the light, you can see an outline of the Virgin Mary. Check it!

That should get the price close to $2,500.

This watch was gifted by Elvis to his personal physician and will fetch as much as $20,000. Do you know how many watches you can buy at Wal-Mart for $20,000, and that watch doesn’t even have any numbers on it. I call that defective.

You can buy my watch for a fraction, of a fraction, of a fraction of that price, or for cheap.

Last on my list is an empty bottle of Women’s One A Day Vitamins. The empty pill bottles that belonged to Elvis may fetch $800 – $1200. At that price, I’m thinking, no….leave the pills inside. I’m going to need them after I write a check for something I could have purchased from the dollar store.

I’m not on any medication, although I probably should be, but these vitamins have been good to me and my vitality. Actually they were only good to me for 60 days, and then I had to replenish with another bottle, but I used it. Unlike Elvis, that’s me in the picture.

I don’t know what the obsession is with celebrities and their discarded junk, but if there is a market for it, then I want in on it. I know I’m not famous, but I could be one day, so why wait, buy now!

This empty bottle of Kaluah was used in the completion of this post. Okay that’s not true, but it is my bottle and it’s special to me. I’ve had it for over 4 years; I think that counts for something.

Wait, wait, wait, that’s not the end of this post, where you going? I have more items for sale here. These items will not last forever.

Don’t wait until I’m dead, buy now.

EDIT: Julien’s continues to mess with my links, if you get an error, go here and complain, but don’t buy anything from them, buy from me.

My Bad

A typographical error is a mistake made during the typing process. The term includes errors due to mechanical failure or slips of the hand or finger, but excludes errors of ignorance. ~Wikipedia

I highlighted the word mistake because that’s what a typo is, it’s a mistake and even though we all make them, nothing unnerves people like a typo. Why is that?

Illustration: We’re surfing the web, maybe we’re reading a blog post, and then we see it, a typo. We look at it, maybe we go back and reread the sentence again. Yep, it’s a typo and we stare at it like it’s a two-headed monster.

Next, we either run away screaming or somehow we muddle through the confusion of H being transposed with E and realize the word the author meant to type was “the” and we leave a comment.

After clearing up the confusion in our mind, we go on our merry way, but we can’t stop thinking about that typo! We go back to their blog, or the article, to see if it’s still there, and it is, the author hasn’t corrected it yet.

We scratch, we twitch, and maybe we call Bob from Accounting or send a copy of the typo around to people on our email list and announce we found a typo. No mention of a cure for cancer, but we found a typo. Unable to cope, we send the author an email pointing out their gaffe. All better now.

Seriously? That type of behavior reminds me of a cop who writes a ticket for a parked car because the meter expired while the burglar behind him tiptoes away with the booty. There are more pressing issues, especially in casual writing situations, when a typo can be overlooked.

So, besides the embarrassment, what is it about the typo that agitates people to no end? Is it our place to contact a blogger, or anyone, if they have a typo in their writing? When we make errors, are we as vocal about our mistakes as we are with the mistakes of others?

I read a couple of blogs that remain typo free, I commend you, and I’m sad – not really – to say I won’t be joining you in the ranks. I make typos here, not on purpose, of course, and if I’m a regular reader of your blog, then I leave typos there too. I might leave another comment asking the blogger (if I know them well enough) to fix my typo, or not, but I know I suck at proofreading.

Is that a lazy way of thinking. I suck so I refuse to try? No, I think it’s more of, I know when my writing needs to be error free and if I have an occasional slip of the finger, it’s not the end of the world, for me. I’m not saying we shouldn’t care or that it’s okay if our blog posts or emails contain errors, but if it’s a minor typo, can’t we all just get along, without the nitpicking?

Of course, no article, blog post or anything written should have an excessive amount of typos, it’s embarrassing and it looks bad.

If you’ve made a typo on your blog and someone contacted you about it, is it a big deal, do you freak out, become upset or do you say thank you and correct it?

I’m curious, how do you feel about typos? Should you or do you correct the typos from commenters on your blog? Is it about being perfect or not looking sloppy or ignorant?

I think Dee said it best when she said typos don’t appear until we (bloggers) hit publish.

This post was proofread by me and another set of eyes.  I am nervously going to hit publish now, but if you should happen to find a typo, please do not email me, I made a mistake and I’m okay with it.

Additional Reading:

Jeff Deck’s Fearless War on Typos

I’m Not Dead, yet

We all get one I’m not dead post, right? Well I’m cashing in the chips I should have turned in a few weeks ago, I really didn’t expect to be away so long.

I forget that not everyone knows where to find me on the web, but here, so if I don’t post or visit blogs, I appear to be missing. I don’t like it when people disappear or seem to have fallen off the face of the earth and I’m left wondering what happened.

It’s the same feeling I get when I’m picked up late and I don’t get an explanation as to why. I’m like whoa, whoa, whoa, no explanation? No, I’m sorry I’m late, but the engine fell out of my car or the dog swallowed my keys and I had to wait. Tell. Me. Something.

My explanation? The mental day I needed turned into a mental month. I hate being in a funk, but it happens. The weather also sucked, so let’s give some of the blame to Mother Nature.

Good news is, lately I have been in a great mood and I’m ready to come out of my dark cave and into the sunshine. Just wanted to say hello, I’m not dead, yet, and I appreciate the bloggers who stopped by to check on me. Meleah, thanks for “screaming” at me. I love how you just come right out and say it, “I need an update” and you bounce. Thanks for the nudge, sister.

In the meantime, I have been writing, rambling and amusing myself over here.

I’m turning the comment feature off for this post and will see you soon.

Mirror, Mirror on the Blog….

I wrote this blog post over a month ago, but I thought it would be much more fun and creative to animate it.

When you’re done watching it, I would love to know what you think about the question Michael asked: Is Social Networking Increasingly Becoming Narcissistic.

The views expressed on this program are those of the host and guest and do not accurately represent the views of ThinkingOutLoudBlog.com, even though I wrote it.

My Two Left Feet

I hate rushing, I hate being unorganized and I hate being late, so I try to prepare as much as I can the night before so I’m none of the above. I set the breakfast table, iron clothes and make sure the bags are packed.

Yesterday morning I did everything but pick out what I was going to wear to work. When translated: I spend at least 10 minutes staring into a closet full of clothes, lamenting that I have nothing to wear.

Eventually, I decided on a black pair of pants, a beige colored suit jacket, a black scoop-neck tee and threw a pair of heels into a bag. Off I went.

I hopped in my car and as I’m nearing my job and stopped at a light, I figure now would be a good time to retrieve my shoes from the back. I reach behind my seat, grab the bag with my shoes and guess what? The shoes don’t match!

That’s not even the best part. When I arrive at my desk, I remove the shoes from the bag and not only do they not match, but I have two left shoes. That’s a problem, I have a left foot and a right foot.

W.T.H.

I also had somewhere to go after work and hadn’t planned on going home, so I did what any two year old would do when presented with shoes. I put those bad boys on and walked around like it was nothing.

I had to show my co-worker though, she said no one would notice. No sooner than she finished her sentence, in walked another coworker and she said, “I noticed when I was walking behind you, one is shiny and one is not.”

“Shut up.”

The left shoe on the right foot didn’t hurt at all and since most people think I’m crazy anyway, I prefer comical, I had no qualms about wearing two left shoes. It was only when I went to the ladies room that I felt a little self-conscious about who might be looking at my shoes. I silently cursed myself for not finishing the book, How to Levitate over a Public Toilet for Dummies.

After people finished laughing at my gaffe nobody seemed to pay much attention to my shoes until my last trip to the ladies room. I’m in one of the stalls handling my business and I hear someone say, “Bye Val, have a Happy Easter.” I’m thinking now how did they know it was me? Then I remembered the famous words of Mars Blackman: It’s gotta be the shoes.