Herstory In the Making

A short movie about the last 20 plus years of my life, according to my hair. There’s music, so please adjust your sound. If you want.

Thanks Jannie and JD!

Why I Miss The Rotary Phone

Just so you know what to look for:  Laugh:   Boo:   Applause:   Crickets:

I was going to publish a live reading of this post in stand-up comedy format, but after several attempts and still not liking the sound of my voice, I nixed the idea and traded my microphone in for a keyboard.

I hope it reads like stand-up comedy, I even added a few interactive buttons for you to play with as you read along. So, please, sit back and pretend I’m on stage. I hope you enjoy the show.

Please welcome to the stage, Valerie Morrison. Applause:

How many of you remember the rotary phone? When the phone was just a phone. I think one of the reasons I don’t like the phone is because it’s complicated.

If the phone was a test, I would get an operator, a zero. I liked the phone back when all it did was make and receive phone calls, but now it has evolved into a call center. It can do things.

I think the phone has too many features, take for example, call waiting. When I was growing up there was no such thing as call waiting.  Back in the day, call waiting meant using a rotary phone and waiting for the dial to come back around so that I could dial the next number.  There was no clicking over, and for what? To tell the other person that I was on the phone and would call them back.

Personally, I liked when there was security posted at the door better known as, a busy signal.  If someone called me and they got a busy signal, they had to wait. Of course, there was that one person who could not and dialed the operator with an emergency and interrupted my call.  There was no real emergency, but an impatient person who never grasped the true meaning of call waiting.

The other feature I consider a useless overkill is three-way calling. Does anyone even use three-way calling anymore? It seems so high school. In my childhood home, three-way calling meant there was one line and two phones. One in the kitchen and one in the living room.

When a call came in two people picked up the phone at the same time and talked to whoever was on the other end; or until someone yelled, “I got it, hang up.”

And there were no games with phones without features. No screening calls and no avoiding people like there is today. The only Caller ID we had was, hello, who is this?

Now phones come with 100 features and voice mail. The phone has options. Press 1 for new messages, press 2 for voice mail, press 3 to set up your mailbox.

If you don’t know, I suck at following directions, that’s why I never took aerobics class at the gym. My brain shuts down. I can’t process certain information quickly and I start to panic. It’s the same panic I feel when I’m inside an elevator and I see someone running toward the closing doors.

Even though the buttons are clearly marked, open and close, I never press the right one. I panic under pressure and usually end up yelling ‘sorry’ as the doors close shut.  Once, I pressed every button, but open, and had to stop on floors, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10. When pressed for a decision made under a time constraint, I can’t cope and usually mess up.

Now a question for the audience. What is it about cordless phones that make people want to pace the floor? It’s like an exercise program with no jump rope. The cordless phone should come in a box with ankle weights.

Someone could be resting on the couch, but the minute that phone rings, and it’s for them, they start pacing the floor with the phone. I’ve watched people on the phone go from room to room – just walking – and I’m only getting bits and pieces of their conversation. It sounds like this: and she said…….never came home…the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. Nothing makes sense! Not that I’m listening.

I’m just saying, I liked the phone better when it was attached to a cord. I could walk two feet, aaaand that’s it! Anything past two feet and the phone was snatched back and smashed up against the wall.

The cordless phone is never where it’s supposed to be anyway. It used to be when the phone rang, you reported to the wall to answer it. Now when the phone rings, if it’s not on that handset, well try and find it. The cordless phone was made to get lost. It says so right there on the base, find handset.

So not only is the phone lost, but after you press the find handset button, you have to locate the beep. It’s the same disorientation I get when I play pin the tail on the donkey. I don’t like it because it sucks.

I know this is a little long, so I’m going to wrap it up, but before I go I have to share a phone story.

A few weeks ago my computer at work was switched out and I was given another one, I guess you could call it an upgrade. Everything was basically the same, except one of the programs I use was not properly configured, the Message Manager.

The Message Manager handles voice mail message, it’s very simple. I launch the program, I click on the message, it rings my phone and it plays my message. I like it because it does not talk to me nor does it ask me any questions.

So my message light is red, indicating that I have a message. I launched the program, but it’s missing an IP address and can’t access the server. Basically that means for two days I did not check my voice mail. There is a way of retrieving voice mail messages using the phone, I’ve heard people do this, I’m just not smart enough to do it.

Eventually, I got tired of looking at my message light and I dialed a co-worker who is used to my nonsense and whispered:

“I don’t know how to retrieve my voice mail messages, from the phone.”

“Val, what are you talking about? You press the little envelope that says messages.”

“There’s an envelope? Oh, right there. There’s 300 buttons on this phone, but I see it now.” So I pressed the envelope and this woman started talking. She greeted me with a welcome message and told me to enter my extension and the pound sign. I entered my extension, 2177 and #.

Next she told me to enter my password. My password is my extension backward. This seems simple enough, but to an instructionally-challenged dyslexic, it’s numerical musical chairs and I needed a minute to think about what she was asking me to do.

After several attempts, maybe I was nervous or stupid, I could not type 7712 and the woman on the phone kept telling me that I had the wrong passcode and to please try again. After three tries I decided I didn’t like her tone and hung up on her.

I know I’m not phone literate, but darn it if I don’t know how to work a computer, so I sent an email to the HELP department. Unlike most people, I can’t send a normal email asking for help, I have to write a little ditty explaining my situation. My last email message to Help read this way:

Dear Help,
Thank you for the new computer, I hope my old one is not being used as evidence against me. I would like to retrieve my voice mail messages using the program on the computer, and not the phone, mainly because the woman on the phone talks too much, I can’t follow directions, but I’m down with clicking. Thank you.

That’s my time for the evening. Good night.

Laugh:   Boo:   Applause:   Crickets:

I am conductor, hear me cook

Ever look at someone and wonder how they got that particular job? A job that’s not exactly advertised in the paper, but somehow they got word of it and get paid to do it. I’m sure some of my co-workers wonder the same thing about me, but this isn’t about me, it’s about Vanna White, but not limited to. I guess with Vanna, it’s not so much how she got the job, but why she still has her job.

The Wheel of Fortune we see today is not like the Wheel of Fortune of old when Vanna actually had to turn the square to reveal a letter. Now it’s computerized and we all know her job can be done electronically. To me, her job is the equivalent to when a contestant knows the puzzle, but they buy a vowel anyway. I don’t get it, but no hate here Vanna. It’s honest work and your job is not the only one I used to question.  Here’s two more:

Ramp Agent. That’s the person on the ground at the airport responsible for guiding the pilots with hand signals or orange flashlight wands into position next to the gate. Now if I’m the pilot, I’m thinking: I just flew an aircraft across the country, landed safely and there is someone on the ground the size of an ant signaling to me where and how to park my plane? Move out of the way, I got this, but that was before I actually searched a ramp agent’s duties. They do more than guide planes into parking spaces, but also perform a variety of maintenance activities. Who knew?

Conductor of an Orchestra. He doesn’t even have an instrument, but a stick. Actually it’s a baton, but stick is funnier. I used to look at the conductor and think, you have got to be kidding me.  He’s playing an “instrument” that doesn’t even make a sound.  That was before I knew his job was more than just waving a stick, but he has to:

• be intimately familiar with all of the musical pieces selected;
• encourage musicians to play louder or softer;
• be involved in the creative and business decisions long before the performance; and
• know precisely when each instrument enters the musical highway.

Thank you wisegeek.com

After reading the duties of a conductor, surprisingly, I felt a kinship. One of my favorite activities is cooking, and not your everyday cooking, but dinner parties. When I’m in the kitchen preparing meals for a large group, I feel like a conductor directing an orchestra of foods because:

• I too have to be intimately familiar with all of the foods I’m preparing;
• I have to encourage the food to cook faster or slower;
• I have to be involved in the creative decisions regarding the background music and selecting the right blend of guests attending; and
• I have to know precisely when each food has to enter the culinary highway to arrive on the table, hot, and at the same time.

Besides my attempts at humor, it’s one of the few times when I’m in a zone and I feel “on.”  Now, when I watch a conductor, I see myself standing in the middle of the kitchen, with my utensils raised, and I totally get it.

When are you on and what’s your talent when you are just doing the darn thing?

Note to Vanna: I owe you an apology. You obviously do more than I realized on Wheel of Fortune.  Who knew that you would:

• be intimately familiar with all of the puzzles selected;
• encourage contestants to buy a vowel when the puzzle is only missing vowels; and
• be involved in the creative and business decisions long before the show.

__ __M       S__R R Y      V__N N__      W__L L     Y__ __

__ V__R      F__R G__V__      M__?

Wheel of Fortune picture by Wikipedia
Ramp Agent photo by Hawkeye
Conductor photo by Dugway

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.

E is for Episode

Sometimes my mom (hereinafter referred to as “E”) will surprise me and say or do something funny that gives me a glimmer of hope that we may actually be related. Blood related.

I often wonder about my ancestry and I just don’t see the connection.

Sesame Street used to have a segment – not sure if they still do – called One of These Things is Not Like The Other, I think. Anyway, a Muppet would compare four items, but one of the items doesn’t belong because it’s slightly different from the others.

There was even a jingle:

One of these things is not like the others,
One of these things just doesn’t belong,
Can you tell which thing is not like the others
By the time I finish my song?

Well I’m the slightly different object. Odd man out. The one that doesn’t belong. This is not a sit on the couch moment and E nor anyone else ever made me feel that way. I adopted the notion on my own and I wear it well.

She showed no favoritism among her children, just what we imagined, and we imagined my brother as her favorite. We add no animosity to it.  But since I’m the closest to E, in proximity, in my mind, only I can collect brownie points and that puts me at an advantage over what anyone else believes.

I’m just saying when E does flaunt humor, she’s playing my song. I feel a connection, where I belong. West Virginia.

Anyhoo, we don’t have too many conversations on the phone because I’m a low talker and I hate the phone. Occasionally we’ll talk after Jeopardy but we don’t engage in small talk. She can’t hear me and I can’t speak up.

Regardless of infirmities, young or old, everyone receives the same amount of decibels from my larynx, I show no partiality. I can’t talk loud, scream or yell. If I ever got mugged, I would have to Tweet a scream because no one would hear me. I’ve never had an argument, but discussions. There is no yelling to my kid down the street to come inside, I’d have to send a messenger. And my kid doesn’t go down the street.

So I use the phone for its intended purpose: to impart information and hang up.

One evening E and I spent at least 15 minutes on the phone and she told me about an incident that happened at work. E works in a department store and has to deal with the-customer-is-always-right-and-knows-better-syndrome. One customer in her line was giving her the run around, trying to find a loophole in the system and make a purchase without following the procedure. Until she met: By the Book E.

So the woman says to E, “You don’t know what you’re doing.” Now if I was in the store, I would have let out a low growl to indicate my displeasure in her speaking to E that way, but I wasn’t. Or I would have taken a step back and let E handle it, and she did. So she says to the woman: “I don’t know what I’m doing because I’m listening to you tell me what to do.” And she went off on the woman.

E is smart and good at whatever she does, once she learns how to do it. When she’s not looking for the glasses she’s already wearing or the pocketbook she left in another department and then frantically calling her kids claiming it was stolen, she has a brilliant mind. All cashiers are not obtuse – forgetful but not dumb – don’t assume people can be treated that way because of their job.

So, E completed the customer’s transaction and handed her the receipt. Then she says, “Hand me the receipt back so I can write my name on the bottom and you can tell Department Store who gave you outstanding service.”

I was tickled and proud at the same time.

She said the customer stood there with her mouth open, shocked, and the people behind the woman behaved like they were being served by the Soup Nazi. It’s nice to be able to control a crowd with an act of lunacy.

I think news of E’s going off spread across Department Store’s floor like wildfire. She was untouchable for the rest of the day. I could enjoy that kind of authority, when people get ready to disrespect you, and then they remember “the incident” and think better of it.

The funny part is, the people standing in line behind the woman said, “Aren’t you Valerie’s mother?” They were friends of mine from my side of town. I said, “You told them no, right?” Neither one of us wants to be embarrassed by the other, we value our reputation. Mine is slightly more tarnished than hers, but I still like to keep what I have left, “spit-shined”.  I’m sure if I was out in public causing a commotion, she would deny knowing me too. Nothing personal.

She answered in the affirmative, but assured me she did not use any profanity during her tirade. Like what was I going to do if she did. I still wish I could meet the woman who disrespected my mother, I won’t use any profanity either, but I do have a few choice words I’d like to share with her.