Last Dance

I don't go for the worship of celebrities. Although sometimes I do appreciate certain contributions they've made.

With Donna Summers' passing last week, it made me think of all those childhood summers when my Mom would drive us to the lake for a swim. It was the 1970's, so there were no CD players, you were lucky to have an 8 track or cassette player. We didn't, not until the late seventies, and it was an 8 track. So more often than not, it was the radio - and whatever was playing. No fast forward, no skipping to the next song. It exposed us to all types of music, good and bad.

And yes, disco was a big part of popular music then. Not all of it was actually bad, probably just repetitive and weird. Although most music these days is repetitive and weird. Rap and hip-hop anyone?

No, I'm speaking of songs like Donna Summers' On The Radio, Last Dance, MacArthur Park and Heaven Knows. The best part, really, was her voice. She was beautiful, and had this incredibly strong singing voice.

And you're probably thinking, “Geez, you never said anything when Whitney Houston died. What's up with that?”. Well, yeah she had amazing range and a lot of good songs, but I was already an adult when she became popular.

Along with other types of music, Donna Summer had a bigger impact because it was from my childhood, and that music seems to evoke strong memories. Maybe it's just me, but when I hear these songs, I can usually get a feel for where I was when I heard them. Like hanging out with friends, listening in my room, or riding in the car.

So anyway, when I heard she passed away last week (and 63 is way too young), I found myself revisiting, and enjoying, those songs. And feeling my age again, because it's a piece of my childhood, and a reminder that we're not here forever. The recordings might be, but we won't.

I found this clip of Last Dance on YouTube. It's not great quality, but it's supposedly live - and demonstrates her amazing voice.

  

Adventures in Mystery Texting

Every few weeks I get a text from some mystery person who fat-fingered their phone. Because I'm nice, I usually tell them they've got the wrong number.

Then they proceed to tell me I'm full of shit. In those exact words.

Every. Single. Time.

I mean, why is it so hard to believe you got the wrong number? People have been dialing wrong numbers since the phone was invented.

Are there that many people that think the person they're texting is screwing with them? I'd really like to know the psychology behind that kind of narcissism.

Although, it’s usually kids, which may explain it. It's pretty obvious by the manner of text:

“Yo Tyler. U R a dik. Dont call me. I h8 u.”

Anyway, after I make it known I'm not “Tyler”, they've got the wrong number, blah blah blah....the mystery moron will continue to text me about their after school activities, party tonight, or how so-n-so is a slut.

Mostly I ignore it and they give up. I guess I was bored today. I tried telling this chick she had the wrong number but she didn't believe me. As usual. So I figured I'd have some fun.

Seriously. The fact that I text in whole words (mostly) isn't a dead giveaway that I'm a grown-up?

I find it hilarious how the conversation dissolves into name calling by the person who texted me, even though I said nothing mean or derogatory. Actually, I think I was very upbeat and pleasant.

Too funny.

p.s. Since I couldn't very well take a picture of my text conversation (well, I probably could, but I don't want to download the app, and let's just not go there) The graphic above was created at this website:

http://ifaketext.com/

You just type in your conversation and it'll spit out an iphone simulation. Cool!

Baby Raccoons

I know...sorry. I promised this to my family the other day. Lots going on, work, school, sinus infections and internet difficulties. Life just keeps coming at ya.

So on Sunday we cut down the big dead oak tree in the yard. We had a feeling there might be something living in it, but when Hubby took the deadest section first and nothing stirred we figured all was good. Once the second, smaller section was down, this little guy plopped out, yelling like crazy for waking him up:

Click to enlarge

I called the local wildlife rehab center (we have them on speed dial around here because there's critters everywhere - last year it was baby bunnies) and they told us to put him in a box near where we found him and mom would probably come back for him. How cute is this? Just look at his widdle nosey....

Click to enlarge

We cleaned up the remainder of the yard and waited. Little guy (gal?) burbled and twittered on calling for mommy.  We hung out til a little after dark - you could see eyeballs in the woods, so I think mom was waiting for us hoomanz to go away. About an hour later, Hubby took the dog out for his nightly constitutional, and the box was toppled over and baby was gone. I feel pretty confident it was his mom that came back, or we would've heard him yelling. Kid's got a set of lungs, and I don't want to think about the alternatives.

I checked online at a few baby raccoon websites, and it looks like he's probably only about 2-3 weeks old because his mask isn't really defined, he's small and his eyes weren't quite open.

Times like these make me appreciate living in the country.