Call Me Urban Clove

Have you ever wished for a name other than the one your parents cursed you with?
Am I the only one?

Here's a fun little distraction that was sent my way.

This random renamer tool gave me such gems as

Buffy Le Hua Ritchie

Annabella Blanca Ritchie

Cosma Benecia Ritchie
Picabo Mars Ritchie

and the winner is...

Urban Clove Ritchie

Life Without Bacon...Why live?

I don’t have anything against vegetarians.
They are kind of a novelty like French Canadians, Scion drivers and Larouche supporters. Individually, vegetarians are nice people. Oh sure, some are grouchy and self righteous but I chalk that up to a lack of protein and iron. As a group however, I’m not sure how I feel about them.

This weekend my neighborhood was overrun by vegetarians. It was the Great VegFest of Ought 7. My favorite local coffee shop was teeming with Vegfest goers. Let me just say, I am not a particularly pleasant person before my morning coffee. Some may argue that I am not a particularly pleasant person after my morning coffee. I was a little grumpy while waiting for my turn to order a simple cup o’ coffee. The usually fast moving line and speedy baristas were slowed down by the following questions from a pack of vegetarians.

“What brand is your soy milk…Is it organic?”

“Make sure you wash out the milk steaming pitcher before you put my soy milk in it please”

“Do you have organic coffee beans…are they really organic? Some places say they are organic but they really aren’t organic”

And my favorite
“Where do you buy the green tea that you serve here? Let me give you my card. There is a wonderful company that has all of their tea leaves blessed by Shamans”

“I don’t drink coffee. Coffee is a drug and I don’t like to poison my body with drugs”

then step aside and let me order MY GODDAMN DRIP COFFEE!

Again let me say, I have nothing against individual vegetarians. I just have a hard time trusting people who can’t appreciate a good burger.
Portobello is not a good burger
Portobello is not a burger.
It is a mushroom.You are not fooling anyone.

Have I mentioned how much I hate smooth jazz?

Sounds I like only slightly less than smooth jazz.

The vacuum cleaner, faucet drips, the thousand-beat-per-second techno courtesy of my upstairs neighbor. The word "whatever", the clarinet lessons given by my neighbor, the dentist drill, filing nails with an emory board and "New Country"

Along that same line, I recently attended a birthday party for a consecrated civilian monk that included a sing along. You haven't lived until you have joined a gaggle of conservative Catholics attempting to sing Pink Floyd.

It was better than smooth jazz.

You should have heard our rendition of Margaritaville.

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

My friend just called to tell me that her daughter received a nasty injury, to which I replied
"Only your kid would get a nasty injury from a hermit crab"
"That's what her teacher said!"

My friend's 12 year old daughter tends to get injured. These are no run of the mill scraped knees and bumped head kind of injuries. Nor are they cause to alert CPS. Her injuries are always a little odd. Here are a list of her greatest hits...so to speak.

1. Purple Nose.
She had wrapped a rubber band around her nose during class which resulted in broken blood vessels, leading to a perfect purple circle on the tip of her nose that lasted for days. It looked like someone had given her a little Sharpie mouse nose sans whiskers.

2. Bloody Arms,
Okay this one was my fault. We were hanging out at Seattle Center. I offered to give her a dollar if she would go and touch the fountain. Fully clothed she ran down touched the fountain and promptly fell flat on her face. Picture a 12 year old girl wearing all white, dripping blood mixed with water and laughing hysterically. Just one more reason to be wary of my babysitting skills.

3. Black Eye, Okay it wasn't exactly black but it was sore. Here is a transcript of our conversation

Me: What happened?
Her: I gave myself a black eye
Me: How.
Her Pulling up my pants.
Me: Hmm were they too tight or something.
Her: No they were sweat pants.
Me: Okay, what were you doing that would result in a black eye while pulling up sweatpants.
Her: I was trying to smell them.
Me: The prosecution rests.

Of course I can't really pass judgement. I was the kid who was almost strangled playing tether ball and cut her wrists wearing homemade catfood can Wonder Woman wristbands.

Too Late

I walked by the Bodies Exhibit.
There was an ambulance in front.

Return from the Jr. High-atus

I’m back, did you miss me?

I have been busy basking in the glamour that is Jr. High Theatre. My work as the Bye Bye Birdie co-producer/director/set designer/prop mistress and occasional misanthrope has come to a close. It was actually a great show (If you could hear me say that out loud you would hear the shock and surprise in my voice.) My job certainly isn’t lucrative, lofty or impressive but there are moments when I think it’s the greatest job in the world…and Canada. These moments are fleeting however, as I spend much of my time telling 14 year olds to shut up, spit out their gum and stop sitting on the stacked chairs.

C'mon, admit it. You envy me.

Joel Abdo-Memorial

I have received a few e-mails today in response to my earlier posting, requesting information I might have about services for Joel Abdo. As far as I know the Memorial Mass is scheduled for 1:30 on March 9th at Holy Rosary in West Seattle.

Joel

It’s is with powerless sadness and great shock that we say good bye to Joel Abdo. While I have met a lot of interesting and quirky people, I can honestly say Joel was one of the most interesting and quirky people I have ever met. He was also quite sincerely the nicest guy in town. For most of his life, Joel had battled more than his fair share of medical problems. Unfortunately the last battle was too big for him to win.
I hope that Joel knew how much he was loved, for he certainly was.
How sad to say goodbye to the nicest guy in town.