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For a cold or flu, Pamville doctors recommend lots of food, plenty of reading and as many movies as you can cram in between books.

Pretty much what I recommend doing any day of the week, but illness gives me a good excuse to partake in the behavior guilt-free. Illness is not all bad. It’s a wonder that I ever wash my hands after being out in public.

The food is coming in endless supplies, though I didn’t purchase enough chocolate and definitely should’ve gotten chips or a chip-like products such as my fave Cheetos. Still, I’ve eaten like a bird every day for almost a week — which is to say that I’ve eaten at least half my body weight daily. So I’m good there.

I’ve read the first five chapters of a mystery novel from a friend in Nebraska. Kudos to her for making me want to choke the next chapter out of her. And I read “Green Mile” by Stephen King. I hate the guy. Really. It’s all jealousy-fueled. I know. Don’t care. All envy aside, I am impressed with how closely the movie followed the story. Oh, wait, no that just made the envy worse. Sorry, Steve, u sux.

The DVD fare from the Redbox dispenser was a little slim, so we ended up with a couple movies we were interested in seeing, but not necessarily dying to get when first released: “Inglourious Basterds” directed by Quentin Tarantino and “Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian” directed by Shawn Levy.

For me, watching Tarantino films is generally akin to watching an operation — the experience is interesting and moving in a way that is somehow both intellectual and visceral, but I wouldn’t want to watch them on a daily basis. We’ve bought several of Tarantino movies, so I can say from experience that I consider the $1 rental fee for “Basterds” over-priced and plan to make a special trip to town today to give it back to Redbox. I would rather pay the oil companies for gas wasted on the extra trip to town than spend one more dollar keeping this movie another night.

It was that bad.

It was, you might say, a movie-failure trifecta of stupid, boring and artistic hodgepodge. Only good performances from quality actors saved if from being a superfecta.

Thus, it’ll probably sweep the Oscars — the last movie that turned me off this much was “Titanic.” So there ya go.

“Museum,” on the other hand, was a nice romp. Yes, I know. It’s not fair that I call “Basterds” stupid for its inaccuracies and then forgive “Museum” for its factual transgressions. I can only justify my opinion by saying that “Museum” just didn’t have that odor of pretentiousness that magnifies negativity. As a bonus, all the extra features made everyone look like they had a lot of fun filming this movie together. I would own it and re-watch it.

I’d write more about it, but John just proposed the greatest theory that I am anxious to prove out: Ridding ourselves of the Tarantino movie with an extra trip to town wouldn’t feel like a waste of gas if we purchased ice cream while at the store.

My man is brilliant at: pam(at)viewfromthenorth40(dot)com


One of my scintillating tasks at work — and I don’t necessarily mean that sarcastically — is to type up the Justice and City court logs. This is something I would never read in a newspaper. I don’t care enough about whether or not one of the 10 people I know got in trouble to force myself to read a full page of entries about who got jailed and/or fined.

If they want me to know, they’ll tell me. And if it’s so big I need to know (like, say, if they’re a serial killer) I’ll read about it on one of the front section pages I’m paid to read, or someone in this small town will stop me to tell me about it. With glee. Otherwise, I say live and let whatever.

On the other hand, it gives one a perspective on the community that I might not have acquired otherwise, and that’s oddly fascinating. E.g. Some people are arrested a LOT. Most people in the courts are 19-35 years old and male. And there are a surprising number of people in their 70s and 80s who wind up in court. Oh, and did you know that school yard fights, that used to get kids detention picking up garbage on the playground after school now get them arrested, and “into the system.” I find that last one disturbing.

But my point on this topic is less, well, poignant that all that. The triviality of it is that since I type with the speed and accuracy of the average 10-year-old, I have issues with doing so much typing.

Today’s highlighted issue: The many ways one can screw up typing “fined”, and still run under the spell-checker radar: find, fiend, friend, finned, fin, fine, fried, fond, fund, vined, dined, fines.

“So what” you might be saying, but consider that I regularly type this particular word more than 200 times in one document, which translates to roughly 100,000 times that I have to re-type it, and you get my drift. It’s aggravating. Today, I am aggravated. All I can say is the owners got what they paid for when they hired me.

As a kind of Post Script not related in any way to typing, but is related to being “find” and makes me feel like a wimp for whining about my head cold today: Did you all see that a teen-aged girl was found buried in the rubble of Haiti today? Fifteen days after the quake — 15 days, FIFTEEN days, nights too, buried alive under stuff without sustenance. omg.

I can believe anything now at: pam(at)viewfromthenorth40(dot)com

Damn the torpedoes.

This is launch day, or, as I called it on the “old” blogless site, “Day 1 of my Blogfullness”. The blog, this blog, has all the standard features of a truly blogfull blog. At least half of which I don’t understand. Just so you know.

If you want immediate notification of an entry, The Brunette recommended signing up for it in the comment section. The thing I love about that feature is: If I post an error then immediately edit it, you will get the version with the error. The programmer said immediate, and he means it, fool. So I ain’t fixin’ nuthin’. Easier for me, and it’ll all match yesterday’s delirious entry in which I wrote “ruble” rather than “rubble” — repeatedly. Nice.

Thus, I have begun as I intend to continue.

Inn eh state of ember-ass-mint at: pam(at)viewfromthenorth40(dot)com

I was going to begin the blog launch tonight, but I’m so tired I can’t keep my eyes open or think coherently (case in point: three attempts to spell coherently), so I’ll shoot for tomorrow night. I need something to screw up meeting my column deadline anyway. This’ll be perfect.

BTW, did anyone else read that another guy, a live guy, was pulled from the wreckage that is now Haiti — two weeks after getting buried in the ruble. I can’t imagine the trauma from being buried alive for two weeks.

I get claustrophobic if I get stuck in my coat when the zipper separates. It’s safe to say I would not emerge from the ruble entirely of sound mind upstairs.

My upstairs compartment is loosely tethered at best anyway at: pam(at)viewfromthenorth40(dot)com

it wouldn’t be found on this blog site.

Hello. What? Hello? Can you read me now?

I have no talent for technology, and I don’t know why my posted entry feed thingy isn’t automatically forwarding to The Brunette. Woe is me. How will I ever take over the blogoshere if I can’t automate?

I tried to read up on it, but all the words sounded like Charlie Brown adults in my head, wah wah wa-wah wah-wa, and I fell asleep. Doomed.

Hey, let’s backtrack to the second line of this entry because it reminded me of something besides stupid technology.

The phone rang yesterday, and as I said hello I heard the caller pushing more buttons. I stayed on the phone saying hello, who is it, hello, can you hear me, hello .. . Nothing but light breathing, then some slight sounds, and then a small child talking. Not what I expected. We had a long ol’ conversation about the world.

From what I could decipher from the toddler-speak, I think she was looking for Debbie though didn’t seem inclined to end the conversation after discovering I was, in fact, not Debbie. Then an adult made noises in the background and our fun was disconnected.

Adults are rude like that.

Anyhow, if you see Debbie, tell her Small Child called. I took a message, but didn’t get a call back number.

Small Child said, dafoob mahn ihg fnn dah at pam(at)viewfromthenorth40(dot)com

This entry is just for The Brunette who was nice enough to come play at the test blog to see if my comments and “subscribe to feed” work properly for her. Tomorrow we’re going to the playground to skip rope and swing on the monkey bars. I think we should also take a spin on the merry-go-round to see who upchucks first.

Bet it won’t be me, me, me at:

So all of a sudden we have winter again, complete with multiple power outages. Huh? But, but, but, I’m still caught with my pants down! No one sent me a memo that we were going to have winter this year. And who would’ve thunk it would last, like, months.

  • Coleman fuel on the front door step — Coleman lantern sitting empty in the house.
  • Candles in the cupboard — now, where was it that I moved the holders when I mucked through the recesses in the house last time … ?
  • Second sleeping bag for zipping together extra, emergency bedding insulation … in the camper — high winds and snow between me and thee.
  • Battery operated radio — donated by my generous husband to Salvation Army. Radio? We don’t need no stinkin’ radio.
  • Oil lantern — Oh, hey, we got that right! It’s half full of oil — Oh, hey, but the wick hangs only one-third of the way into the reservoir. Guess it was half empty after all.

And I’m fully empty-headed at:

It’s not that the day was horrible, it’s just that it started at 3 a.m. with a bad dream. And it’s not that the dream was a nightmare, it’s just that it was BAD. Y’know, the kind that makes you wake up and think negative thoughts and this starts a series of dark thoughts like a stream of soul-sucking consciousness that you can’t waylay even though you tell yourself it was just a dream and you’re really, really tired.

Then the only thing you can possibly do to break the cycle is get up. Then eventually you have to go to work and be all with-it enough to proofread even though work is total chaos for everyone that morning because the dream must’ve infected everyone.

It’s not that the morning was hell — I’ve lived there before so I know whereof I speak — it’s just that I hope this isn’t a “Groundhog Day” kind of day. I don’t want to have to relive it.

Thank you very much for the day. I will thank you even more when we’ve moved on to the next one.

May the dreams be sweeter there at pam(at)viewfromthenorth40(dot)com

Xena at sunset

Xena at sunset

It’s picture day at school. Let’s see how this posts …

Right after I make this paragraph.

See Pam bold.

See Pam make a new paragraph in italics

  1. See Pam
  2. make a
  3. list

See Pam quote herself.

See Pam change the justification.

See Pam strike through the words like she’s telling herself to have mercy on people and shut up.

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