"Umm, my computer won't start."

It's nearing noon and I've just started on my second cup of coffee.
Office phone rings.
I pick up: "Hello?"

Diffident male voice: "Umm, my computer won't start." [I scan my mind for voice recognition, ah yes, it's so-and-so... and I silently holler: Would it kill ya to say 'hello' ya jackass and state your name???]

"Is it plugged in?" I require.

"Ah, le'me see, eh, [pause] yeah, I think so".

"What do you mean 'think'? Is it or isn't it?"

"There are so many cables, which one do you mean?", he retorts.

*sigh* "The one that ends up in the socket on the wall" [rolling my eyes impatiently].

"Oh, yeah, right, *snort* that one. Yeah, yeah. [confidence back in his voice] It's plugged in".

I follow the drill: "Did you push the start button, or the reset button?" and other like questions follow, but still clueless as to why the darn thing won't start. I finally give up and haul my tooshie to employee's office for online diagnosis, while dreading probable technical causes...

I observe in horror as the electrical cable lies scattered on the floor: "I thought you said it was plugged in!!!"

"It is", he points to the wall.

"That's the telephone jack!!! [brain voice: Arrrggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh! For Pete's sake... don't you know the difference???? $#%%$%$#$%$%$##@#@!!!!] Who unplugged the computer?"

"Uh, I don't know. Maybe the cleaning lady", he replies in unconvincing tone.

"Well, plug it in, what are you waiting for? There's your cause."

"I can't. I'm charging my cell phone"... and suddenly IT d-a-w-n-s on him. He whips around to look at me. Oh, the horror of such an embarassing mistake drawn on his face. [I start to hear the hallelujahs in the background of angels softly praising his comeback to reality].

He grins like a guilty little boy who has broken a window with his baseball. "Oops, I forgot... I unplugged it this morning."

I'm still chuckling.

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Write a short story in as few words as possible

A college class was told they had to write a short story in as few words as possible. The instructions were:

The short story had to contain the following three things:
(1) Religion
(2) Sexuality
(3) Mystery

Below is the only A+ short story in the entire class.

"Good God, I'm pregnant; I wonder who did it."









Credits: It's out there on the internet, have no idea where it originated. It came in my mailbox via George, whom I thank for replenishing my humour database with goodies every so often. The deserving e-mail funnies shall be knighted in Flubberwinkle kingdom aka 'my blog'.


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How I met Harry Potter

Many years before the Harry Potter hype, I was strolling in one of those huge supermarkets that sell everything from car-windshield wipers to imported parmesan cheese.

I made my way to the book aisles and stood in front of the adult fiction literature section scanning for an interesting title, when my glance paused at a cute book cover with a little boy ("Hm, is that a scar on his forehead?") and a train. I flipped it over to read the summary. Something about a boy named Harry, something about a man with funny clothes. I considered buying it but decided on another book whose author I was familiar with.

On my next visit to this particular supermarket I noticed that the same book had been relocated to the children's books shelves. This would explain why I was baffled with the back-cover summary in the adults' section. My firstborn was (and thankfully still is) a bookworm so I bought it for her.

When she had barely reached page 20 of the first Harry Potter book, she raced into the living room, all flushed, embracing the book: "Mom, you've GOT to read this! This book is a-MAZ-ing!" I'm glad I took my kid's advice.

I discovered some very adorable book heroes and a fictional world that I had secretly hoped could exist. Who in their right mind would NOT want to find out that they are a wizard or a witch when they turn 11??? As a kid my nose ached because of the umpteen times I practiced Samantha's nose twitch from "Bewitched". And then there was Sabrina of "Archie's gang". I finally found out (gee, thanks JK Rowling) that I was muggle-born and Muggle I would remain (*sniff*).

We were one of the few families in Greece that had met Harry by chance and had adopted him before he became "THE" Harry Potter and all the international hoopla set in. I waited in line to get the English version of Book #6 last summer and tomorrow is the Greek premiere of "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire" movie. Have I got tickets, you ask? Is Ron Weasley's hair red? (For non-HP fans, the answer is yes).


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Euro-English

European Commission has just announced an agreement whereby English will be the official language of the European Union rather than German, which was the other possibility.

As part of the negotiations, the British Government conceded that English spelling had some room for improvement and has accepted a 5-year phase-in plan that would become known as "Euro-English".

In the first year, "s" will replace the soft "c". Sertainly, this will make the sivil servants jump with joy.

The hard "c" will be dropped in favour of "k". This should klear up konfusion, and keyboards kan have one less letter.

There will be growing publik enthusiasm in the sekond year when the troublesome "ph" will be replaced with "f". This will make words like fotograf 20% shorter.

In the 3rd year, publik akseptanse of the new spelling kan be expekted to reach the stage where more komplikated changes are possible.

Governments will enkourage the removal of double letters which have always ben a deterent to akurate speling.

Also, al wil agre that the horibl mes of the silent "e" in the languag is disgrasful and it should go away.

By the 4th yer people wil be reseptiv to steps such as replasing "th" with "z" and "w" with "v".

During ze fifz yer, ze unesesary "o" kan be dropd from vords kontaining "ou" and after ziz fifz yer, ve vil hav a reil sensi bl rite n styl.

Zer vil be no mor trubl or difikultis and evrivun vil find it ezi tu understand ech oza. Ze drem of a united urop vil finali kum tru.

Und efter ze fifz yer, ve vil al be speking German like zey vunted in ze forst plas.

If zis mad you smil, pleas pas on to oza pepl.

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Never leave home without "going" first

While I was growing up, the last thing Mom always asked me prior to leaving the house -whether for school, for playing outside, for family gatherings, for movie goings etc.- was if I had remembered "to go".

Irregardless of my response, Mom would reply "Go, anyway". I would obediently head towards the bathroom, close the door and well, if I had been lying before, she would hear the tinkling noise, purse her lips and shake her head. This ritual was repeated throughout my childhood and then puberty accompanied with a talk-back attitude set in, cutting my Mom off her standard routine. Nevertheless, the practice of "going before leaving the house" was engraved in my mind. This teaching was irrefutably handed down to my children, so they also would avoid public toilet seats.

My mom stopped by work last week to see me and... visit the ladies' room. She set off to do her out-of-the-house-chores which brought her downtown Athens. Mom's 65 year old bladder however is not what it used to be. She forgot herself and drank a glass of water before stepping out and then broke her own golden rule: She forgot "to go" before leaving the house! We both laughed when I scolded her.

Isn't it funny how Time ushers in parent/child reversal roles?


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If only house-cleaning regulations could apply at a UN Assembly

I've always been a tidy person as far back as I can remember. I think I was born with an added dash of neat-freak genes, that my brother left behind in my mom's womb when he was born 3 years before me. When I started kindergarten I was making my own bed so good you could bounce a quarter off that sucker. Whereas if you looked over on my brother's side the only thing that wasn't rumpled was the wall! Granted I was a little Greek girl growing up in a Greek home with Greek parents with Greek customs that instilled the art of good-homemaking as a vantage for catching a good husband. But somehow, I feel that I would have turned out tidy even without these influences.

I always had the neatest room in the house (later on my brother got his own bedroom - THANK GOD!). I baffled my own mother, the headmistress of House-Cleaning School, with my cleaning & organizing talents. I had such coordinated drawers and closet that even in a black-out I could get dressed without ever unfolding a single piece of unneeded clothing.

I feel very lucky to be living in the age of automation. My grandmother Athena (may she rest in peace) was a washing lady (plystra, for those seeking a new word for their Greek vocabulary). She washed rich people's undergarments, linens and sheets with her bare hands in a washtub for a living. My mother-in-law recalls how she had to wash everything from handkerchiefs to rugs on the shore of the Evros river! It's vital we remember the not-so-long-ago and still existing, in many countries, hardships of daily routines and not whine about things we take for granted like the vacuum cleaner, the laundry machine and running water.

Everyone hates house-cleaning, myself -the neat & orderly lady- included. It takes up too much time and the dust and dirt always find a way back in, producing a never-ending vicious cycle.

Yet, while I'm doing house chores it is the only time that I have total control of my micro world. I am the UN General Secretary ordering hotspots on "my planet" to cease fire, withdrawing occupational troops, bringing peace and harmony in my home.
You, dust - away from the furniture!
You, clumps of hair and fuzz balls under the sofa - in the vacuum NOW!
You, toys and sweaters - who told you to invade the living room - back in the closets!

Oh, how I wish "messy things" could be taken care of as easily in the world outside my doorstep.


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Today's agenda: Soup, tissues, aspirin

I'm sick.
Those of you near and dear to me are now grinning and nodding your heads wildly up and down: "I knew it - she finally admitted it!"
I say: No, dodo heads! Not that kind of sick! I mean I've got a cold or a flu (note to self: remember to google these later 'cause you always mix'em up).
Symptoms: I'm numb from the neck up. (More so than usual). My nose and eyes are swollen and runny. A stranger cannot discern my jaw line from my cheekbone... my face feels like a great big b-l-o-b.

I have always had this problem when winter sets in. I cannot show my face in public when I'm like this. Once, a co-worker sneered: "So what, ya got a little cold, can't show up for work?" I went and everyone was gaping at me and shuddering: "What happened to you!!!! You used to be decent-looking! Away with you, you disgusting mucus secreting, revolting thing!" Since then, I have never again tried to be a heroine and go to work while nursing a cold. (The shame of exile still burns in my memory).

I've always been envious of people with colds/flus that don't morph into Quasimodo like I do. Is it hereditary? Do I have an overly-sensitive face? Where are my tissues? Aaaaa-CHOO... I'm sick, did I mention it?

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Wide-eyed profound questions of our universe

A mother & her little girl in the cosmetics aisle of the supermarket.
Mom is checking out the hair dyes. Reading the boxes, scratching her head.
Little girl is perched in the baby seat of the cart, swinging her tiny feet looking back and forth, from hair products to parent:

"Mommy, will your brain turn red?"






Kids, you gotta love' em.

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Sorry Albert, couldn't resist.

• Go make one of your own here.


• All silliness aside: It's Einstein Year 2005.

How-did-you-find-this-Credits:
Thank you John for introducing me to Creative Procrastination.


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Who's on first?

This just came in my e-mail.
Conversation between Bush & Rice:
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George: Condi! Nice to see you. What's happening?
Condi: Sir, I have the report here about the new leader of China.
George: Great. Lay it on me.
Condi: Hu is the new leader of China.
George: That's what I want to know.
Condi: That's what I'm telling you.
George: That's what I'm asking you. Who is the new leader of China?
Condi: Yes.
George: I mean the fellow's name.
Condi: Hu.
George: The guy in China.
Condi: Hu.
George: The new leader of China.
Condi: Hu.
George: The main man in China!
Condi: Hu is leading China
George: Now whaddya' asking me for?
Condi: I'm telling you, Hu is leading China.
George: Well, I'm asking you. Who is leading China?
Condi: That's the man's name.
George: That's who's name?
Condi: Yes.
George: Will you, or will you not, tell me the name of the new leader of China?
Condi: Yes, sir.
George: Yassir? Yassir Arafat is in China? I thought he's dead in the Middle East.
Condi: That's correct.
George: Then who is in China?
Condi: Yes, sir.
George: Yassir is in China?
Condi: No, sir.
George: Then who is?
Condi: Yes, sir.
George: Yassir?
Condi: No, sir.
George: Look Condi. I need to know the name of the new leader of China. Get me the Secretary General of the U.N. on the phone.
Condi: Kofi?
George: No, thanks.
Condi: You want Kofi?
George: No.
Condi: You don't want Kofi.
George: No. But now that you mention it, I could use a glass of milk. And then get me the U.N.
Condi: Yes, sir.
George: Not Yassir! The guy at the U.N.
Condi: Kofi?
George: Milk! Will you please make the call?
Condi: And call who?
George: Who is the guy at the U.N?
Condi: Hu is the guy in China
George: Will you stay out of China?!
Condi: Yes, sir.
George: And stay out of the Middle East! Just get me the guy at the U.N.
Condi: Kofi.
George: All right! With cream and two sugars.

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