by jphilo | Feb 7, 2012 | Current Events
Last weekend a friend sent an email about the Washington Post’s Annual Mensa Invitational. According to the email, this year’s invitational consisted of two parts. In the first, “The Post invited readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition. For those of you who, like me, can’t follow all that in your head, here’s one entry.
Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high
The email described the second part of the invitational which asks readers to supply alternate meanings for common words. Such as:
Flatulence, n. Emergency vehicle that picks up someone who has been run over by a steamroller.
By the time I finished reading the 17 entries in the first category and the 16 entries in the second, my sides ached with laughter. This response confirmed a long held, secret suspicion that if I could be queen of anything, I would choose queen of word play. The email made me so happy, I also decided to blog about it.
That’s when an internet search disclosed a disturbing truth.
The Washington Post’s Annual Mensa Invitational doesn’t exist. Once upon a time, someone ran a contest and an almost identical list has been circulated year after year…since 1998. The news kinda broke my queen of word play heart.
Until I stumbled upon the WPM Invitational website.
WPM took the idea, though they clearly state they are not associated with the Washington Post, and now oversee their own annual contest. Their rules are identical to the first half of the original contest. At the site, you can see:
You can also:
My fave in the 2010 contest was…Ussues Issues shared or inherited by virtue of being in a committed relationship which was submitted by Michale Bertani.
Now if you will excuse me, it’s time to wrap up this blog and get to work on my entries for the 2012 contest. If you’d like to vote for them, just look for the ones by Queen of Word Play and vote for royalty.
This queen will be quite amused.
by jphilo | Jan 31, 2012 | Current Events
For a couple weeks after the caucuses, Iowans were conditioned by political pollsters to give short answers on the phone we almost forgot how to engage in casual conversation. But since the ISU Cyclones defeated fifth ranked KU over the weekend, conversation has picked up quite nicely in our little state. Even after the “How’s about them Cyclones?” talk dies down, I think the weather will give us plenty to talk about.
Optimists can talk about how nice it is to walk to the mailbox in shirtsleeves in January.
Environmentalist can talk about how this month’s weather is a sure sign of global warming.
Farmers can talk about how Elwynn Taylor thinks the drought of ’12 is coming down.
For those of you who’ve never heard of Elwynn Taylor, he’s an uncannily accurate Iowa State University extension climatologist. He studies long term climate patterns and predicts long term trends rather than day-to-day weather.
In July, if he predicts a snowy winter, you’d be wise to buy a snowshovel.
But if he predicts a mild winter, don’t buy a new winter coat.
In January, if he predicts the summer will be wet, cancel the cabin at the lake.
If he predicts a flood, buy a boat.
And if he predicts a drought, take it seriously.
Guess which one he’s predicting for this summer?
A drought.
Which means I’m taking out stock in a garden hose company.
Because the last time Elwynn predicted a bad drought was in January of ’88.
When the dry fall and winter weather pattern was similar to this fall and winter.
When La Nina was getting old.
When Alaska had lots of snow.
I was three months pregnant with Anne way back then. By the time Anne was born in July, the drought was awful. To be clear, Elwynn didn’t know about my pregnancy, so it didn’t figure into his prediction.
But, even if ISU loses every game for the rest of the summer, my shelf of conversation starters is well-stocked for the rest of 2012. I’ll be the life of every party, chatting about Elwynn Taylor drought predictions, pregnancy during drought stories, and labor during drought stories. Really fascinating stuff.
So, when would you like me to come to dinner at your house?
by jphilo | Jan 27, 2012 | Current Events, Reflections on the Past
Yesterday morning, my first thought was not, “Today, I’m gonna feel old.” But thanks to the Girl Scouts – yes, those cute little cookie peddlers who sell sugar highs in a box – for the first time ever, I am feeling a wee bit ancient.
Not just old. Ancient.
The realization was gradual, increasing the longer I listened to Talk of Iowa on the radio. The topic was the 100th Anniversary of Girl Scouts, and the host interviewed some Girl Scout leaders and a couple honest-to-goodness present day Girl Scouts. The girls were about the same age I was during my short career as cookie salesgirl and sash wearer.
And they made me feel not just old. But ancient.
It wasn’t their fault. But, while they talked, I thought about how 1912 was a century ago for the little girls. Just like 1865 was a hundred years ago when I attended Girl Scout meetings after school in 1965. So if and when they watch a show like Downton Abbey, the events portrayed there are as long ago and far away to them as the events chronicled in Gone With the Wind were to me.
And that’s when I started feeling not just old. But ancient.
Not because the Civil War seemed like a long time ago when I was a Girl Scout. And not because 1912 is a long time ago to the girls in the radio interview. And not because 1912 didn’t seem like such a long time ago in my GS days. But because the Civil War probably didn’t seem like such a long time ago to fifty-five-year-old adults in my GS days, but I thought those people were old.
But they didn’t seem just old. They seemed ancient.
Which is how today’s Girl Scouts view everybody old enough to tuck an AARP membership card next to the packet of Metamucil in their wallets, old enough to wear sensible shoes, sport age spots, and wear pants with elastic waistbands.
They view us as not just old. But ancient.
Oh my, the depression is coming on thick and fast. I think there’s only one way to fight this thing. I’m gonna find a Girl Scout, buy a box of Thin Mints, and snarf down the whole box. After all, my mom says old people like me have earned the right to eat whatever they want. And she ought to know.
‘Cause she’s not just old. She’s ancient.
by jphilo | Jan 24, 2012 | Current Events
For those of you who read the Winter Blitz supplement in the local Shopping News last week, let me set your mind at ease. My name is not Jeanne Philo, even though the “Pen to Pen” ad says it is. Rest assured, the owner of the Book Shoppe (where the “Pen to Pen” gathering will be held this Saturday, January 28 from 11 – 2) called as soon as she saw the mistake.
She felt terrible.
Really terrible.
She apologized.
About ten times.
Even after I assured her I was not upset.
And that I would still attend the event.
Though I plan to sign any books sold as Jolene Philo.
Not Jeanne Philo.
Since we’re on the subject, this is a good time to clarify a couple other things. First, I have never had a facelift. However, my professional photographer friend who took my publicity pictures, including the one above, got rid of several wrinkles with PhotoShop.
On the pictures only.
Not on my real face.
You come can to the Book Shoppe on January 28 from 11 – 2 and see for yourself.
No facelift.
Plenty of wrinkles.
Second, my body hasn’t been butt lifted either. I’d never heard of butt lifts until our pastor mentioned them in his sermon on Sunday. (If that made you curious, get the whole story by going to www.graceccboone.com. Click the “Sermons” tab, and then click on the January 22, 2012 sermon link and have a listen.)
However, for the past month and a half my butt feels like it’s been through surgery.
Thanks to my physical therapist.
She looks really sweet.
But she assigns nasty butt exercises.
To strengthen my glutes which she says are weak.
But I think the exercises were used to torture people.
During the Spanish Inquisition.
Even though the PT doesn’t have a Spanish name, face, or accent.
So now you know the truth. My name hasn’t changed, my wrinkles are real, my butt is sore, and the PT is probably an ex-marine who served at Guantanamo Bay. Anything more you’d like to know?
Or are you afraid to ask?
by jphilo | Nov 21, 2011 | Current Events
Shhh…don’t tell the iWeb people at Apple about the WordPress graphic on this blog page. Let’s keep the upcoming switch from iWeb to WordPress here at Down the Gravel Road between ourselves. The switch should make this site much faster for readers, which is a very good thing.
And the new bells and whistles it’ll offer are nice, too.
My favorite techno-buddy, Ray, has all the incomprehensible-to-my-small-brain details lined up and ready to go. He’s waiting for me to get done transferring blog posts from this blog to the new one under construction. We thought we’d figured out how to do it in one fell swoop.
But no.
So I’m transferring four years worth of posts one by one. The bugs have been worked out (through painful experience), and each transfer goes fairly quickly. But there are a lot of posts, so the whole process is taking a lot of time.
A lot of time.
But, I’m using the hours and hours and hours required for this mind-numbing process to watch DVDs of TV shows on my always-wanted-to-watch-but-can’t-justify-allocating-time-to-them category.
Shows like West Wing.
And Parenthood.
And a BBC series called Monarch of the Glen.
And – hold your breath –
Glee.
Yes, Glee. The show I swore off as a protest against their Madonna-as-role-model-for-young-women episode in the first season. To be honest, the rest of the series was better than I expected. Even though I still have issues with many of the values it promotes.
But wait.
This post is about the blog transfer, not about the TV shows that have made the transfer tolerable. So here’s the scoop: The last of the posts should be moved to the WordPress site by tonight. After that, all that remains are choosing the SEO phrases so search engines will find the blog, and building a few other pages. Once everything is ready to go, the switch will be announced on this blog and Ray will make the switch. Which we’re praying will go off without a hitch.
Wishful thinking, perhaps.
So to be on the safe side, I’m checking the latest Parenthood, Monarch of the Glen, West Wing, and Glee DVDS from the library. Because my web tech issues will pale compared to those of the Bravermans, the laird of the estate, President Martin Sheen, and the glee club nerds.
I call it WordPress de-stress.
Ahhh.
by jphilo | Nov 14, 2011 | Current Events
Have you ever heard of Help A Reporter Out, or HARO for short? It’s an internet service for reporters looking for experts to interview for stories. Workshop leaders at writers’ conferences encourage authors to subscribe to HARO and respond to queries. Why? Because being quoted in online or print articles is 1) free publicity and 2) raises credibility.
That’s the theory anyway.
But the reporters writing articles about my area of professional expertise, special needs, have yet to pick up on my responses to their HARO queries. However, my one response to a query about a topic where I have only personal experience, parenting adult children, resulted in an immediate contact from the reporter. Apparently, my stint as mother-of two-going through-two-weddings-in-three-months is a bigger draw than author. Or speaker. Or educator.
So much for my professional expertise.
Emily Morman, the reporter, emailed this morning to say her article had been published in southeast Michigan’s MetroParent. She included the link, so I hurried on over and skimmed the article looking for my name (yes, I am that self-centered) among all the names quotes.
And there it was, looking as credible as all get out.
My name was there, along with the names of several people were quoted – a psychologist, a couple young adults, and several parents. Like me. Everybody quoted sounded pleasant. And wise. And real. Even me. Which goes to show that personal experience is as valuable as professional training.
The next query about women married to strong, silent Alaskan natives is all mine.
