...oh dear, there are a lot of references to sex in this post...
Our kindly neighbour "Bob" dropped by a few days ago to make inquiries about our stolen stroller. He knows of its loss because he has been witnessing my struggles with the temporary replacement, a rusty, perverted thing that absolutely refuses to unfold unless I agree to do weird, Kama Sutra type things with it. Our intimate couplings on the lawn have been frankly indecent and having people walk by when I'm in the middle of one of these trysts, especially if I happen to be moaning at the time (from frustration) can leave me feeling pretty awkward. Kindly Neighbour Bob's head always seems to be popping over the fence during our sweaty entanglements, too. I find that kind of annoying.
Anyway, he came by because there was an errant stroller in the back lane and he thought it might be ours. It wasn't, and end of that story there, but I mention all this because he rang our doorbell at a time when, once again, our front hall was filled with crap from the basement, and everything was looking particularly slovenly. This was more than just a little embarrassing because Kindly Neighbour Bob is one of life's keeners. On snowy mornings, he is up at 6:30 am shovelling the sidewalks. In the fall, I have seen him stand on his lawn with a big garbage bag catching leaves as they fall from trees. One year he even came over and raked our back yard for us because the sight of all the leafy, unraked disorder was driving him nuts.
Actually, and most unfortunately, I think we, in general, drive him nuts.
Anyway, he came over, saw the chaos and I was embarrassed; I gave my usual "Ha ha ha, I live with a pack rat" speech, and he left. Then I sank to the floor.
"Arggh! Now he thinks we're pigs!" I howled unhappily.
Mr. IQ didn't seem too concerned. In fact, he didn't even respond, so I thought he hadn't heard me. But obviously he had, for the next day he presented me with an academic paper he had downloaded off the computer at school.
"Here," he said grinning, "find out what "Bob" thought of us."
The paper was about what insights into personality rooms give strangers about the people who inhabit them. It was entitled "A Room with a Cue." (GET IT??) ( I sure do!) (Proof: HA! HA! HA!)
I took the paper and looked at it suspiciously. It had paragraphs like:
The WAM concept of meaning systems and the RAM concept of good information can be brought together by interpreting the concepts as the two halves of Brunswik's (1956) lens model. Recall that cue utilization refers to the relation between judgements and observable information in the environment. Thus, cue utilization is similar to the WAM parameter of meaning systems, and cue validity is similar to the RAM parameter of good information.
Oooch, reading this made my head hurt, and a sudden strong desire to go hide out in a closet with a copy of Nancy Drew and The Secret of Shadow Ranch flooded over me. But I must admit I was kind of intrigued too. I grew up hearing and thinking about these kinds of things because my mom is big into graphology and personality types. If she checks out your handwriting and your W's are a little too buttock-y looking, she'll think you're a pervert. If your y's and j's and g's are a little too dangly she'll think you're a pervert. And God help you if any of your letters are shaped like penises! Well, I'm only guessing here, but I'm fairly certain that if they are she'll think you are a pervert. Of course, she's very proper, she would never actually use the word "pervert." She would blush and mumble something demure about "sexual issues." And then never look you in the eye again. But it's all very scientific. She looked at a writing sample of an old principal of mine and she nailed his personality cold. ("Asshole.") Of course, she was a teacher too, so she knows what principals can be like....
Anyway, to make a long story short, I struggled through the paper, skimming over parts like the one above, and perking up a little when phrases like “marijuana posters” appeared. But actually, the whole thing wasn’t that informative, at least not for me. There was no discussion of what different room styles meant with regards to personality, only an analysis of how accurate people’s impressions were. Of course when asked, I told him that his messy office indicated that he was fixated on his mother’s breasts, and the tendency to accumulate things meant he had a latent spanking fetish. But of course he didn’t believe me, and no more was said about it, which leaves me wondering why I have written so much about something that really had such little consequence on our lives. It’s a strange irony: The more boring my life gets, and the less computer access I manage to secure, the longer my posts become. Go figure.
Hopefully something really exciting happens tomorrow so I can fire off a really brief, two paragraph post!
5 comments:
Yesterday was a particularly slovenly day in my home as well. I forget that the 1st Wednesday of every month, the maintenance guys come...to change the furnace filter or do pest control.
It seems that no matter what part of the house I tackle on any given day, the rest of the house looks as though Hurricane Katrina and the Indonesian Tsunami found their way there. And so it was yesterday.
Unfortunately, the maintenance man came when I was gone shopping. The beds were all unmade...the dirty dishes from breakfast AND lunch scattered about the kitchen, and the family room/den/office/craft area was a total disaster. This being the room where the furnace is located, of course...it was the BIGGEST disaster.
I got home to a piece of paper stuck in my door telling me the maintenance guy had been there. Ugh. I'm waiting for the health department and CFS to show up today telling me my home is a hazard to any living creature!
My neighbor always seems to wander over and ask for sugar or eggs or twenty dollars when I'm still in my pajamas. And usually it's well past the time in which pajama wearing is sanctioned. Little does he know I've made a cake, done three loads of laundry and cleaned the entire house in my pajamas. He just thinks I'm a late riser. I hate neighbors! And I have my own Bob who's seen me in my pajamas as well, though thankfully he's not my neighbor.
I've become rather surly in my old age. I refuse to answer the door if there's no car out front and I'm not expecting anyone. It works pretty well at keeping out the riff-raff. Every now and then I have a weak moment and answer the door, and it's always some kid selling magazines or somebody trying to guilt me into giving them some of my money for some good cause. And don't even get me started on the Jesus peddlers.
This is my first visit to your blog, and I'm left wondering why you don't have a book contract, as you're one hell of a writer. I mean one HELLA good writer, friend.
You can post about anything, and I will be happy to read it.
I loop my ’’D’s,” (over) punctuate, and I’m a total whore for parentheses! I’m told it all stems from an anal fixation which is ironic because I think anuses are the funniest body part of all.
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