Spammed out 2

When June began, I had been inundated with spam from drug purveyors to the tune of 30 a day. It was all I needed to start a count.

Immediately after I did, the spam slowed to a trickle, only to reassert itself the last day of June with 22, all purportedly from Phizer and Lilly. Then today, nothing again. What is it with the end of the month? Are our supplies of male-enhancement drugs down to zero and we need to order posthaste?

Whatever. I'm finished counting, although it has proved to be an interesting and worthwhile exercise. Now I know I'm not a plagued as I thought I was, but when it's bad, it's very bad indeed!

Shutting out the outside

In a streak of what can only be attributed to sheer stubbornness--and giving lip service to carbon footprint reduction--we had not closed our windows. Usually we make it to Memorial Day, when the humidity index exceeds our ability to sleep. Then, as a team we close storm and house windows in rapid order, turn on the a/c and... sleep.

This year, we've not lost sleep. A few "cool" spells have arrived just in time to make us think we could make it one more day. Until yesterday, a near record late capitulation.

We've had days as hot (nearing 100) but not days where we've spent the entire time in someone else's a/c. I think this is what did it. Church was air-conditioned, the car on the way to the theatre, the son's house where we had Father's Day dinner, the car on the way home. Had we spent the day on golf course or patio, we'd have been acclimated. But coming in to a very warm house... well, it was down with the windows and hello to the electric company.

And did we sleep? Not well. The a/c kept coming on, cooling me down, had me reaching for nonexistent covers, and in general, waking me up.

Spam count: Eight on Friday, a max since I last reported.

Duly noted

I don't have a regular desk upon which my computer and printer sit. Instead, I co-opted our first dining table, a sturdy little 40s number which was antiqued green when we bought it at a garage sale. The spouse stripped and refinished it over 30 years ago and it's worn its light oak finish ever since. It came (for the princely sum of $25) with 4 matching chairs which are scattered over the house doing duty as small tables or--egad!--chairs.

Atop this table is a quilter's cutting board or gauge, 24" x 36", which I really need to take into my sewing area. However, it ended up where it is because at the time of setting up my little neck of the woods, I needed a mouse pad and this was large and everything, including the desktop computer, fit so nicely on it. I now have a laptop and laziness (and the fact that I really don't even SEE this cutting pad any more) have kept me from moving it. And I think I'll need help lift and separate everything, but that's another topic.

Today's topic is all the little pieces of paper which clutter around. There's even a folded napkin with "bk idea" written on it and a cryptic message following that. I think I remember what it means. But all these little pieces of pseudo-post-its are scribbled on, marked out, and then turned over with more scribbling and Kay-hieroglyphics. At times, I am awash in 3 7/8" x 3 7/8" pieces of paper. (I know the measurements because I just held one down to the quilter's surface.)

I am in no danger of running out of paper. Therefore, I'm going to stop turning them on the back. It's gotten so that I don't know where I've been or what I've done. One side with scrawls and cross-outs and then it's to the trash!

As to the spam count, as soon as I complain and start counting, the volume drops off dramatically. (This is not a complaint.) From June 4-June 10, the most I've had on any one day is 4. I know that because I'm keeping track on a little piece of paper.

It's around here somewhere.

The price of bananas

Many moons ago (and not an insignificant number of years), we lived in Galveston, Texas. We were half a block from the Gulf and could practically see the ships as they unloaded. Well, okay, that's a bit of an exaggeration, but it wouldn't have been a problem to do it. Nonetheless, the price of bananas in the Galveston grocery stores was the same as what my mother was paying 350 miles to the north: 19 cents per pound.

This always irritated me. Why shouldn't I pay a lot less since all they were doing was, metaphorically, rolling a crate across the street and putting it on the shelves?

No one asked me and the price, no matter where we lived or visited, stayed consistent.

Then over the last few years, it rose. 25, 30, 35--3 pounds for a dollar. It had finally settled in the mid-40s when gasoline prices shot up. The first commodity victim I noticed was the price of bananas. They immediately--overnight, if not quicker!--went to 59-64 cents a pound.

It's not like you can buy and store them. Nor is it possible to grow them here. No pick-ur-own banana farms in this neck of the woods. Want bananas--pay up!

It does make me wonder what they're going for in Galveston. If I knew anyone who lived there, I'd call.

To catch up:

No sooner do I get so disgusted with the number of Viagra spams I'm receiving and decide to start counting, than the well dries up. (This is not a complaint.) Must have been a lot of rush orders at the end of May.

June 1: 28 spam emails
June 2: 0 (not a typo and probably a first)
June 3: 3

On another front:

The fourth season of Meerkat Manor begins Friday night on Animal Planet at 8 pm CDT. Now that matriarch Flower is gone, the Whiskers have divided in two, with rival sisters at the helms. It doesn't get more human than this, does it?

Thank goodness they don't eat bananas. They'd starve.

All spammed out

The last few days of May were a spam feast in my junk mail box--and all promoting one of three products: Viagra, Cialis and Pfizer, which I know isn't a product, but that was the subject line. l have never seen so many spam emails about one subject. One subject, which, I would like the senders to know, is not appropriate for my anatomy!

So, I've decided to do something I've threatened to do for over a year: a spam count. I have my table made and every evening before my MacBook and I disconnect, I'll write down--and then ruthlessly deleter--the entire number of them.

And we'll all keep count.