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Did you see that movie "White Noise" with Michael Keaton? It was a movie about dead people who were trying to contact others through television "noise", computers, electronics, etc. Initially, I didn't want to see it. But about 6 months ago it was HBO when I was flipping through and I stopped on it.

It was one of the creepiest movies I've ever seen.

Just in time for the Halloween season, I had my very own "White Noise" experience.

Ok. Sort of.

The first experience involves the radio. One night, our clock radio (which is always set to the alarm and RARELY the radio) blarred on at 3 a.m. for no apparent reason. Weird.

The very next night involved an experience with the TV. Sometimes I fall asleep with the TV on while Todd is traveling. If I do, I put the volume down so low that I can barely hear it. Sometime during the wee hours the TV changed channels and then went to maximum volume. Not only that, I could not turn the TV channel nor turn down the volume - it was stuck! I finally got it to change, but after two nights of that, who could sleep!?!?

(cue twilight zone music)

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Small town papers amaze me. I've been in some states where the papers are really good with qualified journalists. My current area does not seem to possess those qualities. Here are a couple of examples:

  • I'm included in a "Women in Business" Section (SEVERAL pages of women in business) where they misspelled each and every banner at the top of the page as "Women Is Business" (not only did it go to print that way, it was sent out that way).
  • I send a letter to the editor about something going on in our town. They publish my letter, but first "edit" my letter to the editor and THEN make grammatical mistakes.

Of course that would happen - a published author who appears to have made grammatical mistakes...

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The name of our bookstore is The Book Blues.

THE Book Blues. Somehow, we got on some business list (which multiplied into what seems like hundreds of crappy informational mailing lists) as THEY Book Blues. (See August 1, 2006, posting of "Use a Freakin' Spell Check Next Time" to get caught up).

Today I get a call while I have several customers in the store. It went something like this:

Heavy-Accented Annoying Person (HAAP): Is this They Book Blues?
ME: This is The Book Blues.

HAAP: Is this They Book Blues?
ME: It is THE Book Blues.
HAAP: Huh?
ME: (loudly) THE Book Blues. THE Book Blues.
HAAP: Are you affiliated with They Book Blues?
ME: (sighs loudly) There is no They Book Blues.
HAAP: Huh?
ME: (even louder) THERE. IS. NO. THEY. BOOK. BLUES. It is THE Book Blues.

At this point all of the customers have stopped what they are doing and turned to watch me (seriously, I had an audience while I was screaming into the phone).

HAAP: (totally confused) Oh. This is not They Book Blues?
ME: (sighs again) Look, there is no They Book Blues. It was a typo by someone, most likely YOUR company, it is only THE. THE. BOOK. BLUES.
HAAP: Could you spell the first word please?
ME: (silent disbelief)
HAAP: Hello?
ME: Yes. The first word is THE. T.H.E.
HAAP: Ok, P...
ME: NO! NO! NO! THE. The word is THE. T as in Tom. H as in Howard. E as in egg.
HAAP: Oh. The?
HAAP: Ok, thank you.


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So, today is Friday the 13th.

On the radio this morning they are discussing this day and how freaky people get about their superstitions. So, I was commenting to my husband how silly it was that when bad things happen on this day that everyone attributes it to FRIDAY the 13th. We had a good laugh about it.

Fast forward 15 minutes.

I hear my dogs yapping this weird high-pitched yap outside and mistakenly assume that it's just because it's 40-degrees outside on October 13.


I go out and find that our "I'll run away the first chance I get" Shepard mix has broken his tie out and is nowhere in sight. So here I am, 4o-degree weather, wet hair, in a bathrobe (and not one of those plush warm robes, no, a bathrobe that is as thin as my worn sheer IU graduate tee...) running around outside my house at 8 a.m. I call into the house to Todd, tell him Indy ran away, and he promptly says:


I continue my search. No dog. Not only was there no dog, but there was a HUGE dead animal lying in the road in front of our house - what timing! So, hyperventilating, I run out to the road. (Don't fret, I had changed into non-matching clothes by the time I ran out to see if it was my dog. It wasn't, thankfully).

I guess the joke was on me.
Never mock the 1-3.

(Yes, the dog did come home. He was waiting patiently at the front of the house like, "Hey, where ya been? It's cold out here," while I drove around the area and my husband became a human popsicle walking the area).


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...or is it bizarre to hear my almost 65-year-old dad say this when I phoned the other day:

"No, I wasn't busy. I was just downloading some music."