In 2008 I heard about a diamond class action lawsuit against DeBeers wherein people who had purchased diamonds during a certain number of years were eligible to receive a partial refund on the cost. I can’t remember the reason why the lawsuit was started (I think it had something to do with price-fixing), but since the diamond in my engagement ring qualified, I submitted a claim.
It subsequently went to court, then into the appeal process, and for more than a couple years nothing happened. Sometime in 2010 or so it went into a lengthy settlement process wherein they had to figure out just how much DeBeers would pay each plaintiff in the case. After a couple years of no updated information, I completely forgot about it. I kind of assumed that if we’d get anything, it would be something like $12.78 or some ridiculous amount like that.
But not so, for today we received a check in the mail for about $150! Not bad!
Who should play The Doctor? That is the question that has nerds across the world all in a tizzy. Article after article lists people’s guesses as to who will get the nod. What’s funny is that most of the articles list only super-famous people who I think would almost be too distracting. The great thing about Doctor Who is that the man playing the role has no baggage from previous jobs.
Rupert Grint as The Doctor? No way. The role should NOT go to a Weasley. And I say that as someone who loved Grint as Ron Weasley. But seriously, would YOU be able to get over the fact that The Doctor was being played by a Weasley?
Other names thrown around include Idris Elba, James Nesbitt, Helen Mirren, Chiwetel Ejiofor, and Russell Tovey (which, for me, is another NO NO NO because he’s ALONZO, for heaven’s sake!).
No, I think The Doctor should be relatively unknown, or someone that, when you first hear his name you say, “Who is HE?” and the response you get is, “He’s the guy – the one in that thing. You know, the guy in the thing.” After all, who really knew who Matt Smith was before he was cast, other than his mother and a few co-workers he had back in the day?
There comes a time in every child’s life where he or she inevitably says something objectionable within his or her mother’s earshot, and it requires the use of soap to wash out the offense from said child’s mouth.
When I was a child, my mother washed my mouth out with soap exactly one time. For the longest time I thought I remembered the word I used, but the word I thought it was I actually remember saying when we lived in Washington state during dinnertime, and my mouth definitely got washed out when we lived in California, so I honestly cannot remember the offending word, but upon saying it my mother proceeded to march me to the bathroom and wash my mouth out with soap. It was in the early 1980s when the hand pump soaps were just released, and so rather than making me suck on a bar of Ivory, I got a squirt of Softsoap or Dial. Disgusting.
In the Cootie house, we don’t curse. And if we do (which is rare), it’s mild and out of earshot of the kids. Listen, I’m human. It happens. But I’ve tried to raise the kids to be conscious of language, to the point where when I’m watching TV, if CootieBoy hears an offending word, he’ll ask, "Mama, why are you watching that show? They are cussing!"
Well, a few weeks ago, my precocious son and I were playing a board game together, when a particularly objectionable phrase was yelled out with great jubilation after a good move in the game. Continue reading Dude, Where’s My Soap? »
I’m super excited. Can you tell? No? I wish I had some sort of picture that could show you how freaking.excited.I.am! Kind of like this girl here:
With ticket prices being so expensive nowadays (I remember seeing Sting in the 1980s and complaining about paying $20 for some really good seats), it’s not often I’ll hear a band on the radio and think, “I really want to see them play live sometime!” Continue reading Making a Concerted Effort »
See, this whole blogging-by-email thing is totally working out. Three posts in nearly as many days!
Last night Denis headed out for happy hour after work, and given my loathe of cooking (unless it’s breakfast food), I opted to take the kids out to dinner and then enjoy a quiet evening at home. The kids chose Cracker Barrel, which wouldn’t have necessarily been MY choice, but it’s what they wanted. We sat down, ordered, and CootieBoy began to complain about his throat hurting. The food came and after taking one single bite, he burst into tears.