Trekkychick

This is an actual photograph of the tree that fell on Troi

Dear Loyal Readers,

I am writing now to quiet fears of my disappearance. There have been whispers of my bloglessness around these parts, causing a generalized unrest amongst Portlanders. Nobody seems to know what’s going on in this city, because I haven’t blogged about it. In fact, one might argue, if I haven’t blogged about it, did it actually happen? And much like the popular philosophical riddle, “If a tree falls on Troi in the woods, and nobody sees her get pinned under it, did the tree actually fall, and what was Troi doing in the woods in this rainy weather?” the answer, of course, is that it doesn’t really matter, as long as Troi was wearing rain boots and can wriggle out from under tight spaces.

During my absence, I have received many an empassioned inquiry regarding my whereabouts. Here are just a few comments made by my dearest fans:

“The internet has been so peaceful without your constant, unsolicited perspective.”

“Are you dating somebody? Come on, don’t try to hide it. The only time you stop blogging is when you’re dating somebody.”

“Honey, where have you been? Will you call me?”

Nothing less than absolute candor is required in responding to your questions, and therefore allow me without further delay to tell you that I was under a tree in the woods for the past several months and, owing to the fact that I had no bars in the forest (not even the Laurelwood), I lacked the reception to notify you, my loyal readers, of my whereabouts.*

*For those coworkers who sense deceit in this explanation —- having seen me at work every day —- I ask that you be discreet in your observations of prevarication as I have a reputation of honesty to maintain amongst my community of readers.

I assure you that in the future I will not allow my personal life to eclipse my duties as a blogger and will be providing you with material of the high caliber you’ve come to expect from …. other bloggers.

–Troi out

3/01/11
Assotroiated Press

Have you recently found yourself sitting instead of standing? Walking instead of running? Yawning instead of brawning? If so, you may be suffering from a recently identified ailment known as “gym block,” which is characterized by a total inability to get one’s butt to the gym. According to a recent report by CNNNN, the incidence of gym block has risen significantly in recent months and is spreading like mayonnaise on a turkey sandwich. While researchers are scrambling like eggs to develop a vaccine to protect against this dangerous disease, Dr. Troi McTroiferson of Troi Emmanuel Hospital in Detroit warns the general public to watch vigilantly for the signs of gym block and rush like gold to the nearest medical facility if you begin to develop any of the following symptoms:

• Thinking about going to the gym while eating Hostess cupcakes
• Keeping your gym membership as a ruse to trick yourself into thinking you’re actually going to go to the gym
• Walking past your gym to the store to buy another package of Hostess cupcakes
• Conjuring elaborate excuses to avoid the gym, such as losing your gym clothes, misplacing your water bottle, smashing the lock to your gym locker and eating your gym bag

Dr. McTroiferson implores readers to stay out of harm’s way by going to the gym.

“People who have come down with a bad case of gym block will be anywhere BUT at the gym, so it’s basically the safest place to be,” she explains from her hideout at 24-Hour Fitness, where she’s been living since the outbreak was first reported by CNNNN.

In the meantime, the CFDC (Centers for Fake Disease Control) advises people to take general precautions, such as washing their hands before and after reading a magazine. Eating foods high in vitamin C, such as Hostess Cupcakes, can ward off gym block bacteria. And taking a child’s chewable multivitamin (any child will do) can’t hurt, and tastes great!

To receive updates on gym block, please go to www.trekkychick.com, which CNNNN reports is “your source—-and not mine—-for unreliable news.”

Dear Readers,

As an adoptive parent to a betta*, I find that being a good parent is in the little things, like maintaining the water level in my pet fish’s bowl to ensure he has enough oxygen to breathe. So when my dad came over the other night to fix my car brakes (thanks dad) and partake of the lovely meal I’d prepared for him (thanks Pizza Hut) and said “It appears you have not maintained the water level in your pet fish’s bowl, therefore, your fish hasn’t enough oxygen to breathe,” I reluctantly set down my slice of stuffed crust pizza (you know, the one I’d made from scratch) and brought Lieutenant Commander Betta’s bowl over to my kitchen sink for a quick cleaning and water refill.

*For those illiterate Readers (is that an oxy moron?) confusing betta with its homophonic relative beta, let me assure you that I in fact have a pet fish and not a pet isomeric compound. Isomeric compounds are so expensive to keep as pets these days.

Well as I poured the excess dirty water from LCB’s bowl prior to dumping him in the container of dechlorinated water that serves as his temporary residence as I clean and disinfect his bowl, LCB apparently misread the situation as an opportunity for freedom rather than certain death, and made a mad dash in the direction of the edge of the bowl. And before I could say, “No, Lieutenant Commander Betta, don’t go down there because that’s the garbage disposal,” LCB swam right out of the bowl and plummeted down the garbage disposal.

My father, champion of all living creatures great and small, heard my hysterically unhelpful cries of “No, Lieutenant Commander Betta, come back! The garbage disposal is a terribly unwise place to reside if you want to live!” and, tossing his pizza aside, hurried over to heroically fling his arm down the garbage disposal, grasping around desperately for his fallen comrade. Several times throughout the next 90 seconds he was certain he had found my fish only to bring up the remains of a meal I’d not quite finished the week before (“Troi, you realize the purpose of a garbage disposal is to use it to dispose of this food?” “Thanks, dad, I believe you’ve identified the source of the mysterious odor pervading my kitchen and dining area!”).

As my dad’s garbage disposal scavenger hunt lingered on, I had already moved through the five stages of grief and was pondering the greater post-mortem issues in life, such as where I should buy my next betta fish and what I should name him or her. Yet my dad, never one to give up on a lost fish, continued his heroic attempts and finally produced from the disposal my dear undeparted Lieutenant Commander Betta!

I was not optimistic at the likelihood Lieutenant Commander Betta would survive after his traumatic abduction by the garbage disposal, but remarkably he bounced back well from his extended stay in the disposal and, five days later, he is gliding gaily around his bowl as if nothing ever happened.

And my father the hero has recommended that from now on I use the other side of the kitchen sink and implement use of the handy stopper (that’s what that disc-shaped doodad sitting on my counter is for!) to plug the drain to prevent future mishaps.

Thanks, dad!

–Troi out

Have you ever attempted to teach a lesson on Martin Luther King Jr. to a group of 2nd grade students with communication disorders whose first language is Spanish? A simplified yet factual exploration into the man behind the holiday managed to slip into the throes of revisionist history as yesterday’s lesson inadvertently wandered off-topic despite Ms. Troi’s heroic efforts to cling to her intended lesson.

Ms. Troi: Does anybody know why Martin Luther King is so important to us?

Kids: Wasn’t he the president?

Ms. Troi: No, he wasn’t the president. Martin Luther King was actually –

Kids: What about Abraham Lincoln? Wasn’t he a president?

Ms. Troi: Yes. But back to –

Kids: But Abraham Lincoln was ass-inated!

Ms. Troi: Do you mean “assassinated?”

Kids: (giggling) Ms. Troi just said a bad word!

Ms. Troi: So Martin Luther King was –

Kids: Was George Washington a president?

Ms. Troi: Yes, he was the first president.

Kids: Oh man, so he must be like so OLD!

Ms. Troi: No, um, he’s dead. But remember, we’re actually learning about Martin Luther King, Jr. He was important because –

Kids: Wasn’t he a president?

Ms. Troi: (Giving up.) Yes. Yes, he was the president. (Holds up a picture of Martin Luther King, Jr. from a history book.)

Kids: Oh, yeah, I know him! He was on TV the other day talking about health care!

Ms. Troi: Here, kids, do this worksheet. Don’t mind me, I’m just going to go throw myself in front of a school bus.

–Troi out

The following is an excerpt from my brain, on 1/08/11 9:12am – 9:19am, PST.

The light has gone out in my bedroom closet. I’ll have to choose my outfits in the dark from now on. Either that or I’ll have to change the lightbu— HA HA, like I would actually attempt to change a lightbulb after the lightbulb fiasco of ’04, when I dropped the fixture and it shattered into pieces on my floor, and I was stepping on glass for weeks but it’s fine, really, because I was overdue for a tetanus shot back then anyway and it totally motivated me to make that appointment. Anyway, people got along just fine for centuries before Humphry Davy invented the lightbulb and Thomas Edison capitalized on it. I can color-coordinate in the darkness. Is this shirt navy blue or purple? Or dark brown maybe? OW is that a piece of glass I just stepped on??

Shoot, where’d I put my flashlight? Wasn’t it someplace obscure….?

–Troi out