Too darned hot
I remember back in college when I worked at GapKids/BabyGap during my summer breaks, there was this song that said "I'm too darned hot, I'm gonna pitch the woo with my baby tonight." Now, I've never been able to really get a good idea of what "pitch the woo" means. If you Google it, you find that "pitch the woo" is prominent as a song lyric (Ella Fitzgerald sang the words that haunted my youth, but Erasure's hit it as well) but no quick link to a firm defninition.
With a little digging, though, I've found the answer. Of course, you may think it's obvious, but having a blogue means I can waste endless minutes engaging in the obvious for no other reason than to give me something to write about. Anyway, thanks to dictionary.com, I've been enlightened. If you look up "woo", you get a whole bunch of verb definitions. Doesn't work for "pitch the woo," of course, because the woo that's pitched appears to be a noun. Dictionary.com saw my conundrum coming, though, and gave me a definition for "pitch woo". It means "Court, make love to, flatter". Further, we learn that "This idiom, which may be obsolescent, uses pitch in the sense of "'talk'". So, thank God, having this questioned answered, perhaps I'll be able to sleep again.
That is, of course, if it weren't too darned hot. What, you think I'm just writing about a song? Silly. Indeed, here in PDX it is currently really hot, and tomorrow is supposed to be scalding. Really. They've spurned numbers in the weather report, due to excessive heat stroke, and are now using adjectives to tell you why it's so uncomfortable out.
Hot weather is okay, to an extent. I know I shouldn't complain. Here in Oregon, we have what's known as a dry heat. This means that the heat that hits you laps up your sweat as it rolls down your brow. Being originally from Minnesota, and having summered in the midwest, I am aware that there they have something called "f#!*ing hot" heat, which is the kind that sucks your juices out of you and leaves them pooling within your various undergarments as you struggle to maintain that fresh scent by hanging pine tree deodorizers under your armpits.
But just because I should be grateful doesn't mean I am. This is the time of year where I spend far too little time sleeping and far to much time trying to figure out if I've resumed my bed-wetting habit (which I think I finally beat at 16) or if I'm just ruining my mattress with good-ol' sweat-gland secretions. I'm pretty sure most of the time it's the latter.
Last night was no different. I finally had the opportunity to go to sleep at midnight-ish, and commenced to feel the sweat pouring off of me while at the same time concentrating intently on not paying heed to my discomfort. I fell asleep for about 25 minutes, during which time I had a dream involving a pet rat that lived in a giant bin of Cheerios. Not sure what Freud would do with that.
Of course, I woke up from my non-sleep feeling excited, because today was another chance for Hit & Run, my office softball team, to prove their superiority. I wasn't so excited once I got to the field this afternoon and realized that the other team had obviously heard the weatherman's description of the heat ("wretched") and opted to drink beer without having to pretend to run bases. We won by forfeit. Though Gray still found an excuse to say "duck's in the pond," and I still haven't seen any there (dictionary.com offers no help here).
Anyway, I'm about to see if having 15 fans pointing towards my bed at the same time will make sleeping possible. Of course, with the power bill I run up, I will no doubt go into default on my student loans, but anything for comfort, right?
Here's a couple of things to keep you occupied:
Stupid game (reminds me of the stupid game at the Catwoman movie website)
Rock Paper Scissors for dummies (mark my words; Ben Stiller will find a way to make this movie...)
Am I the only one that surprised that Whitney Houston still has a full set of teeth?
If you're 20-ish to 30-ish and bored on Saturday, my church's college class is having a dodgball tournament from 10-2. I'm the ref. Swing by and play (rules can be found at here) .
A couple good bits from The Smoking Gun:
Martha's letter to the judge; an American classic
The only thing better than having this plate is
With a little digging, though, I've found the answer. Of course, you may think it's obvious, but having a blogue means I can waste endless minutes engaging in the obvious for no other reason than to give me something to write about. Anyway, thanks to dictionary.com, I've been enlightened. If you look up "woo", you get a whole bunch of verb definitions. Doesn't work for "pitch the woo," of course, because the woo that's pitched appears to be a noun. Dictionary.com saw my conundrum coming, though, and gave me a definition for "pitch woo". It means "Court, make love to, flatter". Further, we learn that "This idiom, which may be obsolescent, uses pitch in the sense of "'talk'". So, thank God, having this questioned answered, perhaps I'll be able to sleep again.
That is, of course, if it weren't too darned hot. What, you think I'm just writing about a song? Silly. Indeed, here in PDX it is currently really hot, and tomorrow is supposed to be scalding. Really. They've spurned numbers in the weather report, due to excessive heat stroke, and are now using adjectives to tell you why it's so uncomfortable out.
Hot weather is okay, to an extent. I know I shouldn't complain. Here in Oregon, we have what's known as a dry heat. This means that the heat that hits you laps up your sweat as it rolls down your brow. Being originally from Minnesota, and having summered in the midwest, I am aware that there they have something called "f#!*ing hot" heat, which is the kind that sucks your juices out of you and leaves them pooling within your various undergarments as you struggle to maintain that fresh scent by hanging pine tree deodorizers under your armpits.
But just because I should be grateful doesn't mean I am. This is the time of year where I spend far too little time sleeping and far to much time trying to figure out if I've resumed my bed-wetting habit (which I think I finally beat at 16) or if I'm just ruining my mattress with good-ol' sweat-gland secretions. I'm pretty sure most of the time it's the latter.
Last night was no different. I finally had the opportunity to go to sleep at midnight-ish, and commenced to feel the sweat pouring off of me while at the same time concentrating intently on not paying heed to my discomfort. I fell asleep for about 25 minutes, during which time I had a dream involving a pet rat that lived in a giant bin of Cheerios. Not sure what Freud would do with that.
Of course, I woke up from my non-sleep feeling excited, because today was another chance for Hit & Run, my office softball team, to prove their superiority. I wasn't so excited once I got to the field this afternoon and realized that the other team had obviously heard the weatherman's description of the heat ("wretched") and opted to drink beer without having to pretend to run bases. We won by forfeit. Though Gray still found an excuse to say "duck's in the pond," and I still haven't seen any there (dictionary.com offers no help here).
Anyway, I'm about to see if having 15 fans pointing towards my bed at the same time will make sleeping possible. Of course, with the power bill I run up, I will no doubt go into default on my student loans, but anything for comfort, right?
Here's a couple of things to keep you occupied:
Stupid game (reminds me of the stupid game at the Catwoman movie website)
Rock Paper Scissors for dummies (mark my words; Ben Stiller will find a way to make this movie...)
Am I the only one that surprised that Whitney Houston still has a full set of teeth?
If you're 20-ish to 30-ish and bored on Saturday, my church's college class is having a dodgball tournament from 10-2. I'm the ref. Swing by and play (rules can be found at here) .
A couple good bits from The Smoking Gun:
Martha's letter to the judge; an American classic
The only thing better than having this plate is
posted by Rusty at 11:53 PM
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