HappyHoosier

I remember you! These posts are ringing lots of bells.

Mel's still here? Definitely an oldie (but goodie).

Ah, yes! Don Kiddick! Kirky! Owdlad! Basil Rathbone! They and many others used to have me snorting with laughter (usually at work) and staying up way past my bedtime most nights. This thread brought back fond memories of all the funny, friendly, smart, opinionated Sheffield folks who posted on here. Nowt but good times! Whatever happened to Dosy?

What a nice gesture, Phanerothyme. This whole thread makes me feel all warm and fuzzy and welcome. I don't post much anymore but I never stopped reading the forum. I simply must keep up with Sheffield happenings and SF folks. Have a wonderful summer!

My mother, who has struggled with claustrophobia, was concerned about panicking during her first MRI. Relaxation techniques -- especially square breathing -- helped her control the anxiety. For her second MRI, Mom's doctor arranged for an "open MRI" which doesn't have an enclosed chamber. If an open MRI isn't available, consider asking the doctor for a mild sedative.

It depends... You have to make a judgement about how much time and attention you want to devote to any task, including writing. In a quick text to a friend, typos are OK. In an application for a job or university, typos are not OK. Of course, typos are merely the result of sloppy keyboarding and can be easily corrected with a quick proofreading. Poor grammar and spelling, on the other hand, are not so easily remedied. In my former life, as a newspaper writer, I thought every typo/grammatical mistake/spelling error was a mortal sin, especially if I committed it. Now, I don't really care if my participles are dangling.

Just popped in for a visit and noticed this announcement. Wallbuilder seemed like a truly nice guy ... I enjoyed his forum contributions and am sorry to hear about his death.

What's a tuck shop? A food store in a school? The only good thing at my school's cafeteria was a perfectly round, tennis ball-sized scoop of mashed potatoes covered in neon-yellow gravy. To this day, I have to add a few drops of yellow food coloring to my chicken gravy or it just doesn't taste right.

I have a bachelor's degree in English Literature so I am biased about its value. It's true that a study of literature offers no mathematical formulas you can memorize and use to build bridges later in life. It doesn't give you the practical skills to perform surgery, fix cars or cook a meal. But it expands your point of view to include things you couldn't otherwise experience in your meager 90 or so years on Earth. It transcends time and circumstance to allow you to feel what an archer at Agincourt or an orphan in Victorian London or a rich playboy in West Egg, N.J., feels. A study of Literature is a study of humans and a study of yourself. Is that useful? Every day!

I can totally sympathize with your daughter, El Cid. I remember rivulets of sweat trickling down my back beneath my WOOL school uniform jumper in September, May and June. I used to strip down to my Peter Pan-collared blouse and underpants during my lunch break at home. Of course, the nuns had absolutely no empathy for us kiddos. They were wearing heavy-weight habits from head to toe! Perhaps they were hoping to give us a preview of Hell.

So personality, intelligence, passion, respect, humor and love have no place in a marriage? I'm certainly relieved to know you are not married or romantically involved -- for your sake and the sake of womankind. But you're by no means free either: You are enslaved by your bitterness, anger, distrust and cynicism. Let it go, man, and enjoy your carefree bachelor life!

Spiders schmiders. Don't have a problem with them, unless they are poisonous biters. What I really hate are those centipede things that scuttle across the basement floor when I turn the lights on.

How do you know what "most women" want? Your limited experience as a hen-pecked husband hardly makes you an expert on women and their goals. The so-called oppression you've described seems more like a series of poor life choices on the part of some men. If you don't want to foot the lifetime bills for a vain, greedy, lazy, sex-withholding woman, then divorce her! Or, better yet, don't marry and/or impregnate her in the first place! "Oppression" solved.

Because of inconsiderate behavior like this, I'm reluctant to spend money on concert and theater tickets. Too many times I've forked out $80 or more, only to spend the evening sitting next to teens with cell phones, drunken idiots singing, couples groping each other and old friends conversing about their gallbladder surgeries. No more. My parents and older sister took me to all kinds of shows -- Shakespeare, classical concerts, ballet, films -- when I was young. They gave me a little background so I could understand what was happening and they explained how a person should behave at the theater. If I had misbehaved, I would not have been allowed to go again.

I'd eliminate the part of the brain that craves fat, salt and sugar and enhance the one that produces those "runner's high" exercise endorphins.

Mopping the kitchen and bathroom floors. I hate to see the wet, fuzzy bits that stick to the mop.

I had chicken pox as an adult and, in addition to coating my body with liberal amounts of calamine lotion, I soaked in colloidal oatmeal baths. Very soothing. Aveeno is the brand I used but I don't know if you have that in England.

My dreams are mostly my mind sorting and filing whatever it's encountered during the day. But some dreams are obviously symbolic and I try to make sense of them. One type I have regularly is what I call a "packing dream." The exact circumstances vary, but I'm always preparing for/escaping from some sort of disaster (tornado, flood, sinking boat, burning house) and trying to pack what I need in a very small box, suitcase or backpack. It's very stressful, trying to decide if I should grab the corkscrew or the fly-swatter before I board the lifeboat.

Well, you've thought of everything, haven't you!

Perhaps he meant one's circumstances at the time of death rather than the cause of it.

So a strong swimmer might have a chance, then?

Wasn't that Dante's fifth level of Hell? Anyway, your idea paints a wonderful mind picture... but what's the actual cause of death?

Worst way to die? William Wallace comes to mind. The poll options lack imagination. There are many more interesting -- and painful -- ways to die. I'd share them, but then I'd have to kill you.

Honestly, I'd go first to the one who looked in most dire need of saving -- that is, in danger of sinking faster (because of age, disability, injury, panic, whirlpools, crocodiles, etc).

Indeed, as long as people treat their fellow creatures and the earth with kindness and respect, I don't care what motivates them.