Sophia, did you try the "test" and "reset" buttons that DX mentioned, yesterday. That happened to us once at old house. And whatever triggered it didn't trip the button on the outlet, or the switch on the Circuit Breaker board.
In other words, it looked fine. I had to do the test and reset thingie and then go down cellar and flip the circuit breaker switch, even though whatever happened didn't make the breaker flip over like it had tripped (gah this would be better if I had the required vocabulary).
Trying again. It tripped internally, and so I had to switch it off and on again at the circuit board, and then do the test and reset thingie at the outlet.
Sorry if that makes no sense.
we straddled the generation gap -- they broke into "Sodomy" from Hair, I started singing "La Vie Boheme" from Rent ("Sodomy, it's between god and me!")
Okay, see -- my mother just found out (YESTERDAY) that the Beatles may have done drugs (she wonders why it's not made a big deal of), and although she has heard of Rick James (unlike my father), she didn't know he was black.
Oy. So luckily no singing.
ita, does your mom know who Englebert Humperdink was?
does your mom know who Englebert Humperdink was?
::weeps in shame::
Yes.
They have no funk. My mother is now trying to sing Petula Clark. She's never heard Brickhouse. George Clinton means nothing to her.
My parents are easy listening.
I am not yet suicidal enough to think about motoring in Rome, but we may see.
I consider driving in Lisbon also to be suicidal, although I suppose it's homicidal for natives, given the number of horrific car crashes and fatalities I saw while belted into the passenger seat.
Okay, see -- my mother just found out (YESTERDAY) that the Beatles may have done drugs (she wonders why it's not made a big deal of), and although she has heard of Rick James (unlike my father), she didn't know he was black.
falls over laughing
My parents have blind spots to other stuff.
They have no funk. My mother is now trying to sing Petula Clark. She's never heard Brickhouse. George Clinton means nothing to her.
And still, more with it than my parents, especially my father.
And still, more with it than my parents, especially my father.
My mother and father are funkless.
Thank
god.
Broadway marquees are dimming their lights for one minute tonight in homage to Jerry Orbach.
My father likes to listen to the Kingston Trio and Willie Nelson. He has no funk. My mother prefers Barbra Streisand and show tunes, but liked the laid-back mix CD of Poi Dog Pondering I burned for her, so she has some potential for smooth-jazz-like funk.
