Post-Holiday 2007

Christmas was almost disappointing this year, and by that I mean anticlimactic. Some points of interest of course, but with all the build-up, I was expecting much more disaster and chaos.

As my regulars know, my holiday schedule was all screwed up. In Husband's family, Christmas is calm, Christmas is happy, Christmas is anchored in one place. My family operates a little differently. I don't know how it worked prior to my birth (I imagine the same way), but all my life, we have done Christmas Eve with Dad's family - who lived primarily in the immediate vicinity, and Christmas Day with Mom's - which often involved a 2-hour trip to Mom's parents' house. So for most of my life, Christmas hasn't been anchored, but at least there was a standard pattern to give it some normalcy.

When Husband and I married, we had to shift things a touch, and after much debating as to how it would all work, we agreed that Christmas Day would remain anchored at his family's house. Christmas Eve was to remain Dad's property, and Dec 26 and 27th would be dedicated to Mom.

I won't revisit the confusion that led to that plan working for exactly one holiday season, but I will give you some background on my Dad's family so that you get a better sense of who we're dealing with as I examine this year's drama.

INTRODUCING THE KEY PLAYERS:

Virginia Cast

• Grandma and Grandad, aka The Grands: In their 80s and married 60+ years, they are the matriarch and patriarch of this ragtag bunch. You may remember my last encounter with them. They live across the county from me.
• Dad: The Grands' oldest child. Perhaps best characterized as a politician who missed his calling (interpret as you will). In 2003, he rushed into a second marriage and bought a house on the VA/WV border. In October of this year, the marriage was dissolved, but he kept the house.

Seattle Cast

• UncleR: The Grands' middle child, and classically so. Loud and boisterous, but seems to take his personality cues largely from other people's expectations. Found religion upon meeting and marrying AuntG 20 years ago. A realtor (for now).
• AuntG: Wife of UncleR. Uber-traditional. In my memory, has always been a stay-at-home-mom, occasionally interspersed with work-from-home things (e.g., MaryKay, Pampered Chef). Famous in the family for jumpers and turtlenecks. Very devout.
• CousinM: Daughter of UncleR and AuntG; almost 18 years old. Utterly sweet girl, smart and articulate, but I think "home schooled" says everything it needs to.

South Carolina Cast

• AuntZ: The Grands' youngest child. Essentially a hippie - I believe she did in fact live in a yurt for a time. Now an art history professor at a small college in South Carolina.
• UncleF: Husband of AuntZ. A computer programmer or graphic artist or... something. An interesting guy, but very quiet until he warms up to you. And still pretty quiet after that.
• CousinZ: Daughter of AuntZ and UncleF; 13 years old. Your standard 13-year-old only-daughter of late-in-life parents, but the spoilage seems to be mellowing.

Colorado Cast

• Sister: My younger sister. Duh.
• Niece: My niece, stupid! Gorgeous, charming, and too smart for her age. Will be 4 next month.

Okay, so the upshot is, in light of the divorce, the Seattle and South Carolina crews took it upon themselves to arrange for Christmas in Virginia as (from what I understand) a gesture of emotional support. Sister also felt similar pressure to come out to Virginia for Christmas, and so arranged for her and Niece to do so. Now, I don't know if Dad played the despondency up with them, or played it down with me, but to me and Husband he seemed downright chipper about the divorce. Regardless, since the Seattles were flying in, Sister/Niece were flying in, the SoCars were driving up, and the Grands were going to be there, Husband and I also felt obligated to attend. I like things cut and dried, so we told Dad in November that we would be there. That was the last time we felt good about the decision.

I suppose the downturn really started about December 12 when I received a holiday card and 2007 summary letter - complete with clip art - from the Seattles. Apparently CousinM has been diagnosed with some dietary allergies, though the specific food items were not listed. Husband has food allergies that will send him into hives or anaphylactic shock depending on the item, so we know a thing or two about allergies and cooking to circumvent them. I sent UncleR an email the next day (because his was the only address I had for them), asking what CousinM's allergies were, offering to try to find some recipes for her, and supplying a website selling diet-conscious food items and common ingredient replacements. UncleR wrote back on December 13, saying that he had forwarded my email to AuntG and CousinM and that I'd probably be hearing from them shortly.

On December 15, I received an email from Dad, asking me a favor. I had offered, when I accepted his invitation, to contribute something for the 26th. He wanted me to try to find a recipe that would accomodate all of CousinM's allergies - specifically a dessert, since he knows I like to bake, and he listed the verboten foods (note that this is how I learned what they were):

• Dairy
• Eggs
• Wheat
• Rice
• Salmon

Never one to shrink from a challenge, I threw myself into hunting down this elusive recipe (once I stopped my hysterical laughter). I finally found a recipe for what are essentially pecan sandies (I was warned that, without clarification from the MotherShip, "dairy" could encompass milk chocolate) - if I replaced the flour with a non-wheat/non-rice flour, and the butter with an all-vegetable margarine. Bonus - there's a Whole Foods near my office. Hooray! Rosie saved Christmas!

On December 20, I receive the much-awaited letter from AuntG. I imagined it would run something to the effect of, "Oh thank you for your concern. Her allergies are X, Y, and Z. Any recipes you could find would be great, since it can be a challenge to cook with these limitations, and we really appreciate the offer."

Instead, I received the following email - and I'll quote the entire thing here just for your own amusement. I promise, no deletions, formatting, or word replacement except for names. This is the real deal:

Rosie, in assessing our luggage situation for our trip down there, it would be ever so very helpful not to have to bring CousinM's foods with us. Instead, would you be willing to pick up a few things next time you're at the store??? Save the receipt and we will reimburse you immediately. If so, here's what she can eat:

- Raisin type bread made with SPELT OR KAMUT flour (2 loaves).
- Unflavored Soy Milk (vanilla if you can't find that)
- Corn or oat cereal that doesn't have wheat in the ingredient list
- Nucoa stick margarine
- Beef taquitos made with corn tortillas - NO CHEESE
- One package of small corn tortillas

Don't make more than one trip to find any of this. We can always shop after we get there. She doesn't have strong allergic reactions to any of the forbidden foods, but she feels much better without them. I hope this isn't asking too much of a busy young woman. Thanks for offering to help! I am exhilerated at the prospect of seeing you all. Maybe you, (Husband) and I can go off in a corner somewhere and discuss politics.

I have thus far refrained from cursing in my blog on the thought that Mom reads it, since I retain the mental hangup of my childhood about cursing in front of her. But the truth is that she only reads it when I send her the link, not to mention she's a big girl and has heard these words before. So I feel secure and justified in asking, ARE YOU SHITTING ME!? I offered to find you recipes. I did not offer to be your gofer. I understand the transportation issue, but seeing as you'll be arriving a whole day before I do, and staying in Dad's house, maybe you want to ask your host if he can pick up a few things for you. Or, ship them ahead of time. Or, order them off that website I sent you. Three perfectly reasonable options other than asking someone who lives an hour away from the place you'll be staying and won't see you until almost 24 hours after your arrival to go grocery shopping for you.

Don't make more than one trip to find any of this. Oh, okay. Because I was going to haul halfway across the state to find kamut flour raisin bread - 2 loaves - but since you told me I don't have to go to all THAT trouble...

She doesn't have strong allergic reactions...but she feels much better without them... That had better be some kind of turnaround for you to ask anyone to go out of their way to make foods without these things. I re-read the letter from the Christmas card and it seems that her "mental clarity" and "emotional brightness" are improved by the elimination of these foods. I must have assumed that meant chronic migraines or something. Maybe I'm insensitive, but to me, if an allergy doesn't have a physical manifestation (asphyxiation, sneezing, swelling, asthma, migraines, hives, diarrhea, vertigo, etc.) then it doesn't count as enough of an allergy to ask anyone to make exception for you - especially to this degree. Pending more information, maybe your 18-year-old home-schooled daughter in gray rainy Seattle was, I don't know, experiencing depression. In my experience, depression wreaks havoc on focus and cheeriness and is distinctly common in girls from adolescence to early adulthood, and especially in those with limited social interaction and who live in a dreary environment. Just a thought.

Maybe you, (Husband) and I can go off in a corner somewhere and discuss politics. I can only guess at what this is supposed to mean and here it is. The family loves nothing more than a nice political "discussion" at any and every gathering, especially one in which they're all arguing in favor of the same point, but if I'm doing it at a higher decibel level than you are, I win. Husband won't participate in the volume-equals-value matches: if he disagrees or sees false information thrown out, he will present his argument calmly and rationally using facts and evidence. Because the family is, by and large, flag-wavingly bumper-sticker-applyingly liberal, even though Husband runs independent, any dissension in the ranks equates to The Enemy. UncleR and AuntG are actual conservatives, but distance minimizes interaction. And (remember that this is my best guess) at dinner with Dad recently, I was PMSy and drank a few glasses of wine on very little food, so when Dad mentioned how great it was that Gore won the Nobel Peace Prize, I started ranting about how that was crap. The wine and hormones are important in the scenario because under ordinary circumstances, I wouldn't have reacted around Dad. I avoid conflict of any sort and vehemently hate these "discussions." So now I guess Dad thinks that I'm a raging conservative and told this to UncleR and AuntG and now they're all excited that they have a compatriot in me and Husband, when really, they don't.

I guess I shouldn't have been so surprised by it. These are also the people who, when I was in college, decided that my immortal soul was in immediate peril and that it was up to them to save me. They sent me a 6-sheet letter, chockablock full of Bible quotes and evangelical rhetoric, written sometimes on both sides of the page. To sweeten the deal, they included a $5 bill. So I got a free lunch and a good laugh (I told you religion and I don't mix), and when I brought the letter home on break, my cat promptly threw up on it. They haven't tried to convert me since.

Anyway, mustering up all the manners that Mom desperately tried to drill into me, I managed a civil response informing them of my ETA, but adding that I would keep my eye out. Nice and noncommittal.

That was the last I heard from anyone on the matter for a few days, while my anxiety and dread of this holiday rose. I picked up some spelt flour and vegan margarine at Whole Foods to make the promised cookies. I worked on Christmas Eve. Christmas Day with InLaws was blissfully uneventful. Lots of good food, lots of great gifts. I took December 26 off in order to make the hypo-allergenic cookies and just to have a day to myself to relax before we went over.

About noon, I received a call from AuntG. She was going grocery shopping at Giant (*snort!* Good luck!) and wanted to know what had I managed to pick up for CousinM, so that they wouldn't have to. Stunned at the... I don't know, assumption? exploitation? imposition?... I mumbled out about the flour and margarine and that they could have everything I didn't use. I set the phone back on the charger, still amazed at all this.

Less than 15 minutes later, I received another call, this time from Dad. Did I happen to have... some extra blankets? Yeah... I have a couple of throw blankets on the couch... And, do I happen to have any folding chairs? Yeah... I have A folding chair... And um, do I have an extra card table? No, sorry, no card table...why? Well..., could I bring those with me when I drive up tonight?

Seriously? You invite 12 people to your house, 10 of them are STAYING IN your house, and you don't plan in advance for bed linens and dinner seating? When did this realization hit him, I wonder. I thought it was wierd of him to have 13 people sitting at a 6-seater dining table (8 if you squish), but I imagined he'd make arrangements for that before people arrived. Silly me. I corralled my paint-spattered folding chair and cat fuzz-covered blankets into the pile with the gifts we were bringing.

About 1 pm, Sister calls. She's just heard that the Seattles and SoCars got presents for her, and she can't show up without anything for them. Could I pleasepleaseplease stop by a chain bookstore and grab a couple of $10 gift cards for her for them? (Come on Sis, you didn't think you'd escape completely unscathed when you still owe me $20, did you?!) Understanding of the predicament (we hardly ever see the extended family, so we don't really do gifts back and forth, and it came as a surprise to Sister), I agree. However, I'm in the middle of hypo-allergenic cookie making and can't just leave to go do that. Husband calls as he's leaving work and, with my hands covered in pecan batter, I ask him if he could pleasepleaseplease stop by the Barnes and Noble on his way home? Vying for sainthood, he agrees, even though it's the day after Christmas and people will be packing the stores to make exchanges and take advantage of after-Christmas sales. Thank you honey!

A little after 4pm, we're on the road, armed with 11 gifts, three tins of cookies, two throw blankets, two gift cards, a folding chair, a serving platter, and a partridge in a pear tree.

Unfortunately, the lead-up was the most entertaining part of it all. This is what I mean by anticlimactic.

The only real points of interest during the evening include:

• Dog fighting. No, Michael Vick was not invited. Dad has a Boston Terrier ("Canine"; not his real name) that I have never been a fan of (I'm a cat person but I don't dislike dogs as a whole; I just don't like this one) and in his golden years has become increasingly unpredictable and snappish. AuntZ brought the SoCars' two dogs with her this year because their one dog, Blue, is very very old (I can't remember a time without Blue) and AuntZ was afraid to leave her even in someone else's care. Blue has bad arthritis and doesn't see well. At least twice while we were there, Canine perceived Blue as trying to encroach on his territory/toy/snack/what have you, and clamped down on her neck, growling and snarling until we pulled him off. Here's hoping Blue (and everyone else) survived the rest of the trip intact.
• Amazon Wishlists. They are made for a purpose: to let people know what someone might like if the giver cannot think of anything on their own but wants to give the lister a gift. The problem arises when a person shops the wishlist, but does not shop on Amazon... and does not inform anyone of this. Sister shopped my wishlist and shopped on Amazon (thank you, Seester!), but apparently not everyone did. Because now I have three copies of Emma, two of Sense and Sensibility, two of The Last Town on Earth, two of Persuasion, two of The Blank Slate, and two of Pride & Prejudice. And with one more Christmas to go this upcoming weekend, we'll see how many copies I can amass by the end of it all...
• The "discussion" that wasn't. Dad got the Seattles a book by Tom Brokaw - don't ask me which one - and makes some grand announcement of a personal opinion on the matter. I heard UncleR make a comment to the contrary, but something must have distracted Dad because he let it go.
• Dad and AuntZ trying to recapture their youth. So presents are opened and wrapping paper is mostly cleaned up and Husband and I are just sitting by the fire and trying to stay out of the way. Dad and AuntZ are in the kitchen working on dinner, and happen to be standing right next to the stove where several pots full of hot contents are situated. I watch as they repeatedly try to do some flying double-slap high-five that apparently they haven't mastered in the 40 years since they were the proper age to do such a thing. You can see where this is going can't you? Bingo! One clumsy arm-fling too many and down comes Dad's hand on the pot with the melted butter. Butter all over the place. Butter in AuntZ's hair. Butter on the floor. Boiling butter on Dad's hand, and he howls and stomps and races to the sink to rinse it under cold water. So, Youth 1, Dad 0. Fear not - he's fine, I checked.
• Dad and AuntZ squabbling over seating. Apparently AuntZ was trying to arrange it so that everyone could fit around the table. Pipe dream if you ask me; there's no way to comfortably seat 13 people at a maximum 8-seater table. We can manage up to 10 if we sacrifice the "comfortable" part of the equation. We can comfortably fit more if there's a card table. But remember that I didn't have and could not supply a card table and that Dad did not plan for a card table. I think Dad had placed a couple of chairs at a console table behind the couch to add some seating, and there was a TV tray set up... I don't know how he had it but AuntZ is trying to rearrange chairs and Dad is not having any, so he starts bellowing at her across the room about how she's messing everything up. She bellows back about how she's trying to fix it so that we can all eat together, and they squabble for another minute, stopping short of name calling, but only just. We ended up using Dad's original seating arrangement, and AuntZ and UncleF sat at TV tables in the living room. At least dinner was good, and fully cooked, which (and I know this is catty, but hey, truth is truth) is an improvement over when Dad's now-ex-wife was cooking.
• UncleR must have a better dishwasher, thicker wine glasses, or just doesn't imbibe particularly often. In attempt to do a good deed, he was washing the dishes and loading the dishwasher, and was putting the wineglasses in the dishwasher. He closed the upper rack and that's when we heard the crink of a thin glass breaking. So it's an official family dinner, and my universal truths remain intact: perhaps no furniture was broken, but we got our shattered glassware in there!

I'm Dreaming of a White Trash Christmas

I wasn't going to post about Jamie Lynn Spears because, really, what's there to say. But Friend and Rosie-Fan Kate specifically requested it, and far be it from me to deny my faithful and adoring audience. Miss Kate - would you give me a boost onto my soapbox please? Thank you. So here we go.

Really, I think the entire Spears clan conspires to give us a Hee Haw Christmas present every year. A late gift of a quickie marriage and quickie annulment to hometown buddy Jason Alexander just after the New Year in 2004. FedSpawn in 2005. Head-shaving in 2006. Now teen pregnancy in 2007.

Except for the fact that another Spears is experiencing an untimely pregnancy - and this one at 16 - the details are fuzzy. BabyDaddy is 18 not 19 - or was when they conceived. BabyDaddy is or is not actually Lil Romeo (sorry To-Be-Left-Anonymous Gossip Contributor - I just can't bring myself to believe this one; I think Lil Romeo's got more sense than to hitch his wagon to THIS team!) Jamie Lynn was or was not dating BabyDaddy since she was 13. Jamie Lynn did or did not get pregnant on purpose to keep BabyDaddy in the relationship. Jamie Lynn did or did not get pregnant on purpose to grab some of the spotlight from her cautionary tale sister. Jamie Lynn was or was not given a proper sex education. (I vote Not.)

To me, this is nothing short of absolutely infuriating for any number of reasons, among them:

• Jamie Lynn is 16, is three months along, and is happy about this.




• Mama Lynne seems happy about this - or at least readily acceptant.




• Jamie Lynn didn't have the cajones to actually say the words to Mama Lynne. Jamie Lynn sat her down and handed her a note, then walked out of the room. If it were my kid and she thought she was grown enough to be having sex but was too immature to look me in the eye and actually say those three little words, "Mom, I'm Pregnant," heads would roll. Heads would probably roll anyway, but with far more velocity, mayhem, and gore in the posited scenario. However, may I add a quote from Mama Lynne: "I didn't believe it because Jamie Lynn's always been so conscientious. She's never late for her curfew. I was in shock. I mean, this is my 16-year-old baby." Yes, because no one has sex before 11pm.




• Nickelodeon - which carries and produces kids' show Zoey 101, which I had no idea Jamie Lynn was in (oh, to return to the blissful ignorance of a week ago! When frankly, I also had no idea that Jamie Lynn even existed...) - is not only not going to cancel her show and not only not going to replace her as the title character, but is actually considering the mainstream equivalent of an after school special, discussing teen sex. Starring, of course, the lovely Jamie Lynn.




• Mama Lynne actually considers herself such a role model and inspiration to parents everywhere that she was actually in the process of writing a parenting guide. I'll admit to a bit of sadness, as the much-anticipated book has been placed on indefinite hiatus, because when I heard it was even in the works, all I could think was, STOCKING STUFFERS FOR 2008!

I read an article on MSN about how we shouldn't be all that upset that a teen is having a baby because it happens all the time. Specific wording: "...I suggest we all take a deep breath. She's not the first 16-year-old girl to find herself in such a state..." True. I went to junior high school with a pregnant girl. The article went on to imply that we should really be mad at Mama Lynne for raising over-indulged, out-of-control children. I can't entirely fault that logic, but neither can I blame her completely (as the lovely ladies at Go Fug Yourself point out, among the thoughts running through Mama Lynne's head might be this little number: "...what are we supposed to do, STAND OVER THE BED and STRAP THE CONDOM ON FOR THEM OURSELVES?!?!?! WE ARE ONLY HUMAN AND THERE IS ONLY SO MUCH WE CAN DO TO STOP SOMEONE ELSE FROM BEING A COMPLETE GODDAMN MORON...")

I think what pisses me off most is the way in which the news broke. It wasn't some paparazzo pawing through the Looziyana Spears' trash and happened upon a positive pregnancy test. It wasn't some mouthy friend leaking it to the press. Jamie Lynn and Mama Lynne announced it via OK! magazine. ANNOUNCED IT. Like it's an induction to Mensa. Like it's a good thing that this teenager is about to be a mommy. So what I'm getting at is that the above article missed the point entirely. This is not shock at a teen pregnancy. It's shock at the pregnancy of a teen whom a lot of other teens, tweens, and kids look up to and want to emulate.

Furthermore, this is not a cowed 16-year-old, expressing astonished surprise that the condom broke or the Pill didn't work or whatever, yet taking stoic responsibility for the results and showing resolute determination to provide this child as balanced and nurturing a life as they can manage. This is essentially, "Hey y'all! I'm gonna have a baybee! Eeee!" and, "Hey y'all! My little girl is all grown up! Can't vote, can't drink, can barely drive a car, but she's gonna have a baybee! Eeee!" Know what this tells all the little Zoey 101 fans out there? "Having a baby is FUN! Having a baby is EASY! Nothing bad happens and no one gets mad at you! You get all these parties! And cute little baby clothes! And everyone gives you things! Besides, everyone in Hollywood knows babies are the latest accessory! Then it's born and you get to dress it up! Maybe we can get matching haircuts like Kate and Suri Cruise! I need to hit Petit Tresor and go SHOPPING! YAY!"

Some sage quotes from the expectant (expectorant?) mother:

• "I love babies, and I have nephews that I love ... All my friends have little brothers or sisters." Yes, that shows that you're ready to raise a child.
• "I have a great mom and she has raised three kids, so if I take lessons from her, I think I'll be great." Oh goody! Another generation of daily tabloid fodder! At least I can rest assured in the knowledge that The Soup will have material for decades to come.
• "My mom will be helping me so much... I have to take responsibility and do a lot of it myself, but she's going to have to teach me so much..." Possibly the closest thing to actual insight that she is too young and has no effing idea what she's doing. And yet... it changes nothing...
• "I'm not showing, but some days I'm like, 'Wow, I feel like I'm showing today,' and Mom says, 'No, you're not. Be quiet.' It's great to have her there. She is really supportive of me..." There. Are. No. Words.
• "I think it's something that you just know how to do... As your body changes and all these things happen, I think it becomes natural to know what to do..." Yes, your sister offered this corn-nut of wisdom in 2003, "Cooking is kind of like motherhood. To be really good at it, you don't need instructions. You kind of just go on instinct and what feels right," and that has turned out so well for her. Lossofcustodysayswhat?

Don't misunderstand. I'm glad that society as a whole has lightened up on single parenthood. No one's fussing at Jessica Alba for her recent announcement. But then, Jessica Alba is a legal/mental/emotional adult. There's nothing wrong with a mature, self-supporting adult raising a child on their own. But no one should be happy that a teenager gets pregnant. Do you remember how stupid you were as a teenager? I do!! God I was dumb. Probably still am, but less so and in different ways. Can you imagine being any kind of a good example to anyone else at that age?

So shame on Lynne and Jamie Lynn for their excited announcement that a moron and her moron boyfriend are reproducing. Shame on Big Sis for sending this abomination of a baby gift. And shame on Nickelodeon for not underlining the should-be message that actions have consequences.

(Psst! Kate! Help me down please...)

The Best Artists You're Not Listening To

I have eclectic taste, to put it kindly. Flip through my CD collection and you'll find everything from Harry Connick Jr. to Paul Simon to Aerosmith to Tori Amos to Ian Tyson to Norah Jones to The Cure. But every now and again, I pop in a CD I haven't listened to in a while and it's a rediscovery. Damn this group was GOOD! Why don't we hear more of them (or hear from them anymore)? Why must my radio be filled with whiny emo/garage band crap, or imbecilic hip hop, or sleazy/skanky country? Why can't I flip on DC 101 and hear THESE groups and THESE songs?

Exhibit A: The Donnas.

Yes, they got radio play a few years ago with "Take It Off," (also made famous by a certain dodgeball playoff game) but it was only played on the erstwhile 99.1 WHFS (R.I.P.). I was just flipping through the stations when I caught it, but I stuck around long enough to find out who it was. I was so hooked by just that one listen that I actually bought the album (Spend the Night, 2002); I very very rarely buy an album unless I'm already familiar with the artist's work (minimum 3 songs). I was not disappointed. The lyrics are simplistic but clever, the music is the original definition of rock - lots of raging guitar and strong drums. I would pop the CD on when I'd had a rough day at work and needed some escapism. Spend the Night is largely, as many complainers have noted, about partying, hooking up, and getting drunk. But it's funny, and (like Blondie before them) it breaks from the all-too-familiar woman-rock (well, not just "rock" - it's across the board...) sound of pining away for bad men who will break or already broke their hearts; instead, "Dirty Denim" and "You Wanna Get Me High" are all about taking control and rejecting pretentious guys. Ah, refreshing. They followed it up with Gold Medal two years later ("Fall Behind Me" was featured in - of all things - a Ford or Chevy commercial) and showed great maturity in their writing, a much more grown-up album both in music and lyrics. On Monday, friends Matt & Michelle gave me their latest album, Bitchin', for Christmas. And oh, it is! The Donnas are singlehandedly trying to bring back arena rock (you remember... Kiss, Def Leppard, Alice Cooper... when the show mattered as much as the song... when bands didn't take themselves so effing seriously...), even down to the 80's metal-style disc art and black leather pants on the cover. I started laughing maniacally when the first track cued up, probably freaking out the other morning rush drivers, but the CD is seven kinds of awesome!

Exhibit B: Fiona Apple.

Apparently Ms. Apple pissed off a lot of people during a certain awards ceremony speech and she's barely been heard from publicly since. Which is too bad because the upshot of her speech was to not mold yourself to the model of celebrities and to actually be authentic and original and true to yourself. I know. I agree. Inflammatory. But I digress. Anyway, I picked up her debut album, Tidal, back in 1997, and I think I was probably too young and immature to really appreciate it, though I listened to it incessantly for months. But I found it again this year and, wow. The music is almost perfectly balanced in all respects, the lyrics are deep and intense. And despite the sound of the song that got her the most radio play back in '97 ("Sleep to Dream"), she's not a manhater, and in fact spends most of the album alternately beating herself up and trying to protect herself from her own instincts. Friends Ryan & MaryKate got me Extraordinary Machine for Christmas and, while it's very different from Tidal, it's still outstanding. More produced (was expecting that) and I think the music is too loud behind her (and a little too much jazz flute in places I don't think it needs to be), but the lyrics are still written with the same care and passion and introspection. And the title track has been happily running through my head ever since.

Exhibit C: Ben Folds (and/or Five).

Roommate Laura in college had Whatever and Ever Amen from Ben Folds Five, and I bless her and think of her every time I play it. In high school, we all heard "Brick" but only a handful knew what it was about (I was not one of them), and now that I do too, it's the only song I can't listen to on the entire album because I get teary. I've never had the misfortune to experience the subject of the song, but Ben writes with such intensity that you ache for the people it's about. He can write in any style you want (I direct you to the surprising "Steven's Last Night in Town" in 40's swing). He can express the irony in the everyday better than just about any other songwriter I've ever heard ("All is Fair"), fights for the eventual victory of the awkward geek in all of us ("One Angry Dwarf and 200 Solemn Faces"), describes internal turmoil ("Smoke" and "Missing the War" in particular), and sometimes just lays it all on the line ("Song for the Dumped"). His solo effort (Rockin' the Suburbs) was a little rough around the edges (a bit too repetitive in both theme and title for "Carrying Cathy" and "Losing Lisa," which might not have offended my sensibilities so much if they weren't back to back) but there are some very personal gems ("The Luckiest" is essentially a love letter to his wife, and you can almost hear him talking to his infant son in "Still Fighting It") and his crafted talent is still evident in every note and syllable.

I'm sure I'll have more groups in later posts, but these are the three I'm obsessed with right now. And also the reason I haven't listened to the radio in weeks.

Happy Hanukkah!

I don't do religion. Never have. Never will. I know this because I tried - really I did! - and nothing stuck. All my references to celebrating Christmas are strictly secular in nature, and it's mainly to give a name to a day on which I gather with my family (like it or not) and we give each other presents and eat too much.

However, through my flirtation with Judaism, not to mention that I have not been locked away in a hole in the ground during my 28 years here in existence, I know something about keeping kosher and other basic tenets of the Jewish religion. I also know that New York has one of the - if not the - highest concentration of Jews in the entire country.

So this may be the funniest thing I've heard all day. And just in case they pull the story in favor of more current fare, let me post it for you here...

New York store red faced over 'Hanukkah hams'
Dec 6 12:55 PM US/Eastern

A posh food store in New York's Greenwich Village has found itself red faced after offering hams for sale with the slogan "Delicious for Hanukkah," the current Jewish religious holiday.

The non-kosher labelling was spotted at the weekend by Manhattan novelist Nancy Kay Shapiro, 46, who decided instead of alerting management to take a picture of the unorthodox sign and post it on the Internet.

"I just thought it was funny," Shapiro, who described herself as an unobservant Jew, told the New York Post. "I wasn't offended in any way. I just thought, here's somebody who knows nothing about what Jews eat."

By the time Shapiro returned to the store on Tuesday, the first night of Hanukkah, the signs had vanished, the newspaper reported.

A manager at the Balducci's gourmet grocery store told the newspaper that the sign was a mistake and blamed it on a stock clerk.

Pork and shellfish are among the foods considered unclean under Jewish law.

The 7-Eleven of Craft Stores

Black Friday was last week and, like millions of other retail-brainwashed zombies, I too braved the elements to do some holiday shopping, while giving a wide berth to all Walmarts, electronics stores, and anything associated with the word "mall."

I first hit up Target and bought some DVDs on the cheap. Mostly for me. Okay, all for me. (I wanted them and they were priced to move. I was only being accomodating.)

I also dropped by World Market and found a lovely gift that will be a true nightmare to wrap, but I've worked in worse circumstances, so I'll figure it out.

I also took a turn through Michael's craft store, visions of holiday crafts dancing in my head. I arrived with a real live list of things to pick up - I wanted an honest-to-goodness wreath for our front door (and all the trimmings), I wanted cross stitch patterns, I wanted picture frames, I wanted ornament kits. I left less than five minutes later, having perused nearly the entire store and finding myself enormously disappointed.

When I was a little girl, I could spend hours in craft stores. Frank's, Minnesota Fabrics, Ben Franklin (and then Total Crafts), MJ Designs... they were happy places for me, full of ideas and inspiration and oh-look-how-fun. Everything on the shelves were for YOU to do. They'd sell you the wreath base and the picks and the ribbon, but YOU arranged it any way you wanted. They'd sell you the pattern and the fabrics and the materials, but YOU made the stitches. They'd sell you the canvas and easel and the paints/charcoal/pencils/pastels, but YOU made the picture.

When I was in Michael's (tagline as of 11/27: "Imaginate") on Friday, I can tell you exactly what consisted of DIY projects: Scrapbooking, Jewelry Making, Colored Foam. And for all of those things, you're not really making anything. You're sticking someone else's stickers onto someone else's patterned paper. You're stringing someone else's beads onto fishing line. Your toddler is gluing foam and googly eyes into some abstract form, though I suppose that's really as close to DIY creativity as that store sells anymore. You can buy pre-made ornaments, pre-made wreaths, pre-made posters, pre-made birdhouses - oh but you can slap some paint on them and call them your own (no toolwork needed!) It's all manufactured creativity.

The old-school DIY stuff was relegated to the far back corner of the store, as far away from the entrance as they could get it: all the needlework (knitting, crocheting, cross-stitching, crewel, quilting), all the fine art (paint, canvas, pencils, paper), even the cheap-o sweatshirts we used to paint on in Girl Scouts. All these things cover less than 10% of the store. You wouldn't know they were there unless you were looking for them. There wasn't a single DIY Christmas ornament, stocking, or decoration. I did find the wreath I'd seen advertised, but it looked even faker than the circa-1980 artificial Christmas tree I grew up with.

Michael's calls itself "The Arts and Crafts Store." I have to differ (I will not beg). It's the 7-Eleven of Arts and Crafts stores. Convenience and profit has taken precedence over substance.

I know I sound like a dinosaur, and I suppose this is what it felt like when tailors disappeared in favor of off-the-rack pret-a-porter shopping. But I have at least one thing to say to 95% of the people that have made jewelry making trendy enough to eat its own 15% or more of "The Arts and Crafts Store":

(**Rosie's Note: I really have no problem with scrapbooking, jewelry making, or even letting your kids play with foam. Scrapbooking secretly looks like fun. My friend's mom handmade a lovely beaded lanyard for my office keycard, though I stand by my statement that 95% of the jewelry making out there looks like crap. And colorful spongy foam is harmless fun for kids. But you have to understand the spirit and intent with which this post was made. Convenience and profit really has taken precedence over substance and spirit in most aspects of our lives; I just hate to see it overtake more and more of my creative outlets.)

Doppelganger

Does anyone else think Jude Law looks exactly like a jack-o-lantern in this picture?

Seriously, I think this is the exact expression I carved on a pumpkin this year.

Congratulations, Brent & Bernadette!

You didn't think I'd go down to the Outer Banks in November just for kicks, did you?

No, no, Husband and I were there to celebrate the marriage of Brent, a friend of mine of oh... 11 or 12 years now, to Bernadette, a lovely girl way out of his league. They were married on the sands of Pine Island in a beautiful (if a bit chilly and breezy) ceremony, and then lavished us all with fantastic food in a magnificent beach house that I enjoyed immensely... as I will never be able to afford seeing the inside of it ever again!

And now as we raise our invisible glasses of champagne to the happy couple, may I echo the touching words of the groom's father when I say, "Brent, it's about time!!"

Rosie On Vacation - Part VII

And I'm back on schedule!

1. Got up late.
   
2. Sat around most of the morning.
3. Got ready for a wedding.
4. Went to the wedding.
5. Came home.

And yet, I'm zonked...

Husband and I agree: we are officially vacationed out for... well, until we get back to the office and agree we are in desperate need of a vacation. We're looking forward to coming home tomorrow and getting our house back in shape and seeing our cat who will almost certainly have disowned us for leaving her alone so long. But we're pretty sure she'll forgive us once we give her snacks and some fresh shoes to sniff.

Fin.

Rosie On Vacation - Part VI

Apparently despite my good intentions, the sum ups (so you can follow all the crazy endless action!) are coming a day late. So here's for yesterday:

1. Played a solo game of MarioParty versus the Wii computer and used our newly unlocked character of Hammerhead Bro, who turned out to be possibly the most annoying character available - worse than Toad, worse than Toadette, worse than Birdo, worse than Peach, and maybe, just maybe, worse than Daisy.
   
2. Sat on the couch for a long time working on my cross stitch until I ran out of the color I needed. Go get some more, you say? Can't - it's part of a kit, and most kit-makers (Dimensions in particular) provide you with the thread but not the DMC number. Basically it's so you can't reproduce the pattern again, and if you want to do so, you have to buy another kit. For a while, I tried to match up the leftover threads with the colors at your friendly neighborhood craft store, but that was excrutiating. So in short, the cross stitch is on hiatus until I can write to Dimensions (who don't even have a website - Grrrrrr! But they're well known in stitching circles, so at least you know they're reliable and legit) and have them send me more thread.
3. Walked on the beach with Husband and found basalt rocks. Geology nerds will know what that means and can speculate on exactly where they came from.
   
4. Met our new temporary roommates - also down for the wedding.
5. Went to Brent and Bernadette's rehearsal dinner.
   
6. Came back and sat on the couch again. Ah, circle of life.
   

Rosie On Vacation - Part V

Sum up for Thursday: absolutely the most wasted day of the trip! Ha!

1. Worked on cross stitch while watching Husband and Matt play Wii Sports till their shoulders hurt.
2. Joined in the MarioParty to end all MarioParty - a 50-turn game! It only took us 4 hours. And I would have won too, if it weren't for you meddling kids! (Or, the meddling goombas anyway...)
3. Worked on cross stitch more while watching Husband play MarioParty alone vs. the WiiBox to unlock the last character.
   
4. Made dinner for everyone.
5. Watched The Office and Scrubs (which I haven't seen a new episode of in years, save for what Comedy Central gets a hold of. And when/why did Elliot break off her engagement? That made no sense!!)
6. Watched the first three episodes of Rome.
   

Distinctly absent from the summary: exiting the house. That's right. I didn't get out of my PJs all day. I didn't take a single step outside. I saw not a single other human besides my fellow shut-ins for a full 24 hours. Besides, it was rainy.

Rosie On Vacation - Part IV

Sorry again for the delayed post. Got tied up doing nothing last night. HA!

Skim-over of yesterday:

1. Visited the Bodie Island lighthouse (where a surly ranger informed us it's pronounced "BODY!!" and that if we put graffiti on the lighthouse we would go to JAIL!! TO JAIL!!!) and took a short nature walk where we saw lots of egrets and herons.
2. Ate too much for lunch at Big Al's diner in Manteo.
   
3. Toured an aquarium and found out that the octopus is NOT a fan of purple plastic fish.
   
4. Walked through an Elizabethan garden (and took lots of pictures for MIL).
5. Hardly moved from the couch for the rest of the night upon our return. Worked on cross-stitch, played MarioParty, and watched South Park (does that sparkle with everyone?)
   

Rosie On Vacation - Part III

This is a little early, but I have a feeling the most productive part of today is over, so I can sum up:

1. Lay around on the couch for three straight hours in my PJs reading more of The Thirteenth Tale.
2. Went on a 4.25 mile (approx) walk on the beach and found an AWESOME conch shell. My resolve crumbled and I brought it home.
3. Finished The Thirteenth Tale. Out-bloody-standing.
4. Bought a bunch of Christmas presents online. Dear god, I love Amazon.com.
5. Played video games/board games/watched movies for the rest of the night.**

Also, my ponderance for the evening: The big deal about Scarlett Johansson. Sexiest woman alive? Really? I mean, yeah, she's a pretty girl, and yeah, she's got great curves, and yes, she is a preternaturally good actress (I direct your attention to such movies as The Prestige and Girl with a Pearl Earring...) But she's just not a great beauty in my opinion. This came to mind as I was considering this movie poster and this still for The Other Boleyn Girl (great book by the way too; Philippa Gregory has a great grasp on the fashions and culture of the time, not to mention absorbing plot and characters, but I will admit it's strictly fluff. That, and she has a habit of wrapping her stories up too quickly. The Boleyn Inheritance was a bit of a change from that standard, but overall, it's like she's exhausted and just wants to finish it already. But I digress WAY off subject...), and there's Eric Bana in the middle but let's all admit, no one is looking at him. Everyone's attention is focused on the two faces on which it should be focused: Scarlett Johansson and Natalie Portman. Now, Natalie? Classic beauty from the time she was 12 years old, and an equally qualified or superior actress (Star Wars prequels notwithstanding, but you can't blame her entirely for that - an actor/actress is limited by the ability and vision of the writer and/or director). But Scarlett? Pretty, sure, but as far as my opinion is concerned, she should avoid being in the same frame as Miss Portman. However, in her defense, I will say she runs circles about her predecessor, Jessica Biel, and is a far better actress.

**Indicates that the writing was done prior to completion of this activity, but one can speculate that it is what the future holds.

Rosie On Vacation - Part II

Update for Monday:

1. Walked on the beach and purposefully picked up NO shells this time.
2. Climbed the dunes at Jockey's Ridge in Nag's Head and watched Friends Matt and Chad try to fly Cheryl's kite for her.
   
3. Spent more time trying to figure out where to eat than we did actually eating. Sunset Grille in Duck, in case you're curious.
4. Drove back down to Kill Devil Hills to visit the Wright Brothers Memorial.
   
5. Found out that Chad has an inexplicable hatred for Duck, NC.
   
6. Read a LOT of The Thirteenth Tale, by Diane Setterfield.
   
7. Beat the odds for number of red spaces landed on during our evening game of MarioParty.
   
8. Played Scene It on XBox until close to midnight.

Also, a deeply heartfelt thank you to all our veterans, and I'm sorry I missed saying that on Veterans' Day. And if you know me, you know that's as publicly emotional as I'm likely to get on the matter.

Rosie On Vacation - Part I

To begin with, sorry if this blog post is a little screwy - I'm writing this after two heavy whiskey sours and a glass and a half of wine... and very little water because, while I used to think Northern VA water tasted like ass, I hadn't tried Outer Banks water before and I now have a whole new appreciation for my local garbage. May I add, all hail the Brita pitcher (thanks again Ron!)
****************************

So here I am in the Outer Banks, as you mayhave guessed. Corrolla Beach, to be specific. A couple of friends of mine are getting married here on the 17th, and we got an unbelievable deal on a beach house for the week, and I'm at a nice break point between submittals, so it seemed an ideal time for us to take a vacation. We're down here till the 18th and this will be a completely different sort of vacation for me. Namely in the sense that I don't plan to do a single damn thing of value between now and Saturday when I show up to wish my friends well. But I should stop now before I run out of material for Saturday's congratulations post.

ANYWAY. Maybe it's a byproduct of my having grown up on the East Coast, but I don't see the point or sense in paying lots and lots of money to go to a beach and do nothing but lay around for a week. And maybe it's a function of my intelligence being largely scholastic rather than social that, when I go to a place loaded with historical or cultural significance, I can't help myself from rushing around to soak as much of it up as I can. Husband and I don't do "nothing" well unless we're at home, and most of our "vacations" consist of things that would exhaust the hell out of the ordinary person.

But we're going to try our damndest to be lazy bums this week. Or at least, mostly.

So, for my first update for anyone back home who might be keeping up, here's a recap of most of what we did today:

1. Walked on the beach and collected intact and interesting shells that I really have no planned purpose for but can't help myself about.
2. Watched the last half hour of a Project Runway rerun, which I have never seen before and am not likely to add to my Tivo Season Pass list, but it was moderately entertaining anyway.
3. Climbed the Currituck Lighthouse, which is probably in walking distance from our beach house. Definitely qualifies as the most interesting/educational/active thing we did all day, considering that the lighthouse is 130-odd years old and involved a 214-stair climb but provided some sweet views (pics coming in the recap post).
4. Watched the Skins hand over the game to the Philadelphia Freakin Eagles.
   
5. Took a nap.
6. Embarrassed myself on Wii MarioParty (WALUIGI NUMBER ONE!)
7. Schooled my friends on XBox 360 "Scene It."
8. Watched my friends pretend to be rock stars on "Guitar Hero."
   

WHO KNOWS WHAT THE REST OF THE EVENING WILL HOLD!! Staying up past midnight? Eating too much dessert? Playing our music too loud? THAT'S RIGHT BABY! ANYTHING GOES! YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME! Wait,... what?

Now if you don't mind, I have a glass of wine to finish.

Don't Tase Me Bro!

(Aside: Oh I'm so pissed. Blogger's got an automatic save, but no undo button. So the moment I accidentally deleted my entire - may I say nicely done - post, Blogger automatically saved the newly blank page. So if this post sucks, sorry, but Blogger deleted my good one.)

The news came out today that the police officers involved in the tasing of a University of Florida student during a John Kerry speech are officially free and clear of all wrongdoing, and reinstated to the force. I'm cool with the officers being reinstated. I'm not cool with the clearing of all wrongdoing.

The student was a twerp. A rude, publicity-seeking, scene-making, discussion-disrupting twerp. I'll completely agree on that point. But I don't agree that his actions merited a dose of 50,000 volts by a police officer.

I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I've not-so-secretly wanted a Taser for years. How nice to just give someone a little zap when they deserved it. That asshat coworker who is normally a condescending twit but sidles up to your cube when he needs a favor? Zap! The dope who stands at the front of the line for 20 minutes trying to decide what to order even though they had all the time in the world to decide before they got in line or while they were in line? (True story.) ZAP! But that's just in fantasy land, and I am aware that I would probably get a Zap or two of my own, so maybe it's better that they're only in professional hands. Besides, I digress...

Officers are given weapons for use in situations of self-defense or to prevent physical harm to others by the assailant. We trust them to be - at least while in uniform - paragons of justice, reason, and restraint. We trust them to only use their weapons when absolutely necessary, when public safety is threatened.

Twerp was not posing a threat to anyone. He was making a nuisance of himself. According to every story I've heard, Twerp's biggest offenses were failure to shut his mouth, and failure to leave when requested. It was reported that he held onto a chair in the back of the room in order to avoid eviction, and the officers interpreted that as resisting arrest, so they zapped him. Again, I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't have wanted to do the same thing. BUT. Obnoxiousness alone does not deserve electroshock therapy and the forfeiture of bladder control. I've seen pictures of the guy - he's a scrawny little thing. I'm sure mothers everywhere can agree that the proper course of action would have simply been to pry his fingers off the chair and carry him out of the room like the petulant child that he is. Tasing, while tempting, was a bit over the top. Especially since he acknowledged that they had Tasers and were going to use them and voiced opposition to said control tactic. At that point the officers should have said, "You either leave this room, or we will be forced to Tase you." Considering the fear in his voice, my guess is he would have concluded his little temper tantrum and walked and none of this would have happened.

So, as I said, I agree fully with the officers' reinstatement. But I do think they went overboard in their actions and could do with some refresher courses in situation management and use of law enforcement aids. Please don't Tase me for saying so.

The Politics of Modern Holidays

(Yes those holidays. Yes, this early. First, a little preface...)

All my life, my holidays have been split. Neither of my parents wanted to exclude their families from Christmas celebrations, and both sets lived more or less in the area. So on Christmas Eve, for 25 years, we spent the afternoon and evening with my father's family, and on Christmas Day, for 25 years, we spent the day with my mother's family. This is how it had always been.

Two years ago, I added a third family to the mix, and admittedly changed up the schedule by having Christmas Day with the InLaws, and we drove down to my grandmother's house on Dec 26 to be with my mother's family. I figured if Husband was giving up part of his long-standing traditions to accomodate my family (his family is sane and has only ever had Christmas and the surrounding to-do in one place), my family was going to have to do some accomodating too. This seemed to be a reasonable solution that we could maintain.

But last year they had to change it up again. Sister had (at the time) an almost-3-year old daughter. I will be the first to say that travelling with a toddler is a feat undertaken only by the very brave or very crazed, and so after two brave/crazed Christmasses, the command decision was that Sister, Niece, and Mom would stay out in Colorado, and Grandma and GreatAunt would fly out to see them. Due to... let's say unpleasantness... in my career path, I was unable to score enough time off to go to them. And considering the drama that did in fact happen due to sudden blizzards and air travel, it's probably just as well that I didn't.

This year, I was glad that things were returning to normal. I dislike change, and I cling to my traditions, so the uproar of the last couple of years has been upsetting to me, but (at least for 2005), I thought we had a workable plan. Dec 24 with Dad, Dec 25 with InLaws, and Dec 26/27 with Mom.

So much for that, and I suppose I had better get used to it. Dad emails me the other day. I'll sum up. The entire family - Aunt/Uncle/Cousin, Uncle/Aunt/Cousin, Grands (aka The Table Breakers), Sister, and Niece - will be convening at Dad's house for Christmas this year. However, the Grands, A/U/C and U/A/C will not be arriving until Dec 25, and Sister's/Niece's flight doesn't arrive until Dec 26. So how about Husband and I come over on Dec 26 for Christmas.

First, let me praise him for a) being considerate enough to understand the Dec 25 has been earmarked for InLaws, and b) planning ahead - he's famous for asking us within the week if we want to get together for X big plan (I almost did a blog on this back in July, but I ran out of care.)

Now that that's done, I get to vent my righteous frustration. This arrangement throws my whole steady plan into uproar. What am I supposed to do about seeing Mom's family this year if he eats the 26th? Mom will probably be flying in around the same time as Sister. Between yet another new job (meaning, very limited PTO), and an obligation to be in the office on Dec 28 (the Powers That Be arranged a submittal to go out on Dec 28; good plan), if I see Dad's family on the 26th, then I have exactly one day to see Mom's family, and driving down to Richmond and back on one day, while cramming holiday celebration in the middle is not exactly a palatable option to me, nor would it be to Grandma or Mom.

The Aunts and Uncles boil down to peripheral relatives in my mind, and I think priority should be given to the immediates. Grandma and GreatAunt are in their 80s (and haven't broken any of our furniture), and I see Mom rarely due to the distance, so my normal feeling on the matter is to spend a little extra time with them. Dad's family is mostly in the area (he and Grands live in Virginia), so I see them pretty regularly, hence spending only the one evening with them.

I would tell Dad "Tough", that his day is the 24th, that changing the rhythm really puts me in a crunch trying to accomodate all sides. However, not only would this not make sense to him (why don't I just decline Mom's family this year), but everyone else in the family is making the effort for this big trek (A/U/C are coming up from South Carolina; U/A/C are flying in from Seattle, Sister and Niece are flying in from Denver), so I feel some obligation to be there.

After letting me have my 15 minutes of rantage at the proposed change to schedule, Husband suggested I call Mom and coordinate with her. Maybe I can arrange for her and Grandma/GreatAunt to come up on the 26th and stay the night; then we can do our family holiday at Husband's and my house on the 27th. It's still a little messy, but it's a thought. Maybe Mom can figure it out better.

But in truth, I hate this. I hate being a hinge. I hate having my life turned upside down trying to accomodate everyone and make sure no one's feelings are hurt. I hate that I run myself ragged and all over the state trying to placate this family, or this. I hate that Husband has given up a lot of his holiday traditions to make room for my nutty family.

And before you call me a selfish witch (timely) for getting frustrated that I have to change MY plans, let me say that not only have I had to do this my whole life, but I'm aware that I'm not the only one:

• I know Husband hates the shuffling about - as I said, he always had calm holidays in one setting until he married me. And I know he hates watching me nearly kill myself every year because WE'RE GOING TO HAVE A NICE EFFING CHRISTMAS, DAMMIT.
• I know Sister hates dragging Niece all over creation (not hates bringing her, just hates uprooting her and moving her from house to house to house, and then hoping she brought enough toys and movies to entertain Niece while sort of marooned in a strange place) and probably wishes they could have a nice calm Christmas at home.
• I know Mom hates flying into Richmond and spending the days leading up to Christmas cleaning house because Grandma can't do it so well and Uncle won't.
• I know Grandma hates that she only gets to see us for a little bit at a time and that most of us are incredibly tense due to the cleaning, the driving, the togetherness, etc.
• And I know Dad probably hates that he hasn't seen his kids ON Christmas since the early '90s (but that was part of the point of the new plan in which we see the InLaws on Christmas Proper: now Mom doesn't see us on Christmas either, so he loses a complaint card).

One thing's for certain. Once Husband and I have kids, everyone who wants to see us is coming to us. I want our kids to have traditions - STABLE traditions - and I know how much headache all this back-and-forth has caused me.

More XKCD Genius

The best part is, that's appropriate usage.

It Figures

Two days from now, ghosts of my past will be gathering for our 10 year high school reunion. I'm not going.

First, I hated high school. It's full of bad, awkward memories for me. I cringe at the thought of things I said and things I did. They weren't bad, mind you - I've never been a bad person! I just have a skewed sense of embarrassment, shame, and guilt.

Second, with a handful of exceptions, I still see everyone from high school that I actually want to. And those people that I don't still see, but want to, are extremely unlikely to go (most graduated the year before me so they wouldn't be there anyway; Erin transferred in only for senior year; Jake, one of my best friends who was very much Goth; etc.) The rest of the people - and those most likely to attend - are people I'm very happy not knowing anymore. So the primary reason I'd be going is to see who got fat. And I don't want to be that kind of person, so that's not really a good reason to go.

Third, it's being held at a nightclub in the suburbs. Surprisingly enough, it's not an oxymoron, but reports I've heard from people who've attended indicate that it is as lame as it sounds. And populated by college kids. And they charge a cover. In the suburbs. Furthermore, the reunion lasts from 5:30 to 9:30 pm - who picked THOSE hours??

Fourth, we were invited via Evite, which is very indicative of the people organizing this thing. Very casual, like an afterthought. When Husband's reunion came around last year, they sent real live invitations. My year sent... Evites. And they're charging $60 per person, or $100 per couple.

So I'm quite settled in not going. I responded "See you at the 20," and added my email address and maiden name in parentheses so that anyone who wanted to reach me could. But the voyeur in me couldn't let that stand, and I admit I've been checking back regularly. And who do you think I found out today is going?

My Goth friend Jake. Jake, the 6'7" brick wall beast. Jake, who liked high school about as much as I did. Jake, who listened to Marilyn Manson and worshipped Black Sabbath. Jake is going.

I'm still not. But I'm kind of annoyed that he is.

Truth

In life, I know this much is true:

• The cash register will break just as I get to the front of the line.
• If I'm wearing white, the meal will be tomato-based.
• At least one piece of glassware or furniture will be crushed during a family gathering.
• The intended recipient of my quick note will walk up just as I'm concluding the message.
• The minute the lotion sinks in, there will be occasion for me to wash my hands thus rendering my skin-softening efforts null and void.

Oh Baby

We just shuffled another submittal out the door at Office, and I'm still sort of numb from scrambling for weeks and weeks. I worked another 40 hours last week - that's in 4 days because Monday was Labor Day. Haven't had any wacky adventures (unless you consider wacky and/or adventurous to be sitting on the office lobby floor in a dress swapping the contents of 2" and 3" binders as executives walk by and make inane comments ("You look comfortable! Hardee Har!" Um, no, I'm in a skirt on the floor with my legs twisted in unnatural directions so that I don't pull a Britney as I do menial labor so that YOUR ass looks good when we submit these docs to the client!)) lately, I suppose except for last Saturday.

I was going to a baby shower for friends Jen and Mike. Husband and I are thrilled for them - they'll be outstanding parents and we know they're over the moon. In the midst of clawing my way through back-to-back submittals, I managed to carve out enough time to peruse their Babies R Us registry and order a cute present for them: an adorable pink bouncer (you put the baby in the bouncer so that they're occupied and in a safe place while you're folding laundry, doing dishes, talking on the phone, what have you). BRU is close enough to our house that normally I'd go pick something up, but that was just not reasonable with my schedule the way it was, so FedEx it is!

I should have found the time. BRU apparently is very committed to minimizing consumer waste as evidenced by the fact that they don't even package their items for shipment. They just slap shipping labels on the original box and out it goes. The present arrived in a box so dirty and beat up, I was embarrassed to offer it to my friend, but my options were pretty limited at that point. The contents were still safe - no unusual rattling sounds - so it would have to do. Jen would of course understand, and BRU would get a nastygram in their Customer Comments.

I had planned to go to Party City after work last week (the four-day week after Labor Day) to pick up some cute baby girl wrapping paper or a nice gift bag. However, as I mentioned earlier, I was working pretty hard core last week. I'd get home, exhausted, and think to myself I'll go tomorrow. This happened every day, but I was sure I'd have time on Friday because I was giving my document to Kwik Kopy on Friday. With the document safely in their hands, I could relax, rest, get the wrapping materials, and be ready to simply enjoy myself over the weekend.

I did not count on working until 10 pm on Friday. Needless to say, I could not go to Party City. I said to myself, Okay, I'll go tomorrow morning and get back in time to package it up nicely.

The day of the shower arrived, and in my usual form, time escaped me. Google Maps tells me it's only about 35 minutes to the shower location, so I gave myself about an hour to include a dash through Party City. In some uncharacteristic stroke of genius, I stuffed a pair of scissors and a roll of tape in my purse "just in case."

I get to Party City. I find the bag - very cute, Baby Tigger hugging Baby Pooh Bear. I find enough pink tissue paper to sink a ship. I take it out to my car and go to put the present in the bag.

IT DOESN'T FARKING FIT! I kid you not. Sideways, Longways, Diagonal. Nothing. The box is a full 4 inches too big for the bag. I storm back into Party City not 2 minutes after I left it. The clerk who rang me up looks puzzled. I toss, "Didn't fit," over my shoulder, not missing a step. I grab the biggest roll of pink baby paper I can find, a big lavender bow (gotta keep in proportion), and march back over to the registers. Same girl checks me out, offering apologetic looks in my direction.

This is how we find me standing in the parking lot of Party City in a skirt and heels in bright sun and 95+ degree temperatures, trying to wrap a present on the trunk of my car. I must say, for a three-minute do in some of the worst conditions possible, I think I did a hell of a job. The wrapping was neat and clean, nothing tore, and to the untrained eye, it looked like Fed Ex hadn't chewed it up and spit it out.

Okay, I'm ready! The present and all paper scraps are in the car, I'm in the car, the key's in the ignition, and... I don't have enough gas to get me where I need to go. And it's 11:35. And the party's at noon. What else could I do? I booked it over to the nearest gas station, filled the tank, and exceeded the speed limit all the way to the shower.

I only got there about 15 minutes late, but due to the winding nature of the roads in the area of the party, I wasn't the last to arrive! Furthermore, friend Kathy reassured me that all the boxes in the store looked like that when she went through BRU, so even if I had managed to get there in person, I wouldn't have found a better looking box. Huzzah!

Missing Person: Found

If anyone's been wondering where I've been this past month (minimal bloggage, no email responses, rare callbacks), I'll sum it up this way: in the last pay period, I worked 139 hours. The normal corporate workweek is 40 hours, or 80 per pay period. Yeah, that sucked.

I would like to thank ever-patient Husband for his understanding, sympathy, readiness with a bottle of wine, and willingness to drive all the way to my office to bring me dinner when I pulled a 17-hour day.

I would like to thank Awesome Admin Merideth for not only being my own personal enforcer when the office ass-hats tried to take advantage of me, but also for jumping in and actually taking tasks away from me because, let's face it, I suck at delegating and my control-freakishness cannot permit me to ask anyone else to do something to help me out.

In contrast, I would like to light Evil Coworker on fire for his contributions to my own personal hell. I used to just not like him. However, my sentiments in recent days have crossed the line to pure unadulterated hatred.

I am wiped out, I am exhausted, my brain is pretty well fried, and I think I've developed a permanent hunch from slouching over my computer for a month. But it's over. The submittal is gone, it's out of my hands, and I'd like to put it all behind me now. Not to trivialize, but I suppose this is what it feels like to be released from a hostage situation.

A Night With the Family

Or, Thank God We Only Do This A Couple Times A Year.

So last night was special. We had my adult family over to dinner, but by the time they left, our house looked like we had hosted Motley Crue.

Let me start at the beginning. Because so many of us have August birthdays (me, my grandfather, my father, and Husband), my father's family has in recent years begun grouping them into a single event known creatively as The August Birthday Bash. This is not an all-out event or anything, only a dinner; Dad just likes the alliteration. Ordinarily, the Bash would be hosted by my father, but due to various aspects of drama in his life, Husband and I offered to host it at our house this year. The invitees were Dad and Dad's parents, so five of us in total.

It took me weeks to select the menu, all of it out of the pages of Cooking Light to keep our collective health in mind. As Mother-in-Law likes to point out, a general theme of birthdays should be to reflect on the years we've had and to look forward to many more. There would be herbed white bean dip with crudite and wheat pita wedges, green salad with avocado dressing, grilled chicken with spicy fruit salsa, quinoa salad with chive oil, and light peach-blueberry cobbler for dessert. Husband spent most of the day cleaning the house while I prepared what I could ahead of time.

They descended upon our house ten minutes early, bearing wine and gifts, which were of course quite welcome. That was probably the last time I was happy about their presence in my household for the rest of the night.

Now, my grandparents are both over 80, and I have a quiet voice, but I do make an effort to raise it in their presence. They are not so considerate about wearing their hearing aids. During pre-dinner drinks, everything I (or Husband, or Dad, or the other Grand) said was met with a chorus of, "What?" In addition to that was the complete lack of comprehension once they did finally understand the words that were coming out of my mouth (with apologies to Chris Tucker). I was trying to relate a story about playing with my Niece in Denver last month, and they had no idea whatsoever what I was talking about. This wasn't a wild computer game or a Dora the Explorer experience to which they could not relate - this was a story about swinging a 3 year old in the air, something I'm sure they did with their children. But, despite the general frustration (and associated lack of motivation to continue trying to communicate with them), I was able to remind myself that they're over 80 and this difficulty is understandably just something that comes with the package at that age.

What was less understandable was my grandfather's continued habit of hitting on me. Five minutes could not go by without him saying that I was a beautiful young lady. Don't misunderstand - I'm not being immodest or ungrateful. Hearing that once is sweet, twice is complimentary. But by the 30th time out of your grandfather's mouth, it's just creepy. This is not a new behavior - the worst one he came up with was a couple of years ago: "If I was 50 years younger, oh boy, you'd have to watch out for me!" Ew. I am consciously aware that he's just trying to be flattering and that he honestly does not realize how he comes across, or else that he believes my self-worth relies solely upon his approval; I'm not sure. Which is why I just mentally grimace but publicly smile, say thank you, and try to change the subject.

So Husband serves the second round of martinis, the signature drink of Dad's family, then goes out back to grill the chicken. I'm in the kitchen ostensibly to work on dinner, which was true and necessary, but also because a) I'm getting frustrated with the lot of them, and b) I don't drink martinis, and since that's the entirety of the social drinking material that was supplied (Dad brought the drinks since we were making the food), I was getting out of the way. Also because I've just been harrangued about my job (Dad is obsessed with convincing me that technical writing is just not a long term career and that really - REALLY - I want to find a more lucrative livelihood), and when I'm going to get pregnant (and after I roll off jokes that - to normal people - would indicate, "None of your business, stop thinking about my reproductive capabilities or schedule," Grandad accepts that I don't have a schedule. And then pulls out the oh-so-enlightened, "So you're thinking about working for another year or two and then stopping?" Um, who said anything about stopping? But I digress and should save this for another post when I'm good and offended, whereas last night provided me with entirely too many opportunities.)

So everyone's drinking their second round of martinis and I'm in the kitchen and Husband is working the grill. I hear Grandma say she's getting up to use the bathroom. A minute or two later I hear a WHUMP! But I don't immediately associate the two things. Once it dawns on me, I run to the bathroom, where Dad is already at the door trying to find out what happened. Grandad is still sitting on the couch. Dad convinces Grandma to let him open the door - she's still fully clothed, just lost her balance and fell. She's laying somewhat sideways and face down on the tile floor, head in a corner, legs folded around the vanity. We're all scared and shaken, but Dad manages to get in to Grandma and they're talking and... long story short, Grandma's fine. No broken anything, no loss of feeling in any extremeties, no loss of consciousness. Worst of it: a slightly skinned shin. So that's the important thing. What partially bothers me is that Grandad didn't move from the couch, didn't call to her to make sure she was okay, didn't try to see her, didn't even appear the least bit fazed that it had happened, and in fact waves me away from the scene. Dude, you've been married over 60 years, and you don't even lift a finger when your wife falls in the bathroom?! Okay weird, but not only does Dad have the situation under control, there's nothing I can do to help, so I take myself out from underfoot and back into the kitchen.

Dad's still tending to Grandma when I hear another WHUMP! No, Grandma didn't fall again - this time, it's Grandad. He's laying on his back on the carpet between the living room and the kitchen. I have no idea how he got there, why he was going there, or how he fell. But there he is, fully conscious and laying on the floor like he just decided it would be a good spot to rest a minute. Same sort of thing - didn't hurt himself, full sensory perception, full consciousness, no problem. Just... fell. And he refuses my help up. I don't know if it's the macho man thing (no woman could help me up - they're too weak, better wait for a man!) or what. But he does come up with some more inappropriately creepy comments. I went back to the kitchen. In the meantime, Dad gets Grandma back to the couch and either Dad or Husband helps Grandad up.

I swear not ten minutes go by when I hear a glass shatter coupled with a huge bang. Guess what. Grandma fell AGAIN. And again didn't hurt herself in the least. In fact, she's laughing. Now we all know why she keeps falling. Grandma got blitzed. Two martinis and she's out of control, wheeling around the room, getting sassy at Grandad, giggling - all mostly uncharacteristic of Grandma. Doesn't seem anything worse than inconvenienced by her ongoing battle with gravity.

I cannot say the same for our living room. Once we ascertained that Grandma was in fine form, Husband and I surveyed the damage. One of the beautiful colored glass martini glasses that our friends Ryan and MK got Husband as a gift for being Best Man in their wedding is in thousands of pieces on our living room floor. We collected the large pieces, and Dad ran the vacuum over the specks, but we were still finding more this afternoon - the poor thing was crushed, and Husband was quietly really disappointed that it had to be one of the set Ryan and MK gave us.

But it wasn't just the martini glass - our coffee table is another casualty. It was a hand-me-down from my grandparents when they moved out of their house and into a condo about six or seven years ago. I wouldn't have chosen it for myself, but it was a fine coffee table all the same - nice rich brown wood, a classic yet flowing design, thin but sturdy legs, and low enough that our feet don't fall asleep when we put them up. It also had these two beige marble insets on either side, supported by little slats underneath and a side support level with the top. Grandma landed directly on the marble inset. The side support split at the wooden peg that connected it to the table frame, and one of the slats underneath was sheared straight off. Dad secretly whispered to me that he'd pay to help us repair it. Thing is - it's not repairable. If it was just that little side support, well, Krazy Glue works wonders. But with the underneath slat sheared off, there's no saving it. The frame still held together, so it'll be functional until we can get to Ikea and pick out a stand-in.

We shuffle Grandma into the kitchen and sit her in a dining chair so we can put dinner together, all the while entreating her to see a doctor as soon as she can - Dad's worried that her hip could be hurt or that her bones are starting to weaken, I'm nervous about concussion from hitting her head when she fell the first time. I go back into the living room to pick up more stuff (broken glass, broken table, leftover appetizers, I don't know what anymore.) That's when I notice the couch is a little wet where she'd been sitting. I don't know if she spilled something and they tried to wipe it up with water (though in my experience, the spot is a lot darker when you actively try to put water on the couch), or whether the slip in the bathroom prevented her from making it entirely on time, but I do know that our cat was especially interested in the spot this morning, so I think we'll wash the cushion slipcover just to be safe.

Dinner actually went rather smoothly, at least relative to cocktails and appetizers. The fruit salsa on the chicken but the quinoa salad on the side took some explaining to the Grands. Dad harrangued Husband about his views on healthcare, drug companies, and eventually international economics and foreign affairs, but Husband held his own just fine as always. The food was great (self-adulation, I know, but I was really happy with the way everything turned out). Even the Chardonnay that Dad brought was great. The most exciting thing about dinner was when Grandma (noticing a pattern, are we?) upended her glass of water (we'd switched her to water by then) on her dinner plate, and then refused to let us get her a dry plate. Oh well, her dinner.

I planned to get dessert in the oven and we'd go open presents while it cooked. I didn't quite count on how arduous peeling peaches is. Dad and Grandma insisted that the only way to peel a peach is to go around it like some people do apples (see Sleepless in Seattle for a good example of this), but if you knew my history with blades, you'd know that having me hold something slippery while handling a very sharp knife is ill advised. My method did in fact take a long time, but 3 cups of peeled and chopped peaches takes a while! During this time, the Grands were exhibiting their second childhood in full effect: How much longer? I'm tired, I think (Dad) had better take us home! Aren't you done yet? Even Dad, who had been remarkably well behaved all evening (if you don't know what I mean by that, you'll understand in future posts) got in a dig at how long it was taking. He quieted down after receiving the Death Stare. At that point, perhaps not to my credit, mentally I was yelling, "Good! Go home! I don't really want to make anything more for you people anyway!" Of course, to them, I merely proceeded and tried to play off their comments.

Eventually we got dessert underway and presents opened, Grandma intermittently and only half-playfully complaining that she doesn't have anything to open (her birthday's in June). Presents were well-received all around, and mercifully dessert was ready by the time we were done. Everyone agreed it had been worth the wait (damn right it was). The Grands thanked us for a nice evening, Dad thanked us for a nice evening, and we piled them all into the car and sent them home.

Husband and I dismayedly looked around our house, grabbed the half-empty bottle of champagne, and charged over to Friends Matt and Michelle's house a block over for sympathy and commiseration.

Non Sequitur #1

So the other day on my way home from work, I’m listening to Big 100.3, the former oldies station that now passes for classic rock both because the other classic rock stations have either a) migrated to sucky garage band modern rock, or b) migrated to sucky soft modern rock, and because classic rock is apparently considered oldies at this point. I'm bracing for the day I hear Van Halen or Bon Jovi playing there. I know it's coming.

Anyway, so David Bowie’s "Major Tom" comes on. I understand it's about the astronaut's all-consuming rapture with the enormity and undiscovered territory that is outer space, but I’ve always thought it was an exceedingly sad song. He goes up in the ship and... never comes back. He knows he's going to certain and probably very uncomfortable death, and he's cool with that. He says goodbye to his wife from way up there, which kills me (and the "She knows," bit always makes me wonder whether they had talked about it and she knew he was going to hijack the ship for his own personal tour of The Black, but that doesn't make it any better.) All the people down here who care about him, he just leaves - POOF! But really, that’s neither here nor there because at the end of the day, it's a made-up song about made-up people. Point is, ever since then, the opening sequence of the song has been looping in my head.

But it’s not David Bowie singing.

It’s Matt Le-freaking-Blanc from that episode of Friends where he was singing it to Phoebe because his singing always made her do whatever he wanted! (I think that particular episode was the ride back from Vegas and he was in the back of the cab, having pissed her off for some reason, and he was trying to get back on her good side. Don’t ask me why I remember all these crappy details about crappy shows (in hindsight, it was a pretty stupid show, and I’m still stunned anyone ever thought LeBlanc had talent above vapid wannabe actor (since there’s no acting above that involved in the Joey character) and I just realized I’ve lost count of how many parenthetical statements within parenthetical statements I’ve made. So I’ll just stick a bunch of closers on here to cover my bases.))))

So. Moral of the story. The talentless Mr. LeBlanc has been singing in my head all week.

I’ll accept your pity starting...... Now.

Good News for Smokers in the Skies

Welcome to your local airport security line. Kindly place your carry-on items on the belt and walk through the metal detector while our pleasant TSA staff examines your luggage. Let's see, shoes, PDA, wallet, Marlboros, cigarette lighter, thank you sir and have a nice flight.

Welcome to your local airport security line. Kindly place your carry-on items on the belt and walk through the metal detector while our pleasant TSA staff examines your luggage. Let's see, shoes, books, comb, cell phone, hey hey HEY! What's this water bottle doing in here!? This is dangerous stuff! SECURITY!! This woman just tried to bring a bottle of water inside the secured perimeter!

Do you see a problem here? TSA recently announced that cigarette lighters will once again be allowed on board aircraft in carry-on luggage. Just a few years ago, courtesy of dumbass Richard Ried, we were told that a Bic was a threat to national security and must be surrendered, and we were made to scuffle barefoot (or, sockfooted) through security checkpoints. But now, it's okay again. That incendiary device? Go ahead and bring it on board. But that water bottle and those shoes remain weapons to be confiscated or carefully examined.

They're lightening up on security at airports for items we considered petty bans in the first place. Isn't this a sorta good thing? Sure. My problem arises in the motivation behind the lift though. According to a blog on USA Today, TSA confiscated 11,616,217 lighters in 2006 - 22,000 a day, and the disposal of said 11,616,217 lighters cost $4 million because they are considered HAZMAT. You can draw your own conclusions about whether lobbying from the tobacco industry played a role (the blogger thought so), but there's that price tag hanging out there that is potentially a bigger reason. It's better to lighten restrictions because it's expensive and a hassle to confiscate and dispose of them (although it wouldn't kill the smokers to just put your damned lighters in their checked luggage, would it? You have to stop smoking outside the airport anyway, and you can't smoke until you exit the destination airport, so just open the zipper and tuck it inside!) than to keep them banned for national security reasons.

TSA's official statement is that the scrutiny for lighters was distracting from the scrutiny for bombs. To begin with, I say that the scrutiny of my sneakers is probably equally unnecessary, since the cases that prompted both the shoe and lighter persecution were one and the same. And to follow I say, if looking for lighters is honestly going to cause you to overlook the unusually squared-up device with wires coming out of it, then TSA has bigger problems than we're even prepared to go into. But then again, didn't we just hear about how most of the airports whose security was tested with fake bombs in luggage failed?