Separated At Birth, or the John Derek Syndrome

Surely you know the John Derek Syndrome. It's when you repeatedly divorce your spouse only to marry HER EXACT DUPLICATE! It's kind of like the Dread Pirate Roberts--the position of Mrs. John Derek was filled for years by women with different names, but they all looked the same: Ursula Andress. Linda Evans. Bo Derek.

It was like he grew them in his basement, and once one was "too old" he simply released a younger model.

So, imagine my horror when I discovered I have that exact Syndrome. Let me explain.

For about the last eight months, I have been virtually marinating in U2. Got the latest album: check. Went to the concert: check. Bought the complete oevre from iTunes: check. Signed up at U2.com, the official web site of the band: check. Stayed up way way too late on a school night to see the band on Conan O'Brien: check. Feels that God is in his heaven and all is right with the world because U2 won all five Grammys for which they were nominated: check. Turn "Vertigo" on EXTREMELY LOUD to get the kids out of bed in the mornings: check. Find myself feeling withdrawal symptoms when I forget to listen to U2 on any given day: check.

So, is it any wonder I have developed a celebrity crush on The Edge?

I mean, just look at him! He's handsome, he's got a lovely smile, he's incredibly talented while remaining criminally unpretentious. He sings! He plays guitar! He lets Bono make fun of him in public! He's my boyfriend and you can't have him!

But, like all the worst fairy tales, I started to wonder. Why does he wear that knitted cap all the time? Sure, he's always worn hats:

But what is the deal with that cap? Is it like the Phantom of the Opera, and he is afraid to take it off? Is he hiding Lord Voldemort on the back of his head? What is it? So, I Googled him, looking for what he looks like without the cap.

And I found one.

And I discovered he looks just exactly like one of my other boyfriends.

Patrick Stewart.

Fun With Rorsach Tests!

So, I was driving along the other day, and I came across this license plate.

So, take a moment and decide what it says.

It's okay. Take your time.

I'll wait.

Done? Good. Here is what your answers say about you:

Love Fashion: You are most likely female, and either under 30 or in the fashion business. You watch the Oscars for the dresses, and regularly watch E! "Fashion Police." You may also be Kelly Osbourne.

Live Fashion: You work at a magazine, or all your favorite novels have a heroine who works at a magazine. The darkest day of your life was when Sex and the City ended. You own more than two pairs of black heels. You secretly wish Santa would bring you one pair of Manolo Blahniks for Christmas. You may also be Sarah Jessica Parker, Sienna Miller or Chloe Sevigny. This is not necessarily a good thing.

Love Fishing: You are male. You do not live on either coast. You have a three car garage to hold your bass boat. You own several dozen caps, which you rotate wearing. No one knows why. You do not shave on weekends.

Live Fishing: You own this license plate.

Math Anxiety

Yup--get out your copies of Raising Ophelia--we have full blown math anxiety in this house.

Which is sort of unusual. Sure, I'm an English major and proud of it, but I put in my time with math, and even got some college credit for calculus. So, numbers don't scare me. Mr. Sweetie is a veritable number cruncher, having taken something called "linear algebra" which you apparently need calculus to even start to understand. Frankly, I was decent at differential calculus, but got in over my head with integral calculus. I don't even want to know about "linear algebra."

So, I've already forgotten more math than most people get to, but THE POINT IS that numbers are not scary here at home.

Apparently, numbers are scary at school. The Pony has a frustrating time with her math--which I put down to the fact that her textbook was written by a mathematician, not an ENGLISH MAJOR, which would have helped enormously. There is nothing more confusing that to read a mathematician's attempt to explain numerical concepts in--there's really no way to say it other than--"English."

Look. If numbers are your first language, that's fine, but when it comes time to introduce algebra to sixth graders, just step aside and let someone who actually speaks the language do it.

But (if you are still with me) this is actually a story about the Bunny. Bunny came home with a worksheet of division problems. About 30 of them, all 2s and 5s, so the math was not onerous. BUT. Half of the problems were in a new format. The dreaded DIVISION BOX!!
____________
2) 24

Does this shape fill you with terror and make you want to cry? It did the Bunny. It was just one too many things at the end of a long day.

"I don't even know where to put the answer!" she cried. And cried.

So, being the MOM--which means it's my job to FIX IT--I came up with a story.

"Imagine," I said, "That this is a little house. It has room for 24 little guinea pigs. That's all the guinea pigs who will fit in that house."

"Like Nut-nut?" she asked, raising her sweet little tear-streaked face.

"Just like Nut-nut. Now, imagine that all the little Nut-nuts are coming to the house in groups of two. How many times do you have to open the door to let them all in?"

This was capturing her imagination. She managed to consider the problem, and then offered, tentatively "Um....12?"

Exactly. So I wrote the answer on the top of the division box. "And that's where your answer goes. So, what's the next one?"
___
It was 2) 12 and Bunny came through. "Six?"

Exactly! She was off to the races.

Except.

She made her sister add up all the divisors in all the division box problems, just so she'd know just exactly how many guinea pigs there were.

After that, the entire page took less than 6 minutes.

Local Cows Express Concern

A proposed dairy in Swift County will be the state's largest if county officials give it the go ahead. The East Dublin Dairy would house 6,600 cows on a 120 acres of land. Some local residents are worried about odors from the dairy, and say the county and the state need to further investigate the environmental affects of such a large farm. Supporters of East Dublin Dairy say the farm will not be an environmental hazard and should boost the area economy.

--from mpr.org

To date, however, no one has asked the cows what they think.

A local Jersey, identified only as "Bessie" states her concerns about the end of a way of life. "We like it, the small town feel of East Dublin. I mean, we chose not to live in the big city, but now we're going to lose that special community you get when you know everybody."

Some express concern for the calves. "Well, once you have that many cows, you have a lot more competition, don't you?" Mrs. Buttercup gestured to her two calves, who were wearing basketball jerseys and gym shorts. "These two have been looking forward to playing varsity sports for years, but now there's no guarantee they'll even make the team. It's a huge disappointment."

Local law enforcement also has concerns. "Look, you get a large number of cows in a short time, you don't know who they are, who their dams are," says Shep, a black-and-white border collie who keeps order among the cows in East Dublin. "We don't want to see some cows coming in, flagging their gang colors, spraying grafitti to mark their territories. We just don't have the dogpower to keep that many cows in order if things get out of hand."

A contrary point of view was expressed by Fernando, a large bull sporting an iron nose ring. "Yeah, well, that should improve my live, ya know? I mean, sure, all cows look the same in the dark, but I appreciate some fresh talent, you know what I mean?"

iPod CoDependency

Mr. Sweetie said it about something else, but my relationship with my iPod is turning into a little bit of Wife Of An Alcoholic. When it's good, it's very good, and when it's bad, I try to convince myself it's not so bad. Really! It's really a nice iPod, when you get to know it! It's just having a bad day! It will change!

Today, I am dealing with the fact that my iTrip (which broadcasts to my radio so I can listen in the car) has decided to strike, and is not recognizing the radio AT ALL. So, since my iPod doesn't hold all my music, I have to make a playlist of what I want in the car, and then I have to add the iTrip station(s) I want to use for broadcast.

Which is not what I want to do, because then the iTrip shows up as a "song" and will get played. Yeah, it's annoying--like a Test Of The Emergency Broadcast System This Is Only A Test. BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

So, I tainted my playlist with the iTune station that I need. I plug in my iPod to my computer to update it.

And nothing happens.

So, iTunes now refuses to recognize my iPod. There is a help page for this problem, and there are about 6 or 7 "fixes," most of which involve uninstalling and reinstalling and restarting the computer and....just too much!

So, while iTunes doesn't recognize my iPod, the iPod thinks it's updating and is flashing threatening messages that I MUST NOT DISCONNECT it.

On Tuesday, I was trying to download 3 songs from iTunes to a CD. Currently, iTunes will not burn CDs either.

But really! It's really great when it works!

EDIT: Well, I got the iTunes to recognize the iPod. All it took was to update iTunes, update the iPod, restarting the computer, plugging iPod into a power outlet to flash reset, manually reconfiguring what iTunes downloads, and then reconnecting the iPod.

Next, we teach pigs to fly and examine why women can't play professional football.

And Now.......The Rest Of The Story

For completeness's sake, here are some updates on recent posts.

My Little Pony, the Voyageur.

Despite her disappointment in her costume, Pony DID go to the Rendezvous simulation and actually had a really good time! So, score one for me!

The MoaE in Detention?

Was I engaging in enabling behavior by delivering freshly sharpened skates to the Pony at school? Well, you make the call--the next day she had PE, she forgot them and I had to go get them and deliver them. I'd say: Take away one point from me!

So, I'm back where I started.

Damn Anthropomorphation Anyway!

This is a question that has bothered me ever since I found myself teaching my children about farm animals and the sounds they make.

Why do we train our children to believe that animals are just humans in fur coats? I mean, I found a cute open-the-flaps book back when the Pony was about 2, and the whole text was about what animals say, and the pictures were cute. Darling even. Because the animals all looked like babies do--big eyes and heads, doing cute things. Not necessarily animal behaviors, though.

And, as I was going through this book with my toddler, I wondered why animal sounds are so important? I mean, we live in the city--it's not like cows and pigs and chickens etc. are part of my children's daily lives. The acutal animals might not even be part of their lives at all--if it weren't for a pig roast we attend each year at the Fourth of July, my kids might not ever see a whole pig.

And there I was, teaching my kid to "talk" with animals. Why? I asked myself, Why why why?

Of course, I'm totally anthropomorphizing animals all the dang time. I "know" better, but I still do it.

Why is it such a big deal? Well you might ask!

Because when it comes time to actually deal with animals, I totally suck, because I see them as little people.
The problem is because at the moment, we have mice in our house. Not a big surprise, really--this house was built at the end of the nineteenth century, winters are cold here, and mice are small. They find ways into the house through tiny tiny tiny cracks, and once they are in they Breed! Like! Mice!

Now, I don't have anything against mice per se. My sister, the Fabulous Babe, had at least one pet mouse when she was a kid, and I certainly held it and played with it. Mice as pets are okay, or they were, until their wild relatives took up residence in my house. MY house, not THEIR house.

The real problem with these wild mice is that they totally fail to Respect The Social Contract. I am willing to share my house with them, so long as they keep themselves hidden. But! They don't! NO! They have to run around and leave their droppings in their paths. They chew cords and short out appliances, and they chew the kidlet's stuffed animals to get nest materials. And they eat the guinea pig's food. And they get into everything!

So, they have to go. They just do. But so many rodent removal techniques are so cruel, especially if you think of them as little Beatrix Potter tailors who wear little vests and eyeglasses. They are VERMIN! I KNOW THIS! They are The Enemy! But I just can't bring myself to use glue pads, that stick their feet to the ground until they starve. I can't bring myself to set traps to snap their necks--I don't want to remove carcasses. Plus, those sometimes only maim them, which is even worse.

I tried live traps. Even caught a fair number of them, and found myself putting them into a bucket with some kibble and water until I could release them into some woods. Which I did, only to see a bird swoop down and snatch the little critter with its talons for lunch.

Instead, I was convinced to use a certain kind of poison--which is supposed to dehydrate them, forcing them out into the snow for a water source, where they are supposed to die. Except they don't leave the house. They just get sick and die where we have to remove them, or where we find them later, or where we never find them. I'm not even ready to decide which is worse, and I pull my perogative to behave like a squeamish girl and make Mr. Sweetie deal with them.

Except now, he's not home. And just now, in the middle of the bright afternoon, a little mouse appeared in my kitchen, all hunkered down, looking tiny and terribly vulnerable. This must have been one sick mouse, as my dog came right up to it, wagging his tail with curiosity. Is this a new friend? Will it play with me? Is it a toy? What should I do with it?

I put it in a container and dumped it outside into the freezing winter. I couldn't bring myself to seal it inside the container to suffocate, and I couldn't finish it off myself. So I 'm hoping it dies quickly in the cold where I will never ever ever have to see it or know what happened.

But I do still have this stupid Tom and Jerry kind of reaction--I should pick it up and take care of it! Meanwhile, another primal part of my brain is screaming "EWWWWWWW! YUCK! Get it away from me! EEEEEEKKKKK!"

Damn anthropomorphation!

Things You Might Not Know

Thing #1: In a Victorian era house with exposed radiator pipes (that feed the upstairs radiators), it is The Done Thing to wallpaper the pipes so they match the walls and thus blend in.

Thing #2: When choosing to remove wallpaper from a Victorian era house with exposed radiator pipes--the pipes are a bitch to strip.

Just so you know.

Smile and Say Cheese!

The kidlets are growing up, and it's time to examine orthodontia. Unlike when I was a kid (yes, yes, the T. Rexs all had headgear, and you don't even want to hear how hard it was for them to put it on, with those little arms), braces happen really really early. Like second grade for some kids I know. So the fact that my kidlets are in 4th and 6th grade makes their upcoming introduction to the world of braces seem a bit tardy.

Fortunately, that is not the case. Like me, my kids have remarkably slow growing teeth, and there is very little that the doctor wants to do now. A couple of months of an expander for the Bunny, to help her upper arch grow wide enough for all her teeth, a couple of baby teeth extracted for the Pony, to give her adult canines the room they need to come in straight. Then nothing else for nearly a year.

So, I gotta say YEA! Because I went through a TON of orthodontic mauling, and it looks like the kidlets will escape that.

Yes, I had 4 permanent teeth pulled because my jaw was too small. I had braces from 11th grade to college. I wore headgear for a horrible period of time--it was hard to sleep with that stuff on. I had mandibular advancement surgery--the technical term for jaw surgery to correct an overbite, which required surgery to move my jaw forward, and then eight weeks of my teeth wired together with a retainer between my teeth. The retainer covered most of my teeth, so I couldn't even use the hospital's "liquid diet" because I couldn't get ANYTHING with any mass between the spaces at my gum line. I can't even tell you how much weight I lost. I couldn't talk either. It was a bitch of a time.

But! I now have great teeth! Really great teeth! My last dentist appointment, the hygenist couldn't stop admiring my teeth. "You really have beautiful teeth" she said, at least five times.

Even at the consultation for the kidlets, the assistant admired my magnificent smile. "Great teeth, your smile is really beautiful" she said.

So, Dad and Mom--I think you deserve to hear the compliments, since you had to PAY FOR IT ALL!

I Thought I Was Too Old For Detention

The Pony is ice skating for PE this week, and asked me to sharpen her skates. Which I forgot to do. So, yesterday morning, I found a place that would do it--nearby--and toted the skates over.

As I was walking up the stairs at school to the Pony's locker, I was met by two teachers. The Language Arts teacher was pleasant and took a sort of aesthetic joy in the idea of freshly sharpened skates.

The math teacher, however, started quizzing me.

First of all, this math teacher is a very large man, even on level ground. Several steps above me on the stairway, he was enormous. To look at him, you'd assume he was the gym teacher and/or football coach. He has that air of aggressive good health and hearty exercise. I can only imagine that middle school kids quail before him.

So, he gave me the skunk eye and demanded, "Are we engaging in enabling behavior here?"

And he meant it, don't doubt that! Which I appreciate, because this is where the kids have to learn to be self sufficient in order to succeed in the higher grades. Plus, it's a big change from the lower school, where parents are welcomed and frequently seen around the school. The middle and upper schools discourage parents in the building--and we parents need to be trained about this just as much as the kids do.

Plus, I had been thinking the very same thing, since I had been at the school yesterday, delivering something else the Pony needed and didn't do, so I did it for her.

I said, "Welllll. She did ask earlier, and I was the one who forgot."

Math Teacher immediately lightened up and said, "Well, okay."

"So I don't get detention?"

"No. Not THIS time."

Too Much Time On His Hands

So, I was buying party supplies at the PartyAmerica store--a surprisingly joyless square box lined with celebratory items. Odd, how aisle after aisle of wedding decor, birthday invitations and mylar balloons leaves one with the total impression of white linoleum floors under overly bright fluorescent lights.

Anyway.

I took my items to the register, where I was met by the stoner high school boy wearing ragged jeans, a black t-shirt from an obscure band, dark and dead black dyed hair. He looked shrunken in this fiercely bright place. I guess Goth fashion just doesn't hold up against perky shiny helium balloons.

He rang up my purchases, swiped my card and presented me with the receipt to sign.

"Man," he said. "Your signature rocks."

Historical Accuracy Is Highly Overrated

Or, as that Great Font of Parenting Wisdom, Ozzy Osborne once said:

"I love you kids more than life itself, but you're driving me fucking nuts."

Today, the Pony's entire grade wraps up their unit on the North American fur trade by staging a Rendezvous. The kids are to come dressed as voyageurs, and they will be eating traditional foods, playing traditional games, trading their pelts for supplies and some trinkets. Historical re-enactment as a teaching tool: both fun and educational.

Except the costume thing. The costume thing is totally out of control.

So, think about it. Voyageurs were (largely) French trappers and hunters, who had to keep everything they owned in a canoe that they had to be able to lift and portage over long distances. These were men who lived far from most other people, who probably didn't bathe or shave or cut their hair from one season to the next, who almost certainly never washed their clothing, who probably didn't have much of that anyway, who bedded and wedded the "local girls" and lived pretty darn primative lives. They wore broad sashes wrapped tightly around their bellies to prevent hernias, and tied strips of cloth below their knees to prevent blood clots or something. Practical, functional, and pretty much "make do."

BUT! They were French. So, that means that what they did wear was as fashionable as possible. The hernia cloths were striped, their hats were long stocking caps that dangled alongside their faces, anything that could be brightly colored was brightly colored.

So, apparently, it's incredibly important to have just the right sort of scruffy clothes to be a 6th grade voyageur, although the word has come down that you aren't supposed to have to buy anything.

Try and resolve that paradox! Especially at 10 minutes before school starts, when you already have a 17 minute commute to even get to school.

I don't know about your household, but we just don't have a whole lot of authentic 18th century wilderness clothing lying around the house. I mean, if they don't sell it at Target, why would we have it anyway? Right?

So, I found a hat that was gray knitted wool, with white snowflakes on it, with a white tassel that hung down the side. No good. All our other hats are basically head hugging, without even a tassel. Pony ended up upset, discouraged, unhappy and basically having sucked all the fun out of the project.

Never mind that we found an awesome hernia belt for her (with tassels!) Never mind that she had really cool knee ties, that had fringe on the ends! Never mind that she was going to be wearing her regular jacket over it all because fully half of the day was going to be spent outside. Never mind that she had felt guilty about buying the hernia belt and knee ties because they weren't supposed to buy anything.

Sometimes you just can't win, and then you just have to silently recite the parenting mantra:

"I love you more than life itself, but you're driving me fucking nuts!"

Avast! Ye Scurvy Dogs! Prepare To Be Boarded!

It's the Dread Pirate Captain Bermondsey, and his First Mate, Pegleg Nutty. They are plotting their next nefarious mission, seeking to find kibble, fresh hay, and carrot and apple slices. I think Captain Bermondsey is whispering the secret coordinates of the treasure hoard to First Mate Nutty.

And Now, A Few Words About The Dog.

This, as you can see, is the world's cutest dog. He has picked up the bad habit of being territorial, so now he barks when anyone comes to the house. We need to go back to doggy school, where he is bound to be the teacher's pet.

In Which We Admire The Renovations To The Parlor

Here you can see the nifty handmade tile we found for the hearth, as well as the piled coals in the firebox. The fireplace is actually a gas burning insert, but it looks awfully good. We saw a bunch of flats for rent in London, and they all had this same kind of fireplace. Care to play Holmes and Watson anyone?

Here you can see the whole thing from an angle. We have removed the wallpaper in the room--although you can see a pinkish swatch which is still there. Isn't it cozy? 

This is a picture of our darling new fireplace. You would not believe the brick monstrosity that was there before. The oak mantel is from circa 1902, and we bought it from a architectural salvage store. It just fits the room perfectly. 

I'd Like An Order Of Bon Mots, Please

So. Rather late to the party, I am reading Jonathan Safran Foer's new book, Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close.

I am in awe.

The writing is so imaginative. The narrator, Oskar Schell, has a voice that is thick with ideas. He imagines a skyscraper where the elevator stays in place and the building goes up and down. He imagines a system where a passing ambulance would be able to detect someone important to the patient inside and flash "DON'T WORRY. DON'T WORRY." But if it was serious, and the patient was at risk of dying, the sign would flash "GOODBYE. I LOVE YOU. GOODBYE. I LOVE YOU."

There is a phrase, a small throw-away line in the middle of a paragraph where Oskar is trying to reach something on a shelf that is too high. He pulls in a chair, but that's not high enough. So he goes to get his complete works of Shakespeare and I brought those over, four tragedies at a time, until I had a stack that was tall enough. I stood on all of that and it worked for a second. But then I had the tips of my fingers on the vase, and the tragedies started to wobble..."

I mean, how can someone take such a marvelous metaphor, and just toss it off like that? I swear if I'd come up with that metaphor, I'd have bashed it into the ground, because when would I ever get another one that good?

But Jonathan Safran Foer can just treat it lightly, because he has so many more.

It's enough to discourage an aspiring writer.

But I'm USUALLY So Responsible!

I am playing hurt. It's sort of an occupational injury, except it's not my occupation to live on the computer. So I guess I have no work comp claim, and OSHA need not be notified. But I have the dreaded computer related condition:

I have Mouse Elbow.

It's kind of like Tennis Elbow, but less athletic. Actually, I blame it on Shockwave. Somehow I got onto these "search and click" games, where you get a limited amount of time to find items in a picture, or to find differences between pictures. So, as my eyes were busily scanning back and forth the screen, I held the mouse at the ready, to get the fastest response time and beat the game.

Now, I doubt there is anything in human developmental history that requires the constant tensing of the right hand, with the index finger slightly raised, the elbow out to the side. The muscles of the forearm are not designed to spend as much time in that position as the games require.

So, my arm hurts. It's hurt for about a week now. And it's not just that it's sore; I actually have less strength in my right hand. I've had to develop my non-dominant hand for all kinds of things, like unloading the dishwasher, lifting cases of soda, pulling up the covers when making the bed. I've even had to switch my mousing hand. I expect that if I don't aggravate it, it will eventually go away. So, I'm not playing any "search and click" computer games for a while.

Besides, I already won them all.

Creative Spelling

The Bunny is writing notes about things and leaving them around the house. Her language is very sophisticated, although her spelling remains creative.

The most recent note was to remind me to do something for her.

It said: "Remomber."

How They Break My Heart

Our Nice Neighbor recently lost her sister, and the matter came up with the kidlets. I had separate conversations with each of them, hoping to help them understand Nice Neighbor's unavailablity due to the sadness of her sister's passing.

Each one of them looked at me with tears welling up in her eyes, and said how sad she would be if anything happened to her sister "Because she's my best friend."

This is what I wished for them when they were mere infants--how lucky are we?

Is Irony Dead? Or, The USAToday-ification of America

Just so you don't think that I'm entirely disconnected from the world--I was reading the paper today. Well, not the NEWSpaper so much as the Sunday extras.

Okay, okay, I admit it! I started my morning with the trashy glossy USAWeekend insert. You know, the one with the Golden Globes as the cover story and the fake celebrity gossip questions on the first page. (Dear USAWeekend. I have always loved [insert name of celebrity with movie/tv series/release from rehab to promote] and I always thought he/she/it was never appreciated. Does he/she/it have a new movie coming out? When will we see a reunion of "Welcome Back Kotter?")

Hah! But that's not all they have. You thought this was just a trashy celebrity obsessed rag! But you are wrong! USAWeekend also covers medical breakthroughs (lose weight by eating less and exercising more!) AND Important Safety Information! (To avoid hotel theft: lock your door!)

Not only that, but they have an ENTIRE page--one with NO ADS AT ALL- devoted to SCIENCE! That's right--scientific developments are important to the USAWeekend audience. Just look at the headline today!

Newly Charted Territory: With the discovery of a new "planet" in our solar system, some people may wonder: Will this affect my horoscope?

That's right! With the recent discovery of a field of objects outside the bounds of Pluto's orbit, scientists are raising new questions about the nature of the solar system, and whether Taureans are REALLY ruled by Venus.

I'm predicting that the scientists at JPL are going to have to start reassigning computing time for this.

NOW--I Am A Woman

So, I've finally done something that marks me as an official grown-up. Really-0, truly-o all the way adult.

I bought furniture.

That's right, I bought REAL furniture from a REAL furniture store. This means the kind of store where you don't buy it and take it home right away. A store where you have to evaluate floor samples and fabric swatches and then you have to imagine THIS sofa with THAT fabric and THAT wood but not in THIS size, more like THAT size, except that the back is lower. Or the seat is higher. Or something.

And Mr. Sweetie and I took home swatches and samples and catelogs and we laid out scale models of our room and the furniture on a grid and we compared colors in incandescent light and natural light and I had even decided what goddam FRINGE we wanted on the goddam accent pillows. Armed with all this we went in this morning to order:

A sofa;
Two chairs;
An ottoman;
A drop leaf table;
Two accent tables;
One floor lamp;
A pair of table lamps.

All we thought we needed to do was tell our salesperson what we wanted, and pick the color of leather for the ottoman and the color of the lampshades for the table lamps.

It still took better than THREE AND A HALF HOURS.

Oh my God! We had to pick the finish color of the legs of the chairs and the sofa. We had to pick the finish on the drop-leaf table. We had to pick the LEATHER, the NAIL HEADS and the WOOD FINISH on the otttoman. Who knew there were 4,256,385 different colors of leather? Who knew there were 185 different kinds of nail heads? Who knew that there were only 6 colors of wood finish and THAT was what we'd want more of?

So, we got it all ordered, and now we have to.....

wait.


About 3 months.



Before it arrives.



Dang I hate to wait. I'm more into instant gratification. It's kind of my deal.

Diplomacy

Diplomacy is the art of getting what you want by making the other person think it's in his interest to do so.

The Bunny, to her grandmother, who has only broadcast television: no cable, no dish, no TiVo:

"Don't you ever wish you had more channels?"

A Random List of Things That Are Better In Theory Than In Practice

Diet Coke with lime

Victoria's Secret underwear

Aging gracefully

Lineless bifocals

Summer

Computers and the internet as productivity tools

Balancing career and family

Mouse poison

Epidurals

LaMaze

Tantric sex

Sting

Peanut butter Hersey's Kisses

Baker's Square bananas foster pie

Horseradish mayonnaise

Business travel

Frequent flyer miles

Things It Is Entirely Usual To Hear At My House

"Hey, Daddy. Mama has a new funky purple purse!"

I Blame-a Myself, or, The Weather Report

It's been grey and cloudy here for about a month. A bit of snow before Christmas, so that was white, and there's been a tiny bit since then to freshen everything up, but for the most part, the clouds just hovered. Hovering, grey and heavy. Just hovering.

Of course I blame myself.

Just before Christmas I got a pair of prescription sunglasses.

I Am Not Either Contrarian!

We named our dog "Bermondsey." Actually, it's "Constable Windsor Bermondsey of the Back Yard," but when people ask his name, we just say "Bermondsey."

And we are invariably asked "What do you call him?"

I mean, it's not that complicated or long of a name. Bermondsey--like "burgandy," or "Germany," or "Chardonnay" or "Zinfandel." One accented syllable followed by two unaccented ones. It's a bloody anapestic foot--for those of you conversant with metrical terminology.

So, after six months of this, what do we do?

Of course. We give him a nickname...

...that's longer than his name.

So, if you happen to hear any of us call him "Bermonzini," be aware that that 's not what we really call him.

We really call him "The Great and Powerful Bermonzini."

We shortened it for you.

I Gotta Crow

I just have to post this, for the two people in the universe who don't already know this.

Last year, the Pony graduated from the lower school. Among the recognitions that are given at the graduation assembly is a writing award called "Now and Then." The entire fifth grade is given 40 minutes to write a poem. Those poems are reviewed by their homeroom teachers, and five are selected from each class.

The final ten are posted in a prominent location in the school, and the entire faculty votes on the best of them.

Last year, the Pony won. The winner's poem is read aloud at the graduation ceremony, and the winner receives one of the first copies of the year's literary compilation (every student selects one of their writings from the year and they are all printed.)

When the head of school announced the winner of the Now and Then, she just read the poem. And I had no idea that the Pony was even a finalist--she keeps secrets well. As the Head read the poem, I was getting all angry, because the subject was a snake, and I figured it was a boy who wrote it. As the poem progressed, I was thinking "Man, Pony writes that well! She's as good as that!" Then, the farther the poem went, the more I began to relax--it really was a good piece of writing. "Okay, then, whoever wrote that deserves the award."

Imagine my surprise and delight when the Pony's name was announced.

Later, we heard from her homeroom teachers that it was so notably better than any of the other pieces that they felt they only had one poem to submit. Apparently the faculty agreed.

And so, The Mistress Of All Evil presents:

Snake

Way down in a canyon deep,
A snake slowly creeps.
Without a hand, without a food,
For a baby mouse he looks.
Looking down, on the ground,
No prey today is found.
With teeth of pearl and eyes of gold,
Watch the snake's story unfold.
Rabbit napping, quietly sleeping,
In plain sight of the snake that's creeping.
Rabbit awakes, hops away,
The last the the prey Snake will see today.
The sun in high, Snake is looking,
"Dinner for one," snake is bboking.
THe sun is gone, has gone away.
Snake has found no food today.
Way down in the canyon deep,
Watch the snake that slowly creeps.

The New International Language

Back in the day, everyone who was educated studied Latin and Greek, because it was the common language of learning.

Later, French became the international language of diplomacy--and they are waiting for it to become that again. It's gonna be a looooooong wait, guys.

But now, there is a new international language. No, it isn't English, and while international conversations have happened in C++, that's actually a rather limited language.

No, the new international language is.....Disney.

We spent some time this Christmas with my 6 year old niece from Japan. Her mother is Japanese, and her father is my brother-in-law, so she is exposed to both languages. In the US, however, she has to quickly pick up a lot of English, since none of us speak Japanese.

Fortunately, she watches the Disney Channel, even in Japan, and she could talk to the kidlets about that. "Kim Possible!" she cries, and friendship is immediate and fast.

There is a song from Kim Possible that the Niece wanted to sing with the Bunny and Pony. "Naka Mol Lap" she said, and the Pony simply couldn't translate.

"Naka Mol Lap. Naka Mol Lap!" Still no comprehension.

"You know--'yo, yo, yo?'"

"Oh. Naked Mole Rap!"

There is nothing funnier than a six year old Japanese girl rapping. Yo, yo, yo!

Digital Milestones

So, the Fabulous Babe's Christmas presents arrived yesterday. For the kidlets, there were gift cards for iTunes--The Pony's already loaded hers onto her account.

For me--a 4 CD set of FB selected tunes--Rockin' the MamaVan!!

I love love love it. All kinds of good music to play loudly--much of it older stuff that I actually once had on VINYL! (No, dearies--that was AFTER the dinosaurs died--they're what vinyl is made of. Yes, I am THAT OLD!)

But here's the deal--I now have MORE MUSIC THAN THE iPOD WILL HOLD!

I never thought I'd see that day. It's even all music that I like!

I love my iPod--the sprightly green Mini that I got last Valentine's day. But this Christmas, I had to (yes, it WAS TOO a necessity) do some shopping at the Apple store, and I managed to develop a lust for a new iPod.

Not even a Nano, which is what I thought I would have wanted. No, I want the full sized one, that can play video.

Which is entirely stupid, because I play my iPod WHILE DRIVING IN THE CAR! What the hell is the point of a VIDEO iPOD in the CAR?

Doesn't matter. I wanted it.

So, knowing my bad reaction to delayed gratification, I went back to the Apple store and played with the toys. I listened, and played, and watched videos...and after several hours, managed to assuage my acquisitive nature.

BUT NOW! I NEED more memory! Like 120 TIMES MORE MEMORY. Right? Because I don't have enough things on which to spend money I don't have. I must have more memory so I can buy more music PLUS TV SHOWS that I don't even watch when they are free! And MUSIC VIDEOS so I can WATCH THEM IN THE CAR. WHILE I AM DRIVING.

Addiction is such an ugly thing.

Fun With Dogs

JoMama called with this story about the Fabulous Babe, who is my fabulous sister.

FB was walking her dog, Otto von Biscuit--I know, GREAT dog name-- when it started to rain. It must have really rained hard, as they had to take shelter in a pet store. So, being Fabulous, FB began to shop. So did Otto.

Of course, being 3/4 Lhasa Apso, Otto has champagne tastes. They say you can predict a dog's personality from what role it was bred for. Lhasas apparently were bred to be worshipped. (This is true!) So, true to breed, Otto found a VERY expensive dog blanket. Something befitting his status, I guess.

So. He peed on it.

It's his now.

So, I'm looking for the "take away" from this story. Something that I can use when I want something.

(Mr. Sweetie interjects: "You have trouble getting what you want?!?!?!")

Well, whatever--I'm not going to start peeing on merchandise. At least not on purpose.

Physics for Dogs

The problem:

A fourteen pound dog, wearing a leather collar, clipped with a metal clasp and on a steel cable leash attached to a metal stake corkskrewed into the frozen ground--takes off across the yard after a rabbit.

The question:

What element breaks first?

The solution:

Ha! Trick question! The leash was clipped onto a metal ring which held the city license, the pet return information (for the microchip), the rabies tage AND the name plate with the dog's name, address and phone. All of which fell into the snow and buried themselves immediately. I managed to catch the dog in the neighbor's yard, and I found all but the rabies tag, which will certainly turn up in the spring thaw.

Happy New Year 2006!

Last year was a very good year for us. We did some fabulous things, we got some new stuff for the house, we upgraded into the digital media world in a big way, we were happy and healthy and played well together. My wish for 2006 is that it be as good.

Do I have some resolutions? Probably. Are they interesting to anyone else? Probably not.

All they have in common, though, is what E.M. Forester said was the purpose of life (in Howard's End): "Only connect." We need to connect to each other, and somehow, I want to do more of that. More art, more plays, more music, more blogging!

Yeah!

Empty Threats

Bunny was trying to annoy the Pony, who was getting fed up, but still had a sense of humor about it all:

"Stop it, or I'll tell Mom your deepest, darkest secret! As soon as I find out what it is!"

Love Harry Potter, Actually Mash-up

I've run across several films recently that feature many of the same British actors in different roles . It's rather fun to match the characters across the different films.


Did you know that Snape and Trelawney got married?





















Not a match I would have predicted, and in fact, it didn't turn out so well in Love Actually.











But then he dumped her to marry her sister. In Sense and Sensibility.
















The Cad!

Separated At Birth--Evil Twins Edition

It's Christmas season, so the Christmas shows are starting to run in heavy rotation. One of the newer entrants to this tradition is Love, Actually. Which I love, actually. One of the many many charms of this movie is my new boyfriend--Liam Neeson.




He's kind, loving, funny, patient, wise...and still in love with his dead wife, raising his stepson, and cautiously getting ready to love again. Definite boyfriend material.





But Boyfriend has an evil twin.




Ralph Fiennes--definitely NOT boyfriend material.

Can I Take Back The Take Back?

So, I was going to take back the take back, but everything changed. AGAIN. So now I'm just baffled.

First, it was roses blooming in November.

Then it was suddenly 9 degrees and two inches of snow.

Then on Monday, it was 50 degrees. All the snow melted. Completely.

Yesterday it dropped to 10, and snowed again.

I'm just going to wear lots and lots of layers, and just add and subtract clothing until the weather makes up its mind--are we going to be arctic this winter, or shall we all just pretend the Gulf Stream moved to run UP the Mississippi?

Flog the Blog

This is who I want to be when I grow up.

I swear to god, I laughed so hard tears came out of my eyes, and the dog had to come over and check me out to make sure that horrible sound I was making wasn't fatal.

I also want to learn how to play bridge, just so I can score in Aramaic.

Running With The Big Dogs

We were invited to some friends' cabin this weekend, and we went on the spur of the moment. They called as they were driving out of town, and we followed an hour and a half later.

The cabin was lovely, with enormous windows overlooking a lake, with giant timbers forming the support structure of the building. The friends have two girls, the same ages as the Pony and Bunny, so they split up and played.

The puppy made some new friends too--two lovely golden retrivers. Bermondsey weighs 14 pounds, and stands about 10 inches high. The Ladies--Isabelle and Gabrielle--are 90 and 60 pounds respectively. We let them all out together to run in the woods, and Bermondsey was in dog heaven. Gabby is only about 6 months older than Bermondsey, so the two of them chased each other around. Isabelle was the responsible party, and made sure they all came back inside together.

The difference in scale was noticeable to us, if not to Bermondsey. Poor dog was running full out as the Ladies began to trot. However, he used his smaller size to dodge around the bigger dogs, and so the chase games were well matched.

Only when Isabelle stepped gracefully over a rock that Bermondsey had to scrabble up was he even aware of his much smaller size.

And it didn't stop him from stealing their rawhide bones--which were as long as he was.

Increase Your Word Power!

Bunny (age 9) and Pony (age 12) were goofing around one morning:

Bunny: I don't want to be cute! I want to be powerful! Frightening! Incandescent!
Pony: What does that mean?
Bunny: Like an incandescent light bulb. It means to light up.

Later the same morning:

Pony: Ouch! You landed on my elbow!
Bunny: Your oboe? What's an oboe?
Pony: My ELBOW!
Bunny: I do know what a hobo is. Do hoboes play oboes? With their elbows?

This Morning's Giggle

I know. I understand. I used to have two dogs.

How To Not Sleep--With Cats.

I woke up one sweaty August morning (no airconditioning) with a dog on either side of me. Hairy dogs. Dogs bred to survive in the mountains of Tibet. Plastered to my hips.

I think that's how SlimJeans got invented.

Does anyone remember those? They were a sort of rubberized pants/girdle that inflated, I think. They were supposed to help you sweat off weight while watching TV. Monty Python did a sketch about them. I actually can't find anything on the internet about them.

What's The Question?

Drove past the large bank sign flashing numbers:

What is the answer to Life, the Universe and--what's the temperature?

42. Of course.

Unclear On The Concept--Franchise Mania

There is a video game franchise that is about to issue its latest edition.

Final Fantasy XII

How final can it be?

The Crying Game

Puppy has a little cry/whine he makes when he's attempting to communicate something. I associate it with needing to go outside--hey, it's how I'd sound if I had to go to the bathroom.

Especially since we are transitioning from multiple daily walks to being in the yard on a leash, I'm thinking that maybe he has more business to do.

But he's now just sitting by the back door crying. Frequently. Multiple times. In a row.

He escaped the last time before I got the leash on him, and he went straight to the fence and cried to the dog next door.

Can it be love? Do they have a future? Especially since they are both neutered?

You Make The Call!

Saturday I had a bit of a meltdown. It actually felt like my emotional exoskeleton collapsed and sadness rushed out. There was no one to plug these dikes, and the city got flooded.

I can't even explain why it happened. I've been very good about taking my medicines. I hadn't gotten any bad news. I just suddenly turned cranky, and then tearful.

As a result, I missed out on a fancy night out with Mr. Sweetie--who, true to his name, let me stay home.

This morning, two days later, I got my period.

So......was it depression? or just PMS?

Queer Eye For The Wizarding Guy

Saw Harry Potter 4 this weekend, and can't wait to see it again.

Yes I am addicted to this literary crack--but at least it's legal.

Still, I'm a bit bothered by the transfiguration of Professor Flitwick. He started the series under Chris Columbus looking like this:















But now he looks like this:

Can magic cure baldness? Is it better than a face lift and Botox? Is there a potion like Rogaine?

If so, why can't it cure a bad haircut?

Does magic just make a mid-life crisis worse?

It's Like Having A Toddler Again

The weather continues to get colder, and it is becoming increasingly more important that the puppy learn to potty outside on a leash. He much prefers to go on walkies for that, but as the air temperature heads south of freezing (not even to mention the wind chill!), I am less interested in taking four walks a day.

It's like a classic economics diagram--and the temperature goes down, the demand for backyard potty-ing goes up.

So yesterday, we had success! Not only did he wet all over the catmint (I think that was a dog-dominance thing as well) he pooped! In the yard! While on his leash without me walking along.

So, when was the last time you rejoiced because somebody pooped? It's like having a toddler again!

We'll talk about the putting everything into the mouth, and the pulling off all the toilet paper behaviors another time.

The Queen's English

The Bunny was watching TV yesterday, and someone on the show was freaking out about leeches on her leg.

The Bunny felt she was over-reacting. "Just pull them off. Stomp on them, if you must."

"If you must." Who says that? More to the point, what 9 year old says that?

If you must. Not "if you want to," or "if you just gotta." No, none of that lazy American slang for Our Bunny.

Where did she get it? I know I sometimes use anachronistic language, especially after reading a lot of Victorian novels, but I don't think I've ever used that particular phrase.

Kids. Gotta love 'em.

If you must.

Okay, I Take It Back!

So, last week I made some snarky reference to global warming, as evidenced by roses in my garden in November.

Last week, we got served some winter, and oh the cold.

I woke up to the radio saying "9 degrees." That is not a typo. Nine. Degrees. That's Farenheit.
It's even lower in centigrade. Let's see...subtract 30...divide by 2... It's about 10 below zero! for those of you accustomed to metric measurements.

I was not ready for that much cold. I did manage to send the kids to school with warm coats and winter boots and gloves and hats--it's more that I wasn't ready psychologically for that kind of cold.

But then, is anybody?

My Kids Crack Me Up

Today was a Family Fun Day here at Chez Evil, and we all went bowling. However, trying to bowl on a Saturday involves long waits due to the many birthday parties going on. While we waited, we went into the arcade and played some games.

The Bunny played one called "Crazy Taxi." This one is tailor made for the Bunny, as she has loved driving video games since she was about 2, and she still isn't a very good driver. When the game is called "Crazy Taxi" she discovered new heights (or depths) of driving mayhem. She ran over her fares, crashed into cable cars, drove through parks and into stores--traffic and pedestrians went flying either to escape, or because she hit them.

On the way home, we were treated to the following monologue:

"Welcome to the Bunny Driving School, where our motto is 'Aaaaaaaah, eeeeeeeeeee, oh-dee-oh oh-dee-oh, aaaaahhhhhh, look out over there, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!' The first step in learning to drive is to memorize this motto, as you may be required to use it frequently during our course.
Let us all practice this motto, with correct pronunciation and enthusiasm."

This was followed by the same thing, done with a broad Australian Crocodile Hunter accent, and finally as a "snotty English butler."

This cracked me up for the entire trip home.

I Hate To Admit This, But...

...Mr. Sweetie is right.

Just bask in that a little, okay? He was right, and I was wrong.

Yes, it's hard to say, but I was wrong. He was right.

I've moved beyond nearsighted these days, and am now into bifocals. It's really unfair that I've needed glasses since 5th grade, and now I'm not even nearsighted anymore. I need bifocals, or reading glasses with contacts. It's a hassle.

So, when I first got the prescription for bifocals, I went ahead and got all the bells and whistles on my lenses--anti-glare coating, no-line progressive bifocal lenses, and Transitions (TM). Transitions is the deal that makes the glasses go dark in the sun, but lighten indoors.

Except they don't work. Sure, they darken in the sun, but not as dark as $15 sunglasses from Target, and not at all if I'm driving. Then, indoors, they never quite lighten up to clear, so I look like I'm trying to hide my stoned eyes. Which would be okay if I was stoned, but I'm not, so I don't like it.

Finally, the puppy, who puts everything in his mouth, also got my glasses, and now there are little chips in the lenses from his teeth. So, I'm thinking it's time for new glasses.

So, I'm looking around at people who wear glasses, and there are the cutest frames these days: dark, a little funky shaped, face jewelry kind of things. And I just love them. So, I go to the expensive designer glasses store, and I try on expensive designer glasses. After all, I am going to have to wear these pretty nearly constantly. And suddenly I find them: the cool glasses that have just enough uptilt to the frames that they are not cats-eyes, but they give me the illusion of real cheekbones. They are dark, like my eyes, and they have mod multicolored earpieces, so they will go with everything.

My girlfriend who went with me loved them. The store sales person loved them. I went in with Mr. Sweetie and ran into a trunk show, and the eyeglass fashionistas loved them.

Mr. Sweetie didn't. He felt that they hid my face, and called attention to themselves, not to me.

I didn't get them, but continued to think about them.

Then, I had to get my glasses adjusted, so I went into a different store, and tried on more frames. I started with the cool dark ones, and found some that were similar (though not quite so designer-y) and were about half the price. Just for kicks, I put on some rimless ones as well.

The contrast was amazing. The dark frames actually made my face look concave, compared to the rimless clear ones. I was literally obscured by the glasses, and when I put on the clear ones, my face just totally resolved into a "look" that featured me and my eyes, and not my glasses.

So, I was wrong.

Guess I'll just have to do my funky glasses experimentation with the $15 reading glasses I still need.

Although, something came in the mail, saying "Glasses are the new shoes--you need more than one pair." Maybe I can get them both....

Sad But True

Jack-o-lanterns are scarier after Halloween, after the squirrels have EATEN THEIR FACES!!!!

Global Politics

Driving home this morning after dropping the kidlets at school--public radio is discussing the St. Paul mayoral election--incumbent lost by 38 points.

The temperature on the bank sign I was passing at the moment?

38.

Creationism: A First Person Account

It must be the rise of the "new" "theories" of "intelligent" "design" that have lead to so many great minds revisiting Genesis.

Raising the question: If the Bible really is the Word of God, why is it written in third person?

These made me smile:

1. A pantheistic creation story, from the New Yorker.

2. God's Creation Blog.

Fun With Homophones

I have this idea for a crossword puzzle. Not that I'll ever actually construct one, but it's fun to think about.

It would be a themed puzzle--you know, where a bunch of the clues are related somehow. And, being who I am, it would be a series of really bad puns. Hence, the title of this entry: Fun With Homophones.*

17 Across: Child Carl, psychologist
Answer: Young Jung

23 Across: Spoiled Foie Gras
Answer: Awful Offal

47 Across and 32 Down: Canadian Colin's comedies
Answer: Mochrie's mockeries

Isn't higher education fun?

*When did these stop being "homonyms?" All those years when we were taught they were "homonyms," even though they clearly weren't the same name, since they were spelled differently. So, what are antonyms called now?

Creative Listening

National Public Radio broadcast part of a program called "Voices of Arab People" or something like it. It was a series of snippets of monologues by people in the Middle East talking about things that mattered to them.

Several of the speakers were making the distinction between hating a country and hating the people of that country. Often it was America they were addressing, but one Palestinian woman was outraged at the image of her people.

"We have no problem with the Israelis!" she said. "We want to live in peace with them. We hate the government, and we hate the soldiers, and we hate the tourists!"

Wow, I thought. Tourists in Palestine must be even worse than other places.

It was only later that I realized she was saying "terrorist."

Then I entertained myself by listening to all the rest of the news that day substituting "tourist" for "terrorist." Try it at home! It's fun!

I Meet All The Best People

...in my dreams.

I had quite an elaborate dream last night, in which I was a graduate student in something scientific--possibly astrophysics. Something I am really completely unqualified for.

And you 'll never believe who I run into. Dooce! Yup. In my dream, both she and John had moved out of Utah and gotten an apartment right next to the campus. They were having a birthday party for Leta, and they had a new baby--a boy. He was really cute, but they wouldn't tell me his name.

I wonder what it all means?

Before...

He was looking kind of scruffy...

...And After

... so here is the puppy after getting his pet-icure.

Global Warming...Kyoto Protocols...

Roses.

In November.

In Minnesota.

Who are we talking about?

Heartthrob?

Peter Jackson's King Kong is on the cover of Wired that we just got. Actually, King Kong isn't there--it's Naomi Watts, Jack Black, and Adrian Brody.

Inside, we are told that Jack Black plays--well, he plays Jack Black, just with a different name. Adrian Brody plays the heartthrob scientists.

Yes. Adrian Brody. Heartthrob. I don't know. They just don't go together.







I mean, Adrian Brody is a fine actor, and I certainly don't cringe or hide my eyes when he is on screen. But that's a far distance from "heartthrob."

On the plus side, I guess we can be pleased that Hollywood is willing to step away from gender based roles. Adrian Brody--isn't he a lesbian?

Book Review--Say When

I just finished a bok by Elizabeth Berg called Say When. Berg is the author of Open House, which was apparently an Oprah pick. I had read that one, and was willing to read another by her.

The story starts out fairly grimly--the first sentence is "Griffin knew his wife was having an affair" [as I recall it]. Within pages, his wife asks for a divorce, and Griffin is forced to admit that this was not something that would just blow over.

Ellen and Griffin have an eight year old daughter--Griffin has an office job, and Ellen is a stay at home mother. She assumes that Griffin will move out, in order to keep a stable environment for their daughter. Uncharacteristically, Griffin refuses to go. He does not want a divorce, and is unwilling to do anything to make it easy for Ellen to exit the marriage.

Interestingly, the book stays with Griffin and his processing of his marriage and the threat of divorce. Ellen does move out, although she comes back to the home regularly to care for their daughter. The narrative, however, stays firmly with Griffin.

At first, the book draws the reader into the vertiginous uncertainty of divorce--the way all one's assumptions about what is solid is changed. Griffin can no longer count on Ellen to do any of the things she ordinarily does, and he finds himself disappointed when he realizes that she will not be there at the end of his day, or next to him when he wakes in the morning. Each time he sees something he would like to share with her, he realizes what he is losing in divorce.

Soon, however, this book starts to cover much of the same territory as Anne Tyler's Accidental Tourist. The silent, reserved man is drawn out of his internal life by family crisis. There is a quirky job--Tyler's dog walker becomes Berg's shopping mall Santa. The affair falls apart, Griffin's attempt to date fails because he is still in love with his wife.

Berg has written a book of close observation of the rhythms of a disrupted life. However, I never felt the characters were given convincing histories--the book stays stubbornly lodged in the present, which limited my empathy with the characters.

All in all, a decent book, but my time would have been better spent rereading The Accidental Tourist.

Cuter Than Jessica's Dog

 

The Infinite Regress

Just for fun--here's a sample of how my mind works:

I was reading a blog (Tomato Nation) which mentioned going to a wine bar and eating cheese. And I immediately remembered going to a wine bar with my friend Sarah, right after seeing Anne LaMott give a talk, and we were drinking Pinot Grigio and eating cheese, and it was really really good except that they ran out of the Pinot Grigio, and the wine they offered instead wasn't nearly as good. Of course I drank it anyway--but I didn't enjoy it! It was a dirty job, and somebody had to do it.

So, that was more a wine memory than a cheese memory, so I decided to try to remember the best cheese I have ever eaten. Easy. It was a triple cream brie at Domaine Chandon, where Mr. Sweetie and I were tasting champagne on a romantic getaway/business trip to Napa Valley.

Domain Chandon, where Nick and Jessica spent some time on their show Newlyweds, which I totally never watch, except this one time because I was flipping around the tv and saw it was on and I had seen somewhere that Jessica had this really cute puppy, and I wanted to see if they would say what kind it was because I was looking to get a dog, and I wanted to find out if that was the kind of dog I wanted.


Except that they never even said the dog's name, much less its breed, and it hardly got any screen time at all, which was too bad, because it was way cuter than Jessica--who behaved very badly at a gourmet lunch where she refused to eat any of the incredible food that was set in front of her.

So, I ended up looking it up on the internet--the dog breed that is-- and found out that it was a malti-poo--which is a cross between a maltese and a poodle, which isn't what I wanted. But that doesn't matter, because now we have Bermondsey who is much cuter than Jessica's dog anyway.

So, anyway--I like Anne LaMott and Pinot Grigio and triple cream brie and Bermondsey. What were we talking about again?

Why I Can't Get Any Work Done

Notice how he is in the way of both the keyboard and the mouse.

How To Face Winter

Garrison Keillor writes today in Salon about his strategy for living through winter in Minnesota.

On New Year's Day, I plan to take a flight to Oslo, Norway, and then fly
north to the city of Tromso, 400 kilometers north of the Arctic Circle, in hopes
of seeing the northern lights and dog-sledding across a glacier but really it's
to get some trouble into my life, which has become too placid. There is no
sunrise or sunset in Tromso in January, just darkness. When I return, I will not
ever feel bad about winter again, and in Minnesota, that means six months of
happiness. One cannot ask for more.

I guess it's true--when you are in a funk, just find somebody who is worse off than you are. It can only help.

Kidlet Film Fest

We took the digital video camera with us to England, and managed not to do the entire trip though the lens. However, we did let the Bunny have a chance with it. This is what we got:

Ext. St. James Park. A grassy berm, with a handful of pigeons idly searching for grass seed. *

Narrator: A short film about pigeons.





Narrator: The end.

Post-modern film-making at its best.

*This is actually across the path from where the pigeons were. You cannot see any pigeons in this picture, so don't try.

This Is Why I Love Guys

Here is an interview of a band I've never heard of, but would totally go out of my way to see. And invite back to the house for the bestest slumber party ever. I think we'd have to get some of those Doodle Bears and sign autographs for each other.

Seriously. These guys made me laugh out loud, and I don't do that.

We're Off To See The Doctor

Depression is: drinking half a diet Coke with an antidepressant for breakfast, and knowing that it isn't even a therapeutic dose.

Well medicated is: a "wellness cocktail" every morning, composed of grapefruit juice and pills from several different containers.

Bartender! Polypharmacology all around!

Because I've increased the dosage of one medication by 50%, and it's making a difference. I'm still finding it difficult to do the administration stuff I need to do around here, but at least I'm out of bed, taking nourishment, and smiling at people. Making life better with chemistry; it's not just a slogan around here.

These are the fancy kidlets, dolled up for Halloween. The black rope around Ra-punk-zel is her 26 foot braid. Cleopatra is going somewhat informally--there was more jewelry that actually went out. 

This is my goth princess--Ra-punk-zel. Doesn't she look disaffected and alienated? She chose this costume because she likes to dress up as something she is not. 

This is Cleopatra, dressed warmly, because late fall in the Midwest is NOTHING like Egypt.