When I was younger I had this odd feeling of being special because I had two "famous" relatives (in name only). I had an Auntie Em which made me feel all Wizard of Ozzy, and I had an Uncle Albert, who was the subject of a cool old Paul McCartney song, even though I never really understood why we were so sorry for him and why we were going to rain.
My Uncle Albert was actually my Great Uncle Albert. My Auntie Em was at least one -great, if not two. My lasting memory of Auntie Em is sitting on the living room floor working together on a puzzle while we were surrounded by hundreds of tiny pieces. Oh -- and she was 88 years old at the time.
Uncle Albert lived in a cabin in the San Bernardino mountains. It may have appeared rustic on the outside, but inside it was filled with beautiful artwork, musical instruments and countless artifacts from his different collections. Based on the cabin's fairly simple exterior, you would have never guessed what treasures awaited inside.
Because we lived on the other side of the country, we weren't able to visit often. I can't say that I discovered many answers to the secrets of the cabin, but I did learn that my Great Grandmother napped at 1 pm on the porch swing, breakfast was always an overflowing cereal bowl, known as an Albert Special, and Happy Hour was promptly at 4 pm. Knowing those few things seemed to be enough for me.
One summer when we visited the Greats in the cabin, GramTuna, LittleBrotherTuna and myself decided to hike to San Bernardino Peak. My Uncle Albert -- an avid hiker -- had made the trip many times himself, but wasn't going to do the hike with us. He talked us through the route and told us we'd be fine. Then he reminded us that Happy Hour was promptly at 4 pm and would not wait.
So off we went. LBTuna was about 10 years old (I'm guessing a little), I was about 16 years old, and GramTuna was, well never you mind. She was a mother hiking up a mountain with her two youngest children, so I suppose she might have been insane. But with an Albert Special in our bellies, some supplies for a picnic lunch halfway up, and the promise of a 4 pm Happy Hour, we felt pretty sure of ourselves.
The first part of the climb was fairly steep through a heavily forested area. Having long legs and a longer stride, I took the lead and would walk for awhile until I found a good stopping place to wait for the others. Halfway up the mountain we made it to the first destination Uncle Albert described: Manzanita Flats.
It was a beautifully lush meadow complete with rivulets, wildflowers, manzanita and soakers -- invisible puddles that surprised us more often than we would have liked. We stopped here and had some lunch, and gave thanks for a stretch of flat ground.
From this point on, Uncle Albert's instructions were to follow the path to the top. It seemed simple enough, so off we went.
The landscape for the second half of the journey was much different than the first half and the trail was more difficult. There were a lot fewer trees and a lot more neck-breaking mountain-falling down rocky cliffs along the steep zig-zagging passes. As we continued our trek, the conversation dwindled to next to nothing and LBTuna began to get tired and cranky. At this point, the inevitable How Much Farther How Much Farther How Much Farther How Much Farther How Much Farther How Much Farther and When Are We Going to Get There kicked in full-throttle.
Logically, I understood he was tired. Intellectually I knew that he was just a little squirt. But realistically, I wanted him to hit him with a shut-up stick. The bigger problem was, neither GramTuna nor I had any idea HOW much longer it would be. So, in light of anything better to say, we came up with the best answer we could.
It's just around the next switchback.
It was the answer of the hour.
And the next hour.
And the hour after that.
Because we just didn't know.
Eventually, even the "switchback" line just didn't cut it, and we were worried that we had absolutely no idea how much more hiking was ahead and if we would be able to make it back before dark. In a fit of tiredness, I was elected to walk ahead and see if I could find the peak. LBTuna and Gram would sit and rest. Did I know where I was going? Nope. I just followed the path.
And followed the path.
And followed the path.
And followed the snow where I guessed there might be a path.
And then saw some disturbed snow leading up.
And found the peak.
I started yelling "I found it! I found it!" in the hopes that my voice would travel the twenty minutes I had been walking and would magic carpetly bring the rest of the expedition to me. I wasn't so lucky, but soon enough we were all standing at the top of the San Bernardino Peak, staring out over the summit.
I-have-no-idea-who-this-is
San Bernardino Peak
Elevation 10,691 feet
We practically ran down the mountain, partly due to our friend gravity, partly because we were so hyped from finding the top and not giving up, and partly because the 4 pm Happy Hour was looming. We made it down the mountain safely and we made it to Happy Hour on time -- exhausted, but happy. My recollection is that Uncle Albert was proud, but didn't make a big deal out of it one way or another. He knew the path and he knew we were smart and would know how to follow it. He had a lot of faith in a bunch of rookies from The Mitten.
On Wednesday, at the age of 91, my Uncle Albert began a new journey. Of all the paths he wandered and all the summits he reached, he never made a big deal out it. Perhaps his hardest hike was the one he made only a week ago, as he accompanied his sister down the hall and around the corner to visit another relative, this one, nearly 100 years old. He didn't make a big deal out of the fact that the walk must have been excruciatingly hard for his failing body. He had always been a hiker, and wanted to show he could still walk. And so he did.
To my Great Uncle Albert who embodied the love of the outdoors, the love of beautiful art and music, the yumminess of a morning bowl of granola overflowing with nuts and fruits, and the importance of a 4 pm happy hour spent with family and friends -- you're free to explore new paths and reach new summits once again. I won't be hiking with you this time, but I have faith.
I'll see you around the next switchback.
Friday, October 29, 2004
Summits
When I was younger I had this odd feeling of being special because I had two "famous" relatives (in name only). I had an Auntie Em which made me feel all Wizard of Ozzy, and I had an Uncle Albert, who was the subject of a cool old Paul McCartney song, even though I never really understood why we were so sorry for him and why we were going to rain.
My Uncle Albert was actually my Great Uncle Albert. My Auntie Em was at least one -great, if not two. My lasting memory of Auntie Em is sitting on the living room floor working together on a puzzle while we were surrounded by hundreds of tiny pieces. Oh -- and she was 88 years old at the time.
Uncle Albert lived in a cabin in the San Bernardino mountains. It may have appeared rustic on the outside, but inside it was filled with beautiful artwork, musical instruments and countless artifacts from his different collections. Based on the cabin's fairly simple exterior, you would have never guessed what treasures awaited inside.
Because we lived on the other side of the country, we weren't able to visit often. I can't say that I discovered many answers to the secrets of the cabin, but I did learn that my Great Grandmother napped at 1 pm on the porch swing, breakfast was always an overflowing cereal bowl, known as an Albert Special, and Happy Hour was promptly at 4 pm. Knowing those few things seemed to be enough for me.
One summer when we visited the Greats in the cabin, GramTuna, LittleBrotherTuna and myself decided to hike to San Bernardino Peak. My Uncle Albert -- an avid hiker -- had made the trip many times himself, but wasn't going to do the hike with us. He talked us through the route and told us we'd be fine. Then he reminded us that Happy Hour was promptly at 4 pm and would not wait.
So off we went. LBTuna was about 10 years old (I'm guessing a little), I was about 16 years old, and GramTuna was, well never you mind. She was a mother hiking up a mountain with her two youngest children, so I suppose she might have been insane. But with an Albert Special in our bellies, some supplies for a picnic lunch halfway up, and the promise of a 4 pm Happy Hour, we felt pretty sure of ourselves.
The first part of the climb was fairly steep through a heavily forested area. Having long legs and a longer stride, I took the lead and would walk for awhile until I found a good stopping place to wait for the others. Halfway up the mountain we made it to the first destination Uncle Albert described: Manzanita Flats.
It was a beautifully lush meadow complete with rivulets, wildflowers, manzanita and soakers -- invisible puddles that surprised us more often than we would have liked. We stopped here and had some lunch, and gave thanks for a stretch of flat ground.
From this point on, Uncle Albert's instructions were to follow the path to the top. It seemed simple enough, so off we went.
The landscape for the second half of the journey was much different than the first half and the trail was more difficult. There were a lot fewer trees and a lot more neck-breaking mountain-falling down rocky cliffs along the steep zig-zagging passes. As we continued our trek, the conversation dwindled to next to nothing and LBTuna began to get tired and cranky. At this point, the inevitable How Much Farther How Much Farther How Much Farther How Much Farther How Much Farther How Much Farther and When Are We Going to Get There kicked in full-throttle.
Logically, I understood he was tired. Intellectually I knew that he was just a little squirt. But realistically, I wanted him to hit him with a shut-up stick. The bigger problem was, neither GramTuna nor I had any idea HOW much longer it would be. So, in light of anything better to say, we came up with the best answer we could.
It's just around the next switchback.
It was the answer of the hour.
And the next hour.
And the hour after that.
Because we just didn't know.
Eventually, even the "switchback" line just didn't cut it, and we were worried that we had absolutely no idea how much more hiking was ahead and if we would be able to make it back before dark. In a fit of tiredness, I was elected to walk ahead and see if I could find the peak. LBTuna and Gram would sit and rest. Did I know where I was going? Nope. I just followed the path.
And followed the path.
And followed the path.
And followed the snow where I guessed there might be a path.
And then saw some disturbed snow leading up.
And found the peak.
I started yelling "I found it! I found it!" in the hopes that my voice would travel the twenty minutes I had been walking and would magic carpetly bring the rest of the expedition to me. I wasn't so lucky, but soon enough we were all standing at the top of the San Bernardino Peak, staring out over the summit.
I-have-no-idea-who-this-is
San Bernardino Peak
Elevation 10,691 feet
We practically ran down the mountain, partly due to our friend gravity, partly because we were so hyped from finding the top and not giving up, and partly because the 4 pm Happy Hour was looming. We made it down the mountain safely and we made it to Happy Hour on time -- exhausted, but happy. My recollection is that Uncle Albert was proud, but didn't make a big deal out of it one way or another. He knew the path and he knew we were smart and would know how to follow it. He had a lot of faith in a bunch of rookies from The Mitten.
On Wednesday, at the age of 91, my Uncle Albert began a new journey. Of all the paths he wandered and all the summits he reached, he never made a big deal out it. Perhaps his hardest hike was the one he made only a week ago, as he accompanied his sister down the hall and around the corner to visit another relative, this one, nearly 100 years old. He didn't make a big deal out of the fact that the walk must have been excruciatingly hard for his failing body. He had always been a hiker, and wanted to show he could still walk. And so he did.
To my Great Uncle Albert who embodied the love of the outdoors, the love of beautiful art and music, the yumminess of a morning bowl of granola overflowing with nuts and fruits, and the importance of a 4 pm happy hour spent with family and friends -- you're free to explore new paths and reach new summits once again. I won't be hiking with you this time, but I have faith.
I'll see you around the next switchback.
My Uncle Albert was actually my Great Uncle Albert. My Auntie Em was at least one -great, if not two. My lasting memory of Auntie Em is sitting on the living room floor working together on a puzzle while we were surrounded by hundreds of tiny pieces. Oh -- and she was 88 years old at the time.
Uncle Albert lived in a cabin in the San Bernardino mountains. It may have appeared rustic on the outside, but inside it was filled with beautiful artwork, musical instruments and countless artifacts from his different collections. Based on the cabin's fairly simple exterior, you would have never guessed what treasures awaited inside.
Because we lived on the other side of the country, we weren't able to visit often. I can't say that I discovered many answers to the secrets of the cabin, but I did learn that my Great Grandmother napped at 1 pm on the porch swing, breakfast was always an overflowing cereal bowl, known as an Albert Special, and Happy Hour was promptly at 4 pm. Knowing those few things seemed to be enough for me.
One summer when we visited the Greats in the cabin, GramTuna, LittleBrotherTuna and myself decided to hike to San Bernardino Peak. My Uncle Albert -- an avid hiker -- had made the trip many times himself, but wasn't going to do the hike with us. He talked us through the route and told us we'd be fine. Then he reminded us that Happy Hour was promptly at 4 pm and would not wait.
So off we went. LBTuna was about 10 years old (I'm guessing a little), I was about 16 years old, and GramTuna was, well never you mind. She was a mother hiking up a mountain with her two youngest children, so I suppose she might have been insane. But with an Albert Special in our bellies, some supplies for a picnic lunch halfway up, and the promise of a 4 pm Happy Hour, we felt pretty sure of ourselves.
The first part of the climb was fairly steep through a heavily forested area. Having long legs and a longer stride, I took the lead and would walk for awhile until I found a good stopping place to wait for the others. Halfway up the mountain we made it to the first destination Uncle Albert described: Manzanita Flats.
It was a beautifully lush meadow complete with rivulets, wildflowers, manzanita and soakers -- invisible puddles that surprised us more often than we would have liked. We stopped here and had some lunch, and gave thanks for a stretch of flat ground.
From this point on, Uncle Albert's instructions were to follow the path to the top. It seemed simple enough, so off we went.
The landscape for the second half of the journey was much different than the first half and the trail was more difficult. There were a lot fewer trees and a lot more neck-breaking mountain-falling down rocky cliffs along the steep zig-zagging passes. As we continued our trek, the conversation dwindled to next to nothing and LBTuna began to get tired and cranky. At this point, the inevitable How Much Farther How Much Farther How Much Farther How Much Farther How Much Farther How Much Farther and When Are We Going to Get There kicked in full-throttle.
Logically, I understood he was tired. Intellectually I knew that he was just a little squirt. But realistically, I wanted him to hit him with a shut-up stick. The bigger problem was, neither GramTuna nor I had any idea HOW much longer it would be. So, in light of anything better to say, we came up with the best answer we could.
It's just around the next switchback.
It was the answer of the hour.
And the next hour.
And the hour after that.
Because we just didn't know.
Eventually, even the "switchback" line just didn't cut it, and we were worried that we had absolutely no idea how much more hiking was ahead and if we would be able to make it back before dark. In a fit of tiredness, I was elected to walk ahead and see if I could find the peak. LBTuna and Gram would sit and rest. Did I know where I was going? Nope. I just followed the path.
And followed the path.
And followed the path.
And followed the snow where I guessed there might be a path.
And then saw some disturbed snow leading up.
And found the peak.
I started yelling "I found it! I found it!" in the hopes that my voice would travel the twenty minutes I had been walking and would magic carpetly bring the rest of the expedition to me. I wasn't so lucky, but soon enough we were all standing at the top of the San Bernardino Peak, staring out over the summit.
I-have-no-idea-who-this-is
San Bernardino Peak
Elevation 10,691 feet
We practically ran down the mountain, partly due to our friend gravity, partly because we were so hyped from finding the top and not giving up, and partly because the 4 pm Happy Hour was looming. We made it down the mountain safely and we made it to Happy Hour on time -- exhausted, but happy. My recollection is that Uncle Albert was proud, but didn't make a big deal out of it one way or another. He knew the path and he knew we were smart and would know how to follow it. He had a lot of faith in a bunch of rookies from The Mitten.
On Wednesday, at the age of 91, my Uncle Albert began a new journey. Of all the paths he wandered and all the summits he reached, he never made a big deal out it. Perhaps his hardest hike was the one he made only a week ago, as he accompanied his sister down the hall and around the corner to visit another relative, this one, nearly 100 years old. He didn't make a big deal out of the fact that the walk must have been excruciatingly hard for his failing body. He had always been a hiker, and wanted to show he could still walk. And so he did.
To my Great Uncle Albert who embodied the love of the outdoors, the love of beautiful art and music, the yumminess of a morning bowl of granola overflowing with nuts and fruits, and the importance of a 4 pm happy hour spent with family and friends -- you're free to explore new paths and reach new summits once again. I won't be hiking with you this time, but I have faith.
I'll see you around the next switchback.
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
Does So
______________________________________
ALERT!
This Document Contains No Data.
______________________________________
That's what I got all day -- courtesy of Blogger.
Things seem to be better now.
More to follow.
ALERT!
This Document Contains No Data.
______________________________________
That's what I got all day -- courtesy of Blogger.
Things seem to be better now.
More to follow.
Does So
______________________________________
ALERT!
This Document Contains No Data.
______________________________________
That's what I got all day -- courtesy of Blogger.
Things seem to be better now.
More to follow.
ALERT!
This Document Contains No Data.
______________________________________
That's what I got all day -- courtesy of Blogger.
Things seem to be better now.
More to follow.
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My
The Mitten. Home to the LIONS.
My Chinese Zodiac Symbol is the TIGER
Watching me stampede to Quizilla.com after I saw this on Nance's blog, you'd think my animal spirit would be a LEMMING. Surprisingly, it's not. However, there is nothing new to see here. Just like Nance, I'm a BEAR. Oh my.
Bear Spirit Calls To You ~
Bear is spirit keeper of the West, the place of
darkness, maturity and good harvest. Bears are
active during the night and day. This
symbolizes its connection with solar energy,
that of strength and power, and lunar energy,
that of intuition. The bear holds the teachings
of introspection. When it shows up in your life
pay attention to how you think, act and
interact.
Bear's Wisdom Includes:
*Introspection
*Healing
*Solitude
*Change
*Communication with Spirit
*Birth and rebirth
*Transformation
*Astral travel
*Creature of dreams, shamans and mystics
*Visionaries
*Defense and revenge
*Wisdom
Animal Spirit Guides ~ Which One Calls To You?
brought to you by Quizilla
But then again....Don't bears EAT Fish?
RutRoh.
My Chinese Zodiac Symbol is the TIGER
Watching me stampede to Quizilla.com after I saw this on Nance's blog, you'd think my animal spirit would be a LEMMING. Surprisingly, it's not. However, there is nothing new to see here. Just like Nance, I'm a BEAR. Oh my.
Bear Spirit Calls To You ~
Bear is spirit keeper of the West, the place of
darkness, maturity and good harvest. Bears are
active during the night and day. This
symbolizes its connection with solar energy,
that of strength and power, and lunar energy,
that of intuition. The bear holds the teachings
of introspection. When it shows up in your life
pay attention to how you think, act and
interact.
Bear's Wisdom Includes:
*Introspection
*Healing
*Solitude
*Change
*Communication with Spirit
*Birth and rebirth
*Transformation
*Astral travel
*Creature of dreams, shamans and mystics
*Visionaries
*Defense and revenge
*Wisdom
Animal Spirit Guides ~ Which One Calls To You?
brought to you by Quizilla
But then again....Don't bears EAT Fish?
RutRoh.
Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My
The Mitten. Home to the LIONS.
My Chinese Zodiac Symbol is the TIGER
Watching me stampede to Quizilla.com after I saw this on Nance's blog, you'd think my animal spirit would be a LEMMING. Surprisingly, it's not. However, there is nothing new to see here. Just like Nance, I'm a BEAR. Oh my.
Bear Spirit Calls To You ~
Bear is spirit keeper of the West, the place of
darkness, maturity and good harvest. Bears are
active during the night and day. This
symbolizes its connection with solar energy,
that of strength and power, and lunar energy,
that of intuition. The bear holds the teachings
of introspection. When it shows up in your life
pay attention to how you think, act and
interact.
Bear's Wisdom Includes:
*Introspection
*Healing
*Solitude
*Change
*Communication with Spirit
*Birth and rebirth
*Transformation
*Astral travel
*Creature of dreams, shamans and mystics
*Visionaries
*Defense and revenge
*Wisdom
Animal Spirit Guides ~ Which One Calls To You?
brought to you by Quizilla
But then again....Don't bears EAT Fish?
RutRoh.
My Chinese Zodiac Symbol is the TIGER
Watching me stampede to Quizilla.com after I saw this on Nance's blog, you'd think my animal spirit would be a LEMMING. Surprisingly, it's not. However, there is nothing new to see here. Just like Nance, I'm a BEAR. Oh my.
Bear Spirit Calls To You ~
Bear is spirit keeper of the West, the place of
darkness, maturity and good harvest. Bears are
active during the night and day. This
symbolizes its connection with solar energy,
that of strength and power, and lunar energy,
that of intuition. The bear holds the teachings
of introspection. When it shows up in your life
pay attention to how you think, act and
interact.
Bear's Wisdom Includes:
*Introspection
*Healing
*Solitude
*Change
*Communication with Spirit
*Birth and rebirth
*Transformation
*Astral travel
*Creature of dreams, shamans and mystics
*Visionaries
*Defense and revenge
*Wisdom
Animal Spirit Guides ~ Which One Calls To You?
brought to you by Quizilla
But then again....Don't bears EAT Fish?
RutRoh.
Speaking of Hairballs
In what can only be described as the most creative excuse of the day, Ashlee Simpson, who got caught lip-synching on Saturday Night Live this past weekend, blamed the entire mess on.....
Global Warming?
No
Terrorists?
No
Full Moon?
If Only
............(ready?)
ACID REFLUX
Seriously. I just hope she realizes the next time she needs an excuse, it's going to have to top this one. Maybe it will be "My Dog Ate My Esophagus".
Link: (Sorry, Beelzebub says "Cut and Paste, Yo")
http://www.cnn.com/2004/SHOWBIZ/Music/10/26/ashlee.simpson.ap/index.html
Global Warming?
No
Terrorists?
No
Full Moon?
If Only
............(ready?)
ACID REFLUX
Seriously. I just hope she realizes the next time she needs an excuse, it's going to have to top this one. Maybe it will be "My Dog Ate My Esophagus".
Link: (Sorry, Beelzebub says "Cut and Paste, Yo")
http://www.cnn.com/2004/SHOWBIZ/Music/10/26/ashlee.simpson.ap/index.html
Speaking of Hairballs
In what can only be described as the most creative excuse of the day, Ashlee Simpson, who got caught lip-synching on Saturday Night Live this past weekend, blamed the entire mess on.....
Global Warming?
No
Terrorists?
No
Full Moon?
If Only
............(ready?)
ACID REFLUX
Seriously. I just hope she realizes the next time she needs an excuse, it's going to have to top this one. Maybe it will be "My Dog Ate My Esophagus".
Link: (Sorry, Beelzebub says "Cut and Paste, Yo")
http://www.cnn.com/2004/SHOWBIZ/Music/10/26/ashlee.simpson.ap/index.html
Global Warming?
No
Terrorists?
No
Full Moon?
If Only
............(ready?)
ACID REFLUX
Seriously. I just hope she realizes the next time she needs an excuse, it's going to have to top this one. Maybe it will be "My Dog Ate My Esophagus".
Link: (Sorry, Beelzebub says "Cut and Paste, Yo")
http://www.cnn.com/2004/SHOWBIZ/Music/10/26/ashlee.simpson.ap/index.html
Monday, October 25, 2004
Save the Wales
It was that time again. That time when the good, hale and true Welshfolk gather for the annual Mitten version of the Gymanfa Ganu.
"The whatsa-whatsit??" I hear you ask.
The Gymanfa Ganu -- For which there are National Associations, whose purpose is "to preserve, develop, and promote our Welsh religious and cultural heritage and our religious and cultural traditions, including, but not limited to the Gymanfa Ganu*, and to do all things necessary and proper to accomplish and enhance the same".
"No help at all," I hear you say.
Y Gymanfa Ganu -- a Welsh cultural tradition, is a hymn-singing festival characterized by choral singing in four part harmony which dates back more than 150 years.
"Aha!" I hear you exclaim.
Yes indeed, oftentimes where there is singing, there is Tuna. And where there is singing with a big Welsh Carrot decorated with dollar signs, then most definitely there is Tuna. Sign me up. I'm as Welsh as the next fish.
My role in this particular Hymn Shout was that of "relief singer." In other words, after several hymns, the participants would rest their bruised and battered vocal cords while I regaled them with my comprehensive repertoire of Welsh folksongs (read: four). After my sets, they would rise again, ready to do battle with the likes of Cwm Rhondda or Hyfrydol.
On the surface, it doesn't seem like such a bad setup. And I must admit, a day later with check in hand, the entire memory is much more pleasing. But to get the full flavor of this annual vocal pilgrimage to Mecca on the Moorland, you need to understand a few basics about the annual Gymanfa Ganu.
First of all, The Welsh are a real CAPS LOCK, LEANED OVER, BOLD kind of people. They are serious about their homeland and they are serious about their music. Who else would SUE (and win, I might add) because a performing Welsh choir wasn't Welsh ENOUGH? I'm telling you, you don't mess with the Welsh.
Their mascot is a bad-ass red dragon
and their other national emblem is a Leek
This endearing symbol has, more recently, been replaced by the slightly cheerier daffodil, because as festive as they may seem, an onion crammed into one's lapel just doesn't really say Party Down With a Sheep, now does it?
So yes, the Welsh are tough and oniony. And they love themselves some music. And they love to sing themselves some music in their native tongue. And they love to sing themselves some music in their native tongue even if they have never spoken the native tongue -- sober, anyway. And they love to sing themselves some music in their native tongue even if they have never spoken the native tongue -- sober, anyway -- Really Really Really Really Really REALLY REALLY REALLY LOUDLY.
In addition to the rule that, as a Welsh hymn shouter, you have a cultural predisposition to dial it up to 11, there are two important corollaries. The first is, the louder you sing, the slower you go. One reason is so you, and your neighbors, and your neighbor's neighbors, and your neighbor's neighbor's to come can longer and longer enjoy the GLORIOUS LOUDNESS of the human voice. Another, more practical reason is that a slower tempo will delay your head exploding.
"Exploding?" You gasp.
As all Good Welsh singers know, with each successive verse, the face turns a little purpler and the neck veins bulge out a little bit more, until at last, in a fit of Welsh ecstasy, your head explodes.
The second corollary is if a refrain done once is good, then a refrain done twice is better, and a refrain done ONE MORE TIME (for the 97th time) is Welsh, WELSH, WELSH! This repetitive repetition provides the singer with an impressive shade of purple. And then, of course, your head explodes.
The Welsh language is a Scrabble-player's dream. Consonants outnumber vowels three-to-one. Think of the points you'd get with cwyd, and ynof and bywyd, Oh MY!
Arglwydd, arwain trwyr anialwch,
Fi bererin gwael ei wedd,
Nad oes ynof nerth na bywyd
Fel yn gorwedd yn y bedd:
Hollalluog
Ydywr Un am cwyd ir lan.
Speaking it, though, is a whole other ballgame.
I like to think of myself as a teensy bit of a language snob. Not because I am particularly fluent in many, but I've sung enough and have a good enough ear to be able to approximate all sorts of sounds and offend speakers of languages both living and dead. I mean, I've sung in Sanskrit, and I'm here to tell you that never ever have I had a single Sanskritian complain about my diction. So, I must be doing something right.
I used to think Dutch was the funniest language, because it looked and sounded like a cross between drunken German and bastard English. Welsh isn't like that at all. My best description of the Welsh language is an unholy union of Klingon and Hairball. Ergo, if you have a long-haired urp-prone cat who enjoys watching Star Trek, it probably speaks Welsh fluently.
So, this Christmas, if you get the burning desire to have your own little private Gymanfa Ganu I leave you with this inspiration. Just think to yourself, What Would Welsh Worf Do? And then sing Silent Night Really, Really REALLY REALLY REALLY FREAKING LOUD.
TAWEL NOS DROS Y BYD,
SANCTAIDD NOS GLYCH Y CRUD;
GWU:OPM DOROPM UR PEDD ADDFWYN DDAU,
FABAN DUW GYDA'R LLYGAID BACH CAU,
IESU, T'WYSOG
Who needs calm and bright, anyway?
ONE MORE TIME......
"The whatsa-whatsit??" I hear you ask.
The Gymanfa Ganu -- For which there are National Associations, whose purpose is "to preserve, develop, and promote our Welsh religious and cultural heritage and our religious and cultural traditions, including, but not limited to the Gymanfa Ganu*, and to do all things necessary and proper to accomplish and enhance the same".
"No help at all," I hear you say.
Y Gymanfa Ganu -- a Welsh cultural tradition, is a hymn-singing festival characterized by choral singing in four part harmony which dates back more than 150 years.
"Aha!" I hear you exclaim.
Yes indeed, oftentimes where there is singing, there is Tuna. And where there is singing with a big Welsh Carrot decorated with dollar signs, then most definitely there is Tuna. Sign me up. I'm as Welsh as the next fish.
My role in this particular Hymn Shout was that of "relief singer." In other words, after several hymns, the participants would rest their bruised and battered vocal cords while I regaled them with my comprehensive repertoire of Welsh folksongs (read: four). After my sets, they would rise again, ready to do battle with the likes of Cwm Rhondda or Hyfrydol.
On the surface, it doesn't seem like such a bad setup. And I must admit, a day later with check in hand, the entire memory is much more pleasing. But to get the full flavor of this annual vocal pilgrimage to Mecca on the Moorland, you need to understand a few basics about the annual Gymanfa Ganu.
First of all, The Welsh are a real CAPS LOCK, LEANED OVER, BOLD kind of people. They are serious about their homeland and they are serious about their music. Who else would SUE (and win, I might add) because a performing Welsh choir wasn't Welsh ENOUGH? I'm telling you, you don't mess with the Welsh.
Their mascot is a bad-ass red dragon
and their other national emblem is a Leek
This endearing symbol has, more recently, been replaced by the slightly cheerier daffodil, because as festive as they may seem, an onion crammed into one's lapel just doesn't really say Party Down With a Sheep, now does it?
So yes, the Welsh are tough and oniony. And they love themselves some music. And they love to sing themselves some music in their native tongue. And they love to sing themselves some music in their native tongue even if they have never spoken the native tongue -- sober, anyway. And they love to sing themselves some music in their native tongue even if they have never spoken the native tongue -- sober, anyway -- Really Really Really Really Really REALLY REALLY REALLY LOUDLY.
In addition to the rule that, as a Welsh hymn shouter, you have a cultural predisposition to dial it up to 11, there are two important corollaries. The first is, the louder you sing, the slower you go. One reason is so you, and your neighbors, and your neighbor's neighbors, and your neighbor's neighbor's to come can longer and longer enjoy the GLORIOUS LOUDNESS of the human voice. Another, more practical reason is that a slower tempo will delay your head exploding.
"Exploding?" You gasp.
As all Good Welsh singers know, with each successive verse, the face turns a little purpler and the neck veins bulge out a little bit more, until at last, in a fit of Welsh ecstasy, your head explodes.
The second corollary is if a refrain done once is good, then a refrain done twice is better, and a refrain done ONE MORE TIME (for the 97th time) is Welsh, WELSH, WELSH! This repetitive repetition provides the singer with an impressive shade of purple. And then, of course, your head explodes.
The Welsh language is a Scrabble-player's dream. Consonants outnumber vowels three-to-one. Think of the points you'd get with cwyd, and ynof and bywyd, Oh MY!
Arglwydd, arwain trwyr anialwch,
Fi bererin gwael ei wedd,
Nad oes ynof nerth na bywyd
Fel yn gorwedd yn y bedd:
Hollalluog
Ydywr Un am cwyd ir lan.
Speaking it, though, is a whole other ballgame.
I like to think of myself as a teensy bit of a language snob. Not because I am particularly fluent in many, but I've sung enough and have a good enough ear to be able to approximate all sorts of sounds and offend speakers of languages both living and dead. I mean, I've sung in Sanskrit, and I'm here to tell you that never ever have I had a single Sanskritian complain about my diction. So, I must be doing something right.
I used to think Dutch was the funniest language, because it looked and sounded like a cross between drunken German and bastard English. Welsh isn't like that at all. My best description of the Welsh language is an unholy union of Klingon and Hairball. Ergo, if you have a long-haired urp-prone cat who enjoys watching Star Trek, it probably speaks Welsh fluently.
So, this Christmas, if you get the burning desire to have your own little private Gymanfa Ganu I leave you with this inspiration. Just think to yourself, What Would Welsh Worf Do? And then sing Silent Night Really, Really REALLY REALLY REALLY FREAKING LOUD.
TAWEL NOS DROS Y BYD,
SANCTAIDD NOS GLYCH Y CRUD;
GWU:OPM DOROPM UR PEDD ADDFWYN DDAU,
FABAN DUW GYDA'R LLYGAID BACH CAU,
IESU, T'WYSOG
Who needs calm and bright, anyway?
ONE MORE TIME......
Save the Wales
It was that time again. That time when the good, hale and true Welshfolk gather for the annual Mitten version of the Gymanfa Ganu.
"The whatsa-whatsit??" I hear you ask.
The Gymanfa Ganu -- For which there are National Associations, whose purpose is "to preserve, develop, and promote our Welsh religious and cultural heritage and our religious and cultural traditions, including, but not limited to the Gymanfa Ganu*, and to do all things necessary and proper to accomplish and enhance the same".
"No help at all," I hear you say.
Y Gymanfa Ganu -- a Welsh cultural tradition, is a hymn-singing festival characterized by choral singing in four part harmony which dates back more than 150 years.
"Aha!" I hear you exclaim.
Yes indeed, oftentimes where there is singing, there is Tuna. And where there is singing with a big Welsh Carrot decorated with dollar signs, then most definitely there is Tuna. Sign me up. I'm as Welsh as the next fish.
My role in this particular Hymn Shout was that of "relief singer." In other words, after several hymns, the participants would rest their bruised and battered vocal cords while I regaled them with my comprehensive repertoire of Welsh folksongs (read: four). After my sets, they would rise again, ready to do battle with the likes of Cwm Rhondda or Hyfrydol.
On the surface, it doesn't seem like such a bad setup. And I must admit, a day later with check in hand, the entire memory is much more pleasing. But to get the full flavor of this annual vocal pilgrimage to Mecca on the Moorland, you need to understand a few basics about the annual Gymanfa Ganu.
First of all, The Welsh are a real CAPS LOCK, LEANED OVER, BOLD kind of people. They are serious about their homeland and they are serious about their music. Who else would SUE (and win, I might add) because a performing Welsh choir wasn't Welsh ENOUGH? I'm telling you, you don't mess with the Welsh.
Their mascot is a bad-ass red dragon
and their other national emblem is a Leek
This endearing symbol has, more recently, been replaced by the slightly cheerier daffodil, because as festive as they may seem, an onion crammed into one's lapel just doesn't really say Party Down With a Sheep, now does it?
So yes, the Welsh are tough and oniony. And they love themselves some music. And they love to sing themselves some music in their native tongue. And they love to sing themselves some music in their native tongue even if they have never spoken the native tongue -- sober, anyway. And they love to sing themselves some music in their native tongue even if they have never spoken the native tongue -- sober, anyway -- Really Really Really Really Really REALLY REALLY REALLY LOUDLY.
In addition to the rule that, as a Welsh hymn shouter, you have a cultural predisposition to dial it up to 11, there are two important corollaries. The first is, the louder you sing, the slower you go. One reason is so you, and your neighbors, and your neighbor's neighbors, and your neighbor's neighbor's to come can longer and longer enjoy the GLORIOUS LOUDNESS of the human voice. Another, more practical reason is that a slower tempo will delay your head exploding.
"Exploding?" You gasp.
As all Good Welsh singers know, with each successive verse, the face turns a little purpler and the neck veins bulge out a little bit more, until at last, in a fit of Welsh ecstasy, your head explodes.
The second corollary is if a refrain done once is good, then a refrain done twice is better, and a refrain done ONE MORE TIME (for the 97th time) is Welsh, WELSH, WELSH! This repetitive repetition provides the singer with an impressive shade of purple. And then, of course, your head explodes.
The Welsh language is a Scrabble-player's dream. Consonants outnumber vowels three-to-one. Think of the points you'd get with cwyd, and ynof and bywyd, Oh MY!
Arglwydd, arwain trwyr anialwch,
Fi bererin gwael ei wedd,
Nad oes ynof nerth na bywyd
Fel yn gorwedd yn y bedd:
Hollalluog
Ydywr Un am cwyd ir lan.
Speaking it, though, is a whole other ballgame.
I like to think of myself as a teensy bit of a language snob. Not because I am particularly fluent in many, but I've sung enough and have a good enough ear to be able to approximate all sorts of sounds and offend speakers of languages both living and dead. I mean, I've sung in Sanskrit, and I'm here to tell you that never ever have I had a single Sanskritian complain about my diction. So, I must be doing something right.
I used to think Dutch was the funniest language, because it looked and sounded like a cross between drunken German and bastard English. Welsh isn't like that at all. My best description of the Welsh language is an unholy union of Klingon and Hairball. Ergo, if you have a long-haired urp-prone cat who enjoys watching Star Trek, it probably speaks Welsh fluently.
So, this Christmas, if you get the burning desire to have your own little private Gymanfa Ganu I leave you with this inspiration. Just think to yourself, What Would Welsh Worf Do? And then sing Silent Night Really, Really REALLY REALLY REALLY FREAKING LOUD.
TAWEL NOS DROS Y BYD,
SANCTAIDD NOS GLYCH Y CRUD;
GWU:OPM DOROPM UR PEDD ADDFWYN DDAU,
FABAN DUW GYDA'R LLYGAID BACH CAU,
IESU, T'WYSOG
Who needs calm and bright, anyway?
ONE MORE TIME......
"The whatsa-whatsit??" I hear you ask.
The Gymanfa Ganu -- For which there are National Associations, whose purpose is "to preserve, develop, and promote our Welsh religious and cultural heritage and our religious and cultural traditions, including, but not limited to the Gymanfa Ganu*, and to do all things necessary and proper to accomplish and enhance the same".
"No help at all," I hear you say.
Y Gymanfa Ganu -- a Welsh cultural tradition, is a hymn-singing festival characterized by choral singing in four part harmony which dates back more than 150 years.
"Aha!" I hear you exclaim.
Yes indeed, oftentimes where there is singing, there is Tuna. And where there is singing with a big Welsh Carrot decorated with dollar signs, then most definitely there is Tuna. Sign me up. I'm as Welsh as the next fish.
My role in this particular Hymn Shout was that of "relief singer." In other words, after several hymns, the participants would rest their bruised and battered vocal cords while I regaled them with my comprehensive repertoire of Welsh folksongs (read: four). After my sets, they would rise again, ready to do battle with the likes of Cwm Rhondda or Hyfrydol.
On the surface, it doesn't seem like such a bad setup. And I must admit, a day later with check in hand, the entire memory is much more pleasing. But to get the full flavor of this annual vocal pilgrimage to Mecca on the Moorland, you need to understand a few basics about the annual Gymanfa Ganu.
First of all, The Welsh are a real CAPS LOCK, LEANED OVER, BOLD kind of people. They are serious about their homeland and they are serious about their music. Who else would SUE (and win, I might add) because a performing Welsh choir wasn't Welsh ENOUGH? I'm telling you, you don't mess with the Welsh.
Their mascot is a bad-ass red dragon
and their other national emblem is a Leek
This endearing symbol has, more recently, been replaced by the slightly cheerier daffodil, because as festive as they may seem, an onion crammed into one's lapel just doesn't really say Party Down With a Sheep, now does it?
So yes, the Welsh are tough and oniony. And they love themselves some music. And they love to sing themselves some music in their native tongue. And they love to sing themselves some music in their native tongue even if they have never spoken the native tongue -- sober, anyway. And they love to sing themselves some music in their native tongue even if they have never spoken the native tongue -- sober, anyway -- Really Really Really Really Really REALLY REALLY REALLY LOUDLY.
In addition to the rule that, as a Welsh hymn shouter, you have a cultural predisposition to dial it up to 11, there are two important corollaries. The first is, the louder you sing, the slower you go. One reason is so you, and your neighbors, and your neighbor's neighbors, and your neighbor's neighbor's to come can longer and longer enjoy the GLORIOUS LOUDNESS of the human voice. Another, more practical reason is that a slower tempo will delay your head exploding.
"Exploding?" You gasp.
As all Good Welsh singers know, with each successive verse, the face turns a little purpler and the neck veins bulge out a little bit more, until at last, in a fit of Welsh ecstasy, your head explodes.
The second corollary is if a refrain done once is good, then a refrain done twice is better, and a refrain done ONE MORE TIME (for the 97th time) is Welsh, WELSH, WELSH! This repetitive repetition provides the singer with an impressive shade of purple. And then, of course, your head explodes.
The Welsh language is a Scrabble-player's dream. Consonants outnumber vowels three-to-one. Think of the points you'd get with cwyd, and ynof and bywyd, Oh MY!
Arglwydd, arwain trwyr anialwch,
Fi bererin gwael ei wedd,
Nad oes ynof nerth na bywyd
Fel yn gorwedd yn y bedd:
Hollalluog
Ydywr Un am cwyd ir lan.
Speaking it, though, is a whole other ballgame.
I like to think of myself as a teensy bit of a language snob. Not because I am particularly fluent in many, but I've sung enough and have a good enough ear to be able to approximate all sorts of sounds and offend speakers of languages both living and dead. I mean, I've sung in Sanskrit, and I'm here to tell you that never ever have I had a single Sanskritian complain about my diction. So, I must be doing something right.
I used to think Dutch was the funniest language, because it looked and sounded like a cross between drunken German and bastard English. Welsh isn't like that at all. My best description of the Welsh language is an unholy union of Klingon and Hairball. Ergo, if you have a long-haired urp-prone cat who enjoys watching Star Trek, it probably speaks Welsh fluently.
So, this Christmas, if you get the burning desire to have your own little private Gymanfa Ganu I leave you with this inspiration. Just think to yourself, What Would Welsh Worf Do? And then sing Silent Night Really, Really REALLY REALLY REALLY FREAKING LOUD.
TAWEL NOS DROS Y BYD,
SANCTAIDD NOS GLYCH Y CRUD;
GWU:OPM DOROPM UR PEDD ADDFWYN DDAU,
FABAN DUW GYDA'R LLYGAID BACH CAU,
IESU, T'WYSOG
Who needs calm and bright, anyway?
ONE MORE TIME......
Saturday, October 23, 2004
Countdown
Eight days and counting.
I can already tell I'm in trouble. The weather outside is frightful and I have not been leaving my sacrificial offerings of Milk Duds and Candy Corns for the Halloween Gods. This is not good.
In a fit of bad parenting coupled with extreme I-Don't-Care-edness stirred with the spoon of No Time No Time No Time I walked through the valley of the shadow of
HALLOWEEN USA
in an attempt to find the missing pieces of the pirate puzzle. So far I had a hat and a small stuffed parrot. At the very least, I needed an eyepatch, and was hoping to find some sort of puffy shirt and/or some red and white SMEE-type stockings.
Of course you know, in order to have one measley eyepatch, I came out with an entire costume. Black jacket, black pants, another pirate hat and some plastic things to put over the pant legs to look like boots. Next year I'm looking for a pirate-supply store.
Mission accomplished. I guess.
Bleah.
I can already tell I'm in trouble. The weather outside is frightful and I have not been leaving my sacrificial offerings of Milk Duds and Candy Corns for the Halloween Gods. This is not good.
In a fit of bad parenting coupled with extreme I-Don't-Care-edness stirred with the spoon of No Time No Time No Time I walked through the valley of the shadow of
HALLOWEEN USA
in an attempt to find the missing pieces of the pirate puzzle. So far I had a hat and a small stuffed parrot. At the very least, I needed an eyepatch, and was hoping to find some sort of puffy shirt and/or some red and white SMEE-type stockings.
Of course you know, in order to have one measley eyepatch, I came out with an entire costume. Black jacket, black pants, another pirate hat and some plastic things to put over the pant legs to look like boots. Next year I'm looking for a pirate-supply store.
Mission accomplished. I guess.
Bleah.
Countdown
Eight days and counting.
I can already tell I'm in trouble. The weather outside is frightful and I have not been leaving my sacrificial offerings of Milk Duds and Candy Corns for the Halloween Gods. This is not good.
In a fit of bad parenting coupled with extreme I-Don't-Care-edness stirred with the spoon of No Time No Time No Time I walked through the valley of the shadow of
HALLOWEEN USA
in an attempt to find the missing pieces of the pirate puzzle. So far I had a hat and a small stuffed parrot. At the very least, I needed an eyepatch, and was hoping to find some sort of puffy shirt and/or some red and white SMEE-type stockings.
Of course you know, in order to have one measley eyepatch, I came out with an entire costume. Black jacket, black pants, another pirate hat and some plastic things to put over the pant legs to look like boots. Next year I'm looking for a pirate-supply store.
Mission accomplished. I guess.
Bleah.
I can already tell I'm in trouble. The weather outside is frightful and I have not been leaving my sacrificial offerings of Milk Duds and Candy Corns for the Halloween Gods. This is not good.
In a fit of bad parenting coupled with extreme I-Don't-Care-edness stirred with the spoon of No Time No Time No Time I walked through the valley of the shadow of
HALLOWEEN USA
in an attempt to find the missing pieces of the pirate puzzle. So far I had a hat and a small stuffed parrot. At the very least, I needed an eyepatch, and was hoping to find some sort of puffy shirt and/or some red and white SMEE-type stockings.
Of course you know, in order to have one measley eyepatch, I came out with an entire costume. Black jacket, black pants, another pirate hat and some plastic things to put over the pant legs to look like boots. Next year I'm looking for a pirate-supply store.
Mission accomplished. I guess.
Bleah.
Thursday, October 21, 2004
Will Wonders Never Cease?
Red Sox, eh? Better watch out. The next thing you know, the Lions and the Tigers will start winning, and then we all may as well buy our snowboots for hell, because it's coming.
Actually I'm quite pleased the Red Sox won, in a Rhett Butler Frankly my dear, I don't really give a damn kind of way. Just don't discount your curses before they're hatched. Karma can be harsher than dropping a series when you're up 3-0.
Actually I'm quite pleased the Red Sox won, in a Rhett Butler Frankly my dear, I don't really give a damn kind of way. Just don't discount your curses before they're hatched. Karma can be harsher than dropping a series when you're up 3-0.
Will Wonders Never Cease?
Red Sox, eh? Better watch out. The next thing you know, the Lions and the Tigers will start winning, and then we all may as well buy our snowboots for hell, because it's coming.
Actually I'm quite pleased the Red Sox won, in a Rhett Butler Frankly my dear, I don't really give a damn kind of way. Just don't discount your curses before they're hatched. Karma can be harsher than dropping a series when you're up 3-0.
Actually I'm quite pleased the Red Sox won, in a Rhett Butler Frankly my dear, I don't really give a damn kind of way. Just don't discount your curses before they're hatched. Karma can be harsher than dropping a series when you're up 3-0.
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Frederick
Five days ago, the Tuna clan hopped in the car and sped off to Maryland to celebrate That Which Shall Not be Spoken. To up and leave for four days at a time of the year when we don't have four days to spare was a bit daunting. There was much frantic last-minute errand running and snack purchasing and 90th birthday card selecting (Whoops! Valdemort!) and laundry washing followed by the usual resignation of whatever doesn't get done will still be here when we return.
Needless to say, we didn't leave in the best frame of mind.
The drive through Michigan and Ohio brought a great deal of rain and fog. I spent a lot of time muttering and complaining to myself that I didn't live in the rain forest and really, fog should be gone by 11 am, but oh yeah, THERE WAS NO SUN in which to burn off that which had the power to play hide-and-seek with 18-wheelers.
Pennsylvania was an enormous improvement. The rain stopped, the sun came out and the scenery was marvelous. Since our usual Maryland excursions are done in the season of bare trees (December) and green trees (June), the spectacular display of color seemed to be a special treat.
One of my favorite kiddie-lit books is Frederick by Leo Lionni. Frederick, you see, is a little mouse who prepares for the long cold winter ahead in a different way. While his friends gathering food and other provisions to sustain them, Frederick sits and stares. They accuse him of doing nothing, until they discover he has gathered colors and sounds and thoughts to feed their souls.
As I drove through the mountains of Pennsylvania, I spent a lot of time being quiet. I spent a lot of time being Frederick. As I drove, I occupied myself with looking and thinking and thinking and looking, desperately trying to store up sunshine yellows, burnt oranges and deep blazing reds for a time when the outlook would be gray and dreary.
Despite my best attempts to focus on the beauty surrounding me, my Frederick thoughts were snatched and replaced by concerns of the day. No matter how badly I wanted to file away the looks and smells and tastes of autumn, my picture-perfect blanket of newly fallen leaves kept getting snagged on the gnarled branches of worry and fear. All I could do was hope for another chance somewhere down the road.
Because you see, the trip for That Which Shall Not be Spoken was no longer being taken solely for the purpose of celebrating my Grandmother's long life well-lived. Right before we left came the news that another long life was nearing the end of its journey, and it was imperative that my grandmother travel to visit her 91-year old brother. Plans needed to be discussed. Tickets needed to be exchanged. Arrangements needed to be made. It was no longer quite the celebration we had intended.
As we entered Maryland, the weather turned again. Dark clouds returned, closely followed by another round of thick, heavy rain. On top of that, traffic had increased exponentially. Frederick had left the building.
I was tired of everything. Tired of the traffic. Tired of the weather. Tired of it always being something. Tired of being tired. So with headlights on, windshield wipers on high and a newfound resolve to JUST GET THERE NOW, I drove on. And as I came up over a hill,
"HEY, A RAINBOW!" I shouted in a caps lock, leaned over kind of way.
TinyTuna took off her headphones, GramTuna put down her reading, and we all looked.
It was so bright and full, especially as it touched the earth. TinyTuna yelled, "Hey, another one!" Sure enough, there was a second, slightly fainter rainbow. And then we noticed the "other half" of the first rainbow. And then the other half of the second. It was rainbowrrific.
Despite the crush of traffic, I pulled off the side of the road. "What are you doing?" asked TinyTuna. "I thought we could take a picture," I said, which was half true. The other half was I just wanted to stop. I needed to stop. I needed to have my Frederick moment without worrying about traffic and weather and going someplace. So in between breaks in the traffic, TinyTuna and Gram took pictures. One side and then the other. This angle and that. I took Frederick pictures. For later.
At one point, the two ends of the first rainbow met and formed a complete arc across the sky. The second rainbow framed it on either side. "You don't often see a whole rainbow," GramTuna said. "But just look how big and long this one is," adding quietly, "it's complete."
As we traveled, we became rainbow watchers, playing a prismatic version of I-Spy. Some parts might fade away, but then others grew strong. At times we would lose sight completely -- passing clumps of trees or taking a curve in the road -- and we wondered if our game was over. But soon it would appear again in a different spot, leading us on a merry chase until the sun finally set and the last speck vanished into the night.
Today, a mere five days from when we left for Maryland, and only 24 hours after having returned, GramTuna boarded a plane for California. With her mother, her brother and her sisters, she is off to visit my Great Uncle. I am so grateful now for my Frederick thoughts. Although the trip will be difficult and tinged with sadness, I cannot help but to think of the long lives well lived that are coming together once more.
A double rainbow. Full and complete.
Rare, indeed.
Needless to say, we didn't leave in the best frame of mind.
The drive through Michigan and Ohio brought a great deal of rain and fog. I spent a lot of time muttering and complaining to myself that I didn't live in the rain forest and really, fog should be gone by 11 am, but oh yeah, THERE WAS NO SUN in which to burn off that which had the power to play hide-and-seek with 18-wheelers.
Pennsylvania was an enormous improvement. The rain stopped, the sun came out and the scenery was marvelous. Since our usual Maryland excursions are done in the season of bare trees (December) and green trees (June), the spectacular display of color seemed to be a special treat.
One of my favorite kiddie-lit books is Frederick by Leo Lionni. Frederick, you see, is a little mouse who prepares for the long cold winter ahead in a different way. While his friends gathering food and other provisions to sustain them, Frederick sits and stares. They accuse him of doing nothing, until they discover he has gathered colors and sounds and thoughts to feed their souls.
As I drove through the mountains of Pennsylvania, I spent a lot of time being quiet. I spent a lot of time being Frederick. As I drove, I occupied myself with looking and thinking and thinking and looking, desperately trying to store up sunshine yellows, burnt oranges and deep blazing reds for a time when the outlook would be gray and dreary.
Despite my best attempts to focus on the beauty surrounding me, my Frederick thoughts were snatched and replaced by concerns of the day. No matter how badly I wanted to file away the looks and smells and tastes of autumn, my picture-perfect blanket of newly fallen leaves kept getting snagged on the gnarled branches of worry and fear. All I could do was hope for another chance somewhere down the road.
Because you see, the trip for That Which Shall Not be Spoken was no longer being taken solely for the purpose of celebrating my Grandmother's long life well-lived. Right before we left came the news that another long life was nearing the end of its journey, and it was imperative that my grandmother travel to visit her 91-year old brother. Plans needed to be discussed. Tickets needed to be exchanged. Arrangements needed to be made. It was no longer quite the celebration we had intended.
As we entered Maryland, the weather turned again. Dark clouds returned, closely followed by another round of thick, heavy rain. On top of that, traffic had increased exponentially. Frederick had left the building.
I was tired of everything. Tired of the traffic. Tired of the weather. Tired of it always being something. Tired of being tired. So with headlights on, windshield wipers on high and a newfound resolve to JUST GET THERE NOW, I drove on. And as I came up over a hill,
"HEY, A RAINBOW!" I shouted in a caps lock, leaned over kind of way.
TinyTuna took off her headphones, GramTuna put down her reading, and we all looked.
It was so bright and full, especially as it touched the earth. TinyTuna yelled, "Hey, another one!" Sure enough, there was a second, slightly fainter rainbow. And then we noticed the "other half" of the first rainbow. And then the other half of the second. It was rainbowrrific.
Despite the crush of traffic, I pulled off the side of the road. "What are you doing?" asked TinyTuna. "I thought we could take a picture," I said, which was half true. The other half was I just wanted to stop. I needed to stop. I needed to have my Frederick moment without worrying about traffic and weather and going someplace. So in between breaks in the traffic, TinyTuna and Gram took pictures. One side and then the other. This angle and that. I took Frederick pictures. For later.
At one point, the two ends of the first rainbow met and formed a complete arc across the sky. The second rainbow framed it on either side. "You don't often see a whole rainbow," GramTuna said. "But just look how big and long this one is," adding quietly, "it's complete."
As we traveled, we became rainbow watchers, playing a prismatic version of I-Spy. Some parts might fade away, but then others grew strong. At times we would lose sight completely -- passing clumps of trees or taking a curve in the road -- and we wondered if our game was over. But soon it would appear again in a different spot, leading us on a merry chase until the sun finally set and the last speck vanished into the night.
Today, a mere five days from when we left for Maryland, and only 24 hours after having returned, GramTuna boarded a plane for California. With her mother, her brother and her sisters, she is off to visit my Great Uncle. I am so grateful now for my Frederick thoughts. Although the trip will be difficult and tinged with sadness, I cannot help but to think of the long lives well lived that are coming together once more.
A double rainbow. Full and complete.
Rare, indeed.
Frederick
Five days ago, the Tuna clan hopped in the car and sped off to Maryland to celebrate That Which Shall Not be Spoken. To up and leave for four days at a time of the year when we don't have four days to spare was a bit daunting. There was much frantic last-minute errand running and snack purchasing and 90th birthday card selecting (Whoops! Valdemort!) and laundry washing followed by the usual resignation of whatever doesn't get done will still be here when we return.
Needless to say, we didn't leave in the best frame of mind.
The drive through Michigan and Ohio brought a great deal of rain and fog. I spent a lot of time muttering and complaining to myself that I didn't live in the rain forest and really, fog should be gone by 11 am, but oh yeah, THERE WAS NO SUN in which to burn off that which had the power to play hide-and-seek with 18-wheelers.
Pennsylvania was an enormous improvement. The rain stopped, the sun came out and the scenery was marvelous. Since our usual Maryland excursions are done in the season of bare trees (December) and green trees (June), the spectacular display of color seemed to be a special treat.
One of my favorite kiddie-lit books is Frederick by Leo Lionni. Frederick, you see, is a little mouse who prepares for the long cold winter ahead in a different way. While his friends gathering food and other provisions to sustain them, Frederick sits and stares. They accuse him of doing nothing, until they discover he has gathered colors and sounds and thoughts to feed their souls.
As I drove through the mountains of Pennsylvania, I spent a lot of time being quiet. I spent a lot of time being Frederick. As I drove, I occupied myself with looking and thinking and thinking and looking, desperately trying to store up sunshine yellows, burnt oranges and deep blazing reds for a time when the outlook would be gray and dreary.
Despite my best attempts to focus on the beauty surrounding me, my Frederick thoughts were snatched and replaced by concerns of the day. No matter how badly I wanted to file away the looks and smells and tastes of autumn, my picture-perfect blanket of newly fallen leaves kept getting snagged on the gnarled branches of worry and fear. All I could do was hope for another chance somewhere down the road.
Because you see, the trip for That Which Shall Not be Spoken was no longer being taken solely for the purpose of celebrating my Grandmother's long life well-lived. Right before we left came the news that another long life was nearing the end of its journey, and it was imperative that my grandmother travel to visit her 91-year old brother. Plans needed to be discussed. Tickets needed to be exchanged. Arrangements needed to be made. It was no longer quite the celebration we had intended.
As we entered Maryland, the weather turned again. Dark clouds returned, closely followed by another round of thick, heavy rain. On top of that, traffic had increased exponentially. Frederick had left the building.
I was tired of everything. Tired of the traffic. Tired of the weather. Tired of it always being something. Tired of being tired. So with headlights on, windshield wipers on high and a newfound resolve to JUST GET THERE NOW, I drove on. And as I came up over a hill,
"HEY, A RAINBOW!" I shouted in a caps lock, leaned over kind of way.
TinyTuna took off her headphones, GramTuna put down her reading, and we all looked.
It was so bright and full, especially as it touched the earth. TinyTuna yelled, "Hey, another one!" Sure enough, there was a second, slightly fainter rainbow. And then we noticed the "other half" of the first rainbow. And then the other half of the second. It was rainbowrrific.
Despite the crush of traffic, I pulled off the side of the road. "What are you doing?" asked TinyTuna. "I thought we could take a picture," I said, which was half true. The other half was I just wanted to stop. I needed to stop. I needed to have my Frederick moment without worrying about traffic and weather and going someplace. So in between breaks in the traffic, TinyTuna and Gram took pictures. One side and then the other. This angle and that. I took Frederick pictures. For later.
At one point, the two ends of the first rainbow met and formed a complete arc across the sky. The second rainbow framed it on either side. "You don't often see a whole rainbow," GramTuna said. "But just look how big and long this one is," adding quietly, "it's complete."
As we traveled, we became rainbow watchers, playing a prismatic version of I-Spy. Some parts might fade away, but then others grew strong. At times we would lose sight completely -- passing clumps of trees or taking a curve in the road -- and we wondered if our game was over. But soon it would appear again in a different spot, leading us on a merry chase until the sun finally set and the last speck vanished into the night.
Today, a mere five days from when we left for Maryland, and only 24 hours after having returned, GramTuna boarded a plane for California. With her mother, her brother and her sisters, she is off to visit my Great Uncle. I am so grateful now for my Frederick thoughts. Although the trip will be difficult and tinged with sadness, I cannot help but to think of the long lives well lived that are coming together once more.
A double rainbow. Full and complete.
Rare, indeed.
Needless to say, we didn't leave in the best frame of mind.
The drive through Michigan and Ohio brought a great deal of rain and fog. I spent a lot of time muttering and complaining to myself that I didn't live in the rain forest and really, fog should be gone by 11 am, but oh yeah, THERE WAS NO SUN in which to burn off that which had the power to play hide-and-seek with 18-wheelers.
Pennsylvania was an enormous improvement. The rain stopped, the sun came out and the scenery was marvelous. Since our usual Maryland excursions are done in the season of bare trees (December) and green trees (June), the spectacular display of color seemed to be a special treat.
One of my favorite kiddie-lit books is Frederick by Leo Lionni. Frederick, you see, is a little mouse who prepares for the long cold winter ahead in a different way. While his friends gathering food and other provisions to sustain them, Frederick sits and stares. They accuse him of doing nothing, until they discover he has gathered colors and sounds and thoughts to feed their souls.
As I drove through the mountains of Pennsylvania, I spent a lot of time being quiet. I spent a lot of time being Frederick. As I drove, I occupied myself with looking and thinking and thinking and looking, desperately trying to store up sunshine yellows, burnt oranges and deep blazing reds for a time when the outlook would be gray and dreary.
Despite my best attempts to focus on the beauty surrounding me, my Frederick thoughts were snatched and replaced by concerns of the day. No matter how badly I wanted to file away the looks and smells and tastes of autumn, my picture-perfect blanket of newly fallen leaves kept getting snagged on the gnarled branches of worry and fear. All I could do was hope for another chance somewhere down the road.
Because you see, the trip for That Which Shall Not be Spoken was no longer being taken solely for the purpose of celebrating my Grandmother's long life well-lived. Right before we left came the news that another long life was nearing the end of its journey, and it was imperative that my grandmother travel to visit her 91-year old brother. Plans needed to be discussed. Tickets needed to be exchanged. Arrangements needed to be made. It was no longer quite the celebration we had intended.
As we entered Maryland, the weather turned again. Dark clouds returned, closely followed by another round of thick, heavy rain. On top of that, traffic had increased exponentially. Frederick had left the building.
I was tired of everything. Tired of the traffic. Tired of the weather. Tired of it always being something. Tired of being tired. So with headlights on, windshield wipers on high and a newfound resolve to JUST GET THERE NOW, I drove on. And as I came up over a hill,
"HEY, A RAINBOW!" I shouted in a caps lock, leaned over kind of way.
TinyTuna took off her headphones, GramTuna put down her reading, and we all looked.
It was so bright and full, especially as it touched the earth. TinyTuna yelled, "Hey, another one!" Sure enough, there was a second, slightly fainter rainbow. And then we noticed the "other half" of the first rainbow. And then the other half of the second. It was rainbowrrific.
Despite the crush of traffic, I pulled off the side of the road. "What are you doing?" asked TinyTuna. "I thought we could take a picture," I said, which was half true. The other half was I just wanted to stop. I needed to stop. I needed to have my Frederick moment without worrying about traffic and weather and going someplace. So in between breaks in the traffic, TinyTuna and Gram took pictures. One side and then the other. This angle and that. I took Frederick pictures. For later.
At one point, the two ends of the first rainbow met and formed a complete arc across the sky. The second rainbow framed it on either side. "You don't often see a whole rainbow," GramTuna said. "But just look how big and long this one is," adding quietly, "it's complete."
As we traveled, we became rainbow watchers, playing a prismatic version of I-Spy. Some parts might fade away, but then others grew strong. At times we would lose sight completely -- passing clumps of trees or taking a curve in the road -- and we wondered if our game was over. But soon it would appear again in a different spot, leading us on a merry chase until the sun finally set and the last speck vanished into the night.
Today, a mere five days from when we left for Maryland, and only 24 hours after having returned, GramTuna boarded a plane for California. With her mother, her brother and her sisters, she is off to visit my Great Uncle. I am so grateful now for my Frederick thoughts. Although the trip will be difficult and tinged with sadness, I cannot help but to think of the long lives well lived that are coming together once more.
A double rainbow. Full and complete.
Rare, indeed.
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
Make A Run for the Border
Oh man. I want some of these NOW.
TACOS AL PASTOR
( para 4 o 5 personas )
Ingredientes:
1/2 kilo de bisteces de puerco
tortillas de maiz
2 cebollas grandes
175 grs. de tocino
1 manojo de cilantro
1 trozo grueso de piña
250gr. de adobo
1 diente de ajo
1 puñito de chile de arbol
l 3 jitomates.
Procedimiento:
Coloque en un platón los bisteces y únteles el adobo. Ensártelos en una barilla. Doble hacia adentro las orillas de los bisteces para que no cuelguen y tengan buena forma. Encima ponga un buen trozo de piña y media cebolla. Aselos a fuego lento hasta que estén bien cocidos (2 horas aproximadamente) gire de vez en cuando la varilla para que se cocinen parejo a fuego lento. Corte trozos y empieze a hacer los tacos, añada cebolla picada, cilantro y salsa. La salsa: Freír los chiles de árbol al gusto en aceite, mientras asa los jitomates en un comal, después se muele con 1 diente de ajo y sal.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Not sure what they are? Just ask My Boyfriend Google to translate for you. I'm especially fond of Ingredient #6. Seems very Monty Python-esque, dontcha think?
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
TACOS TO THE SHEPHERD
(for 4 or 5 people)
Ingredients:
1/2 kilo of pig steaks
maiz tortillas
2 great onions
175 grs. of bacon
1 handful of coriander
1 heavy piece of fragmentation hand grenade
250gr. of I marinate
1 tooth of garlic
1 puñito of Chile of arbol
l 3 tomatoes.
Procedure:
Place in a Plato steaks and únteles I marinate. Ensártelos in one barilla. Double inwards the borders of steaks so that they do not hang and they have good form. It raises puts a good piece of fragmentation hand grenade and average onion. Aselos to untimed fire until well they are cooked (2 hours approximately) turns the rod once in a while so that they cook even to untimed fire. Court pieces and empieze to make the tacos, year pricked onion, coriander and sauce. The sauce: To fry chili peppers of tree to the oil taste, while it roasts the tomatoes in a comal, later grinds with 1 tooth of garlic and salt.
ATTENTION
The prescriptions that we presented/displayed here are for personal use,
it is prohibited his reproduction for commercial aims.
TACOS AL PASTOR
( para 4 o 5 personas )
Ingredientes:
1/2 kilo de bisteces de puerco
tortillas de maiz
2 cebollas grandes
175 grs. de tocino
1 manojo de cilantro
1 trozo grueso de piña
250gr. de adobo
1 diente de ajo
1 puñito de chile de arbol
l 3 jitomates.
Procedimiento:
Coloque en un platón los bisteces y únteles el adobo. Ensártelos en una barilla. Doble hacia adentro las orillas de los bisteces para que no cuelguen y tengan buena forma. Encima ponga un buen trozo de piña y media cebolla. Aselos a fuego lento hasta que estén bien cocidos (2 horas aproximadamente) gire de vez en cuando la varilla para que se cocinen parejo a fuego lento. Corte trozos y empieze a hacer los tacos, añada cebolla picada, cilantro y salsa. La salsa: Freír los chiles de árbol al gusto en aceite, mientras asa los jitomates en un comal, después se muele con 1 diente de ajo y sal.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Not sure what they are? Just ask My Boyfriend Google to translate for you. I'm especially fond of Ingredient #6. Seems very Monty Python-esque, dontcha think?
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
TACOS TO THE SHEPHERD
(for 4 or 5 people)
Ingredients:
1/2 kilo of pig steaks
maiz tortillas
2 great onions
175 grs. of bacon
1 handful of coriander
1 heavy piece of fragmentation hand grenade
250gr. of I marinate
1 tooth of garlic
1 puñito of Chile of arbol
l 3 tomatoes.
Procedure:
Place in a Plato steaks and únteles I marinate. Ensártelos in one barilla. Double inwards the borders of steaks so that they do not hang and they have good form. It raises puts a good piece of fragmentation hand grenade and average onion. Aselos to untimed fire until well they are cooked (2 hours approximately) turns the rod once in a while so that they cook even to untimed fire. Court pieces and empieze to make the tacos, year pricked onion, coriander and sauce. The sauce: To fry chili peppers of tree to the oil taste, while it roasts the tomatoes in a comal, later grinds with 1 tooth of garlic and salt.
ATTENTION
The prescriptions that we presented/displayed here are for personal use,
it is prohibited his reproduction for commercial aims.
Make A Run for the Border
Oh man. I want some of these NOW.
TACOS AL PASTOR
( para 4 o 5 personas )
Ingredientes:
1/2 kilo de bisteces de puerco
tortillas de maiz
2 cebollas grandes
175 grs. de tocino
1 manojo de cilantro
1 trozo grueso de piña
250gr. de adobo
1 diente de ajo
1 puñito de chile de arbol
l 3 jitomates.
Procedimiento:
Coloque en un platón los bisteces y únteles el adobo. Ensártelos en una barilla. Doble hacia adentro las orillas de los bisteces para que no cuelguen y tengan buena forma. Encima ponga un buen trozo de piña y media cebolla. Aselos a fuego lento hasta que estén bien cocidos (2 horas aproximadamente) gire de vez en cuando la varilla para que se cocinen parejo a fuego lento. Corte trozos y empieze a hacer los tacos, añada cebolla picada, cilantro y salsa. La salsa: Freír los chiles de árbol al gusto en aceite, mientras asa los jitomates en un comal, después se muele con 1 diente de ajo y sal.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Not sure what they are? Just ask My Boyfriend Google to translate for you. I'm especially fond of Ingredient #6. Seems very Monty Python-esque, dontcha think?
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
TACOS TO THE SHEPHERD
(for 4 or 5 people)
Ingredients:
1/2 kilo of pig steaks
maiz tortillas
2 great onions
175 grs. of bacon
1 handful of coriander
1 heavy piece of fragmentation hand grenade
250gr. of I marinate
1 tooth of garlic
1 puñito of Chile of arbol
l 3 tomatoes.
Procedure:
Place in a Plato steaks and únteles I marinate. Ensártelos in one barilla. Double inwards the borders of steaks so that they do not hang and they have good form. It raises puts a good piece of fragmentation hand grenade and average onion. Aselos to untimed fire until well they are cooked (2 hours approximately) turns the rod once in a while so that they cook even to untimed fire. Court pieces and empieze to make the tacos, year pricked onion, coriander and sauce. The sauce: To fry chili peppers of tree to the oil taste, while it roasts the tomatoes in a comal, later grinds with 1 tooth of garlic and salt.
ATTENTION
The prescriptions that we presented/displayed here are for personal use,
it is prohibited his reproduction for commercial aims.
TACOS AL PASTOR
( para 4 o 5 personas )
Ingredientes:
1/2 kilo de bisteces de puerco
tortillas de maiz
2 cebollas grandes
175 grs. de tocino
1 manojo de cilantro
1 trozo grueso de piña
250gr. de adobo
1 diente de ajo
1 puñito de chile de arbol
l 3 jitomates.
Procedimiento:
Coloque en un platón los bisteces y únteles el adobo. Ensártelos en una barilla. Doble hacia adentro las orillas de los bisteces para que no cuelguen y tengan buena forma. Encima ponga un buen trozo de piña y media cebolla. Aselos a fuego lento hasta que estén bien cocidos (2 horas aproximadamente) gire de vez en cuando la varilla para que se cocinen parejo a fuego lento. Corte trozos y empieze a hacer los tacos, añada cebolla picada, cilantro y salsa. La salsa: Freír los chiles de árbol al gusto en aceite, mientras asa los jitomates en un comal, después se muele con 1 diente de ajo y sal.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Not sure what they are? Just ask My Boyfriend Google to translate for you. I'm especially fond of Ingredient #6. Seems very Monty Python-esque, dontcha think?
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
TACOS TO THE SHEPHERD
(for 4 or 5 people)
Ingredients:
1/2 kilo of pig steaks
maiz tortillas
2 great onions
175 grs. of bacon
1 handful of coriander
1 heavy piece of fragmentation hand grenade
250gr. of I marinate
1 tooth of garlic
1 puñito of Chile of arbol
l 3 tomatoes.
Procedure:
Place in a Plato steaks and únteles I marinate. Ensártelos in one barilla. Double inwards the borders of steaks so that they do not hang and they have good form. It raises puts a good piece of fragmentation hand grenade and average onion. Aselos to untimed fire until well they are cooked (2 hours approximately) turns the rod once in a while so that they cook even to untimed fire. Court pieces and empieze to make the tacos, year pricked onion, coriander and sauce. The sauce: To fry chili peppers of tree to the oil taste, while it roasts the tomatoes in a comal, later grinds with 1 tooth of garlic and salt.
ATTENTION
The prescriptions that we presented/displayed here are for personal use,
it is prohibited his reproduction for commercial aims.
Bad Parenting -- Example 175
As you may recall, the Tuna clan had travelled to Maryland in order to celebrate That Which Shall Not be Spoken. Fabio, the bunny extraordinaire, spent the weekend at Bunny Camp with BSTuna. Plans included eating lots of vegetables, and having a date with the beautiful bunny, Muna. TinyTuna, being the worrier that she was, fretted about Fabio all weekend.....
GreenTuna: (Yelling from the other room) TinyTuna! I got an email from BSTuna about Fabio!
TinyTuna: Really? What does she say?
GreenTuna: She says, "Fabio is in heaven!"
TinyTuna: (In a panic-filled CAPS LOCK LEANED OVER STRONG KIND OF WAY)
WWWWHHHHAAAATTTT ? ? ? ?
GreenTuna: NoNoNoNo! Not THAT way. He's not IN heaven. He's in HEAVEN! He's having a really, really, really good time.
TinyTuna: Thank Goodness. I thought something happened.
GreenTuna; Nope. Everything is fine. (bad mom. bad mom. bad mom.)
GreenTuna: (Yelling from the other room) TinyTuna! I got an email from BSTuna about Fabio!
TinyTuna: Really? What does she say?
GreenTuna: She says, "Fabio is in heaven!"
TinyTuna: (In a panic-filled CAPS LOCK LEANED OVER STRONG KIND OF WAY)
WWWWHHHHAAAATTTT ? ? ? ?
GreenTuna: NoNoNoNo! Not THAT way. He's not IN heaven. He's in HEAVEN! He's having a really, really, really good time.
TinyTuna: Thank Goodness. I thought something happened.
GreenTuna; Nope. Everything is fine. (bad mom. bad mom. bad mom.)
Bad Parenting -- Example 175
As you may recall, the Tuna clan had travelled to Maryland in order to celebrate That Which Shall Not be Spoken. Fabio, the bunny extraordinaire, spent the weekend at Bunny Camp with BSTuna. Plans included eating lots of vegetables, and having a date with the beautiful bunny, Muna. TinyTuna, being the worrier that she was, fretted about Fabio all weekend.....
GreenTuna: (Yelling from the other room) TinyTuna! I got an email from BSTuna about Fabio!
TinyTuna: Really? What does she say?
GreenTuna: She says, "Fabio is in heaven!"
TinyTuna: (In a panic-filled CAPS LOCK LEANED OVER STRONG KIND OF WAY)
WWWWHHHHAAAATTTT ? ? ? ?
GreenTuna: NoNoNoNo! Not THAT way. He's not IN heaven. He's in HEAVEN! He's having a really, really, really good time.
TinyTuna: Thank Goodness. I thought something happened.
GreenTuna; Nope. Everything is fine. (bad mom. bad mom. bad mom.)
GreenTuna: (Yelling from the other room) TinyTuna! I got an email from BSTuna about Fabio!
TinyTuna: Really? What does she say?
GreenTuna: She says, "Fabio is in heaven!"
TinyTuna: (In a panic-filled CAPS LOCK LEANED OVER STRONG KIND OF WAY)
WWWWHHHHAAAATTTT ? ? ? ?
GreenTuna: NoNoNoNo! Not THAT way. He's not IN heaven. He's in HEAVEN! He's having a really, really, really good time.
TinyTuna: Thank Goodness. I thought something happened.
GreenTuna; Nope. Everything is fine. (bad mom. bad mom. bad mom.)
Saturday, October 16, 2004
Zoom
Greetings from Maryland (Annapolis) -- technically I am currently in Virginia (Richmond) -- as I am here for the weekend to attend that which shall not be spoken. I have little time to write at the moment, but I can report the trip consisted of: rain, fog, noseeums of the TRUCK variety, moments of non-rain, spaghetti covered pants, more rain, thunderstorms, an irate chicken truck driver (I SAW him, I just wasn't going to move, thank you very much), and several rainbows.
Much, much more later.
Much, much more later.
Zoom
Greetings from Maryland (Annapolis) -- technically I am currently in Virginia (Richmond) -- as I am here for the weekend to attend that which shall not be spoken. I have little time to write at the moment, but I can report the trip consisted of: rain, fog, noseeums of the TRUCK variety, moments of non-rain, spaghetti covered pants, more rain, thunderstorms, an irate chicken truck driver (I SAW him, I just wasn't going to move, thank you very much), and several rainbows.
Much, much more later.
Much, much more later.
Thursday, October 14, 2004
Tick Tock Tick Tock
With a scant 45 minutes to go, I feel the need to mark the mumblemumble anniversary of Mensch's 29th birthday. The nice thing about being an evil twin is I know exactly how you feel. Never fear, mumblemumbleYearsOld isn't so bad. Grab yourself a box of crackers and a Slim Jim (or maybe a Slim Jim) and party like it's 1999...plus 5.
Have a Happy, Happy Birthday!
moi
Have a Happy, Happy Birthday!
moi
Tick Tock Tick Tock
With a scant 45 minutes to go, I feel the need to mark the mumblemumble anniversary of Mensch's 29th birthday. The nice thing about being an evil twin is I know exactly how you feel. Never fear, mumblemumbleYearsOld isn't so bad. Grab yourself a box of crackers and a Slim Jim (or maybe a Slim Jim) and party like it's 1999...plus 5.
Have a Happy, Happy Birthday!
moi
Have a Happy, Happy Birthday!
moi
Momsense
The older I get, the more I realize how little our basic patterns of behavior change from childhood. Deep down we all still want the biggest piece of dessert, we want more attention than the next guy, we crave praise, love and acceptance, and when confronted, we will do and say anything to avoid getting in trouble. Need a smooth operator? A shrewd negotiator? A cunning escape artist? Look no further than your average 8-year old. They are all that and a bag of Skittles.
TinyTuna has been a smooth talker since she was old enough to scheme, which was at far too young an age. I distinctly remember one pre-kindergarten conversation that went like this:
TinyTuna: "Mom, I know that if I asked you for ten dollars, you would say 'That's too much money!'"
GreenTuna: "You're right. That IS too much money."
TinyTuna: "I agree." *pause* "So can I just have FIVE?"
Smooth. Not smooth enough for me, but it was a big enough surprise that I got a big laugh out of the whole deal. And then I said no.
When kids sense they are in trouble, they are amazingly adept at the triple-D defense: Delay, Defer, Distract.
GreenTuna: "Did you have a good day at school?"
TinyTuna: "Yep."
GreenTuna: "Do you have any homework tonight?"
TinyTuna: "What?" (Delay)
GreenTuna: "Do you have any homework tonight?"
TinyTuna: "What?" (Delay)
GreenTuna: "Do. You. Have. Any. Homework. Tonight?"
TinyTuna: "Oh, I'm sorry I didn't hear you." *pause* "How was work today?" (Defer)
GreenTuna: "It was fine."
TinyTuna: "What did you do?" (Defer)
GreenTuna: "Lots of things. Did you hear what I said before?"
TinyTuna: "Yes, I heard. I just wondered how your day was."
GreenTuna: "It was fine."
TinyTuna: "Do you know what I need?" (Distract)
GreenTuna: "What?"
TinyTuna: "I need a hug." *hug*
GreenTuna: (who hasn't forgotten the unanswered question)...."Now. Answer my question."
TinyTuna: "Oh. Do I have HOMEWORK?" Well, you see Mom......" (which means "I forgot to bring my homework home" is just around the corner)
It was an admirable attempt. Too bad I could see it coming a mile away.
Survival is instinctual. Manipulation is instinctual. Why do kids behave this way? Why do they constantly push the envelope to get what they want, when they want, and how they want? Because they can. And because more often or not, it works.
Unfortunately, this behavior carries right over into adulthood. During the final presidential debate last night, I wasn't sure if it was Bush vs. Kerry or TinyTuna vs. AnyOtherNormalKid. Defer, Deflect, Deny, Distract, Manipulate -- this behavior was rampant. A prime example (in which I actually guffawed out loud) was when Bush answered the topic of raising minimum wage by talking about children being able to read and count. What did it have to do with raising the minimum wage? Precisely, nothing. I'm surprised he didn't ask for a hug while he was at it. Kerry often employed the same non-answer tactics, responding to the question by first addressing the previous (more palatable) topic, saving only a matter of seconds for the current question he really didn't want to answer in the first place.
Thankfully, the debates are over for the 2004 Presidential season. Next time around, though, I suggest adding a second moderator to each panel. All it would take is one stressed-out, tired, and hungry mother of a young child and she'd get to the heart of the matter in no time flat. Debates could be cut down to a lean 25 minutes. And, as added incentive, if everybody answered all the questions on their plate, we could go out for ice-cream. With sprinkles.
Momsense beats nonsense.
Volcano!
TinyTuna has been a smooth talker since she was old enough to scheme, which was at far too young an age. I distinctly remember one pre-kindergarten conversation that went like this:
TinyTuna: "Mom, I know that if I asked you for ten dollars, you would say 'That's too much money!'"
GreenTuna: "You're right. That IS too much money."
TinyTuna: "I agree." *pause* "So can I just have FIVE?"
Smooth. Not smooth enough for me, but it was a big enough surprise that I got a big laugh out of the whole deal. And then I said no.
When kids sense they are in trouble, they are amazingly adept at the triple-D defense: Delay, Defer, Distract.
GreenTuna: "Did you have a good day at school?"
TinyTuna: "Yep."
GreenTuna: "Do you have any homework tonight?"
TinyTuna: "What?" (Delay)
GreenTuna: "Do you have any homework tonight?"
TinyTuna: "What?" (Delay)
GreenTuna: "Do. You. Have. Any. Homework. Tonight?"
TinyTuna: "Oh, I'm sorry I didn't hear you." *pause* "How was work today?" (Defer)
GreenTuna: "It was fine."
TinyTuna: "What did you do?" (Defer)
GreenTuna: "Lots of things. Did you hear what I said before?"
TinyTuna: "Yes, I heard. I just wondered how your day was."
GreenTuna: "It was fine."
TinyTuna: "Do you know what I need?" (Distract)
GreenTuna: "What?"
TinyTuna: "I need a hug." *hug*
GreenTuna: (who hasn't forgotten the unanswered question)...."Now. Answer my question."
TinyTuna: "Oh. Do I have HOMEWORK?" Well, you see Mom......" (which means "I forgot to bring my homework home" is just around the corner)
It was an admirable attempt. Too bad I could see it coming a mile away.
Survival is instinctual. Manipulation is instinctual. Why do kids behave this way? Why do they constantly push the envelope to get what they want, when they want, and how they want? Because they can. And because more often or not, it works.
Unfortunately, this behavior carries right over into adulthood. During the final presidential debate last night, I wasn't sure if it was Bush vs. Kerry or TinyTuna vs. AnyOtherNormalKid. Defer, Deflect, Deny, Distract, Manipulate -- this behavior was rampant. A prime example (in which I actually guffawed out loud) was when Bush answered the topic of raising minimum wage by talking about children being able to read and count. What did it have to do with raising the minimum wage? Precisely, nothing. I'm surprised he didn't ask for a hug while he was at it. Kerry often employed the same non-answer tactics, responding to the question by first addressing the previous (more palatable) topic, saving only a matter of seconds for the current question he really didn't want to answer in the first place.
Thankfully, the debates are over for the 2004 Presidential season. Next time around, though, I suggest adding a second moderator to each panel. All it would take is one stressed-out, tired, and hungry mother of a young child and she'd get to the heart of the matter in no time flat. Debates could be cut down to a lean 25 minutes. And, as added incentive, if everybody answered all the questions on their plate, we could go out for ice-cream. With sprinkles.
Momsense beats nonsense.
Volcano!
Momsense
The older I get, the more I realize how little our basic patterns of behavior change from childhood. Deep down we all still want the biggest piece of dessert, we want more attention than the next guy, we crave praise, love and acceptance, and when confronted, we will do and say anything to avoid getting in trouble. Need a smooth operator? A shrewd negotiator? A cunning escape artist? Look no further than your average 8-year old. They are all that and a bag of Skittles.
TinyTuna has been a smooth talker since she was old enough to scheme, which was at far too young an age. I distinctly remember one pre-kindergarten conversation that went like this:
TinyTuna: "Mom, I know that if I asked you for ten dollars, you would say 'That's too much money!'"
GreenTuna: "You're right. That IS too much money."
TinyTuna: "I agree." *pause* "So can I just have FIVE?"
Smooth. Not smooth enough for me, but it was a big enough surprise that I got a big laugh out of the whole deal. And then I said no.
When kids sense they are in trouble, they are amazingly adept at the triple-D defense: Delay, Defer, Distract.
GreenTuna: "Did you have a good day at school?"
TinyTuna: "Yep."
GreenTuna: "Do you have any homework tonight?"
TinyTuna: "What?" (Delay)
GreenTuna: "Do you have any homework tonight?"
TinyTuna: "What?" (Delay)
GreenTuna: "Do. You. Have. Any. Homework. Tonight?"
TinyTuna: "Oh, I'm sorry I didn't hear you." *pause* "How was work today?" (Defer)
GreenTuna: "It was fine."
TinyTuna: "What did you do?" (Defer)
GreenTuna: "Lots of things. Did you hear what I said before?"
TinyTuna: "Yes, I heard. I just wondered how your day was."
GreenTuna: "It was fine."
TinyTuna: "Do you know what I need?" (Distract)
GreenTuna: "What?"
TinyTuna: "I need a hug." *hug*
GreenTuna: (who hasn't forgotten the unanswered question)...."Now. Answer my question."
TinyTuna: "Oh. Do I have HOMEWORK?" Well, you see Mom......" (which means "I forgot to bring my homework home" is just around the corner)
It was an admirable attempt. Too bad I could see it coming a mile away.
Survival is instinctual. Manipulation is instinctual. Why do kids behave this way? Why do they constantly push the envelope to get what they want, when they want, and how they want? Because they can. And because more often or not, it works.
Unfortunately, this behavior carries right over into adulthood. During the final presidential debate last night, I wasn't sure if it was Bush vs. Kerry or TinyTuna vs. AnyOtherNormalKid. Defer, Deflect, Deny, Distract, Manipulate -- this behavior was rampant. A prime example (in which I actually guffawed out loud) was when Bush answered the topic of raising minimum wage by talking about children being able to read and count. What did it have to do with raising the minimum wage? Precisely, nothing. I'm surprised he didn't ask for a hug while he was at it. Kerry often employed the same non-answer tactics, responding to the question by first addressing the previous (more palatable) topic, saving only a matter of seconds for the current question he really didn't want to answer in the first place.
Thankfully, the debates are over for the 2004 Presidential season. Next time around, though, I suggest adding a second moderator to each panel. All it would take is one stressed-out, tired, and hungry mother of a young child and she'd get to the heart of the matter in no time flat. Debates could be cut down to a lean 25 minutes. And, as added incentive, if everybody answered all the questions on their plate, we could go out for ice-cream. With sprinkles.
Momsense beats nonsense.
Volcano!
TinyTuna has been a smooth talker since she was old enough to scheme, which was at far too young an age. I distinctly remember one pre-kindergarten conversation that went like this:
TinyTuna: "Mom, I know that if I asked you for ten dollars, you would say 'That's too much money!'"
GreenTuna: "You're right. That IS too much money."
TinyTuna: "I agree." *pause* "So can I just have FIVE?"
Smooth. Not smooth enough for me, but it was a big enough surprise that I got a big laugh out of the whole deal. And then I said no.
When kids sense they are in trouble, they are amazingly adept at the triple-D defense: Delay, Defer, Distract.
GreenTuna: "Did you have a good day at school?"
TinyTuna: "Yep."
GreenTuna: "Do you have any homework tonight?"
TinyTuna: "What?" (Delay)
GreenTuna: "Do you have any homework tonight?"
TinyTuna: "What?" (Delay)
GreenTuna: "Do. You. Have. Any. Homework. Tonight?"
TinyTuna: "Oh, I'm sorry I didn't hear you." *pause* "How was work today?" (Defer)
GreenTuna: "It was fine."
TinyTuna: "What did you do?" (Defer)
GreenTuna: "Lots of things. Did you hear what I said before?"
TinyTuna: "Yes, I heard. I just wondered how your day was."
GreenTuna: "It was fine."
TinyTuna: "Do you know what I need?" (Distract)
GreenTuna: "What?"
TinyTuna: "I need a hug." *hug*
GreenTuna: (who hasn't forgotten the unanswered question)...."Now. Answer my question."
TinyTuna: "Oh. Do I have HOMEWORK?" Well, you see Mom......" (which means "I forgot to bring my homework home" is just around the corner)
It was an admirable attempt. Too bad I could see it coming a mile away.
Survival is instinctual. Manipulation is instinctual. Why do kids behave this way? Why do they constantly push the envelope to get what they want, when they want, and how they want? Because they can. And because more often or not, it works.
Unfortunately, this behavior carries right over into adulthood. During the final presidential debate last night, I wasn't sure if it was Bush vs. Kerry or TinyTuna vs. AnyOtherNormalKid. Defer, Deflect, Deny, Distract, Manipulate -- this behavior was rampant. A prime example (in which I actually guffawed out loud) was when Bush answered the topic of raising minimum wage by talking about children being able to read and count. What did it have to do with raising the minimum wage? Precisely, nothing. I'm surprised he didn't ask for a hug while he was at it. Kerry often employed the same non-answer tactics, responding to the question by first addressing the previous (more palatable) topic, saving only a matter of seconds for the current question he really didn't want to answer in the first place.
Thankfully, the debates are over for the 2004 Presidential season. Next time around, though, I suggest adding a second moderator to each panel. All it would take is one stressed-out, tired, and hungry mother of a young child and she'd get to the heart of the matter in no time flat. Debates could be cut down to a lean 25 minutes. And, as added incentive, if everybody answered all the questions on their plate, we could go out for ice-cream. With sprinkles.
Momsense beats nonsense.
Volcano!
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
Checks and Balances
BAD The Bank was closed yesterday for Columbus Day
GOOD So was the post office. No Bills!
VERY, VERY BAD My first student didn't show up today
GOOD My second student did, and had a great lesson.
BAD One of my students came in proclaiming she wasn't going to sing in class tonight.
GOOD She is singing in class tonight. GreenTuna=Soprano=VOLCANO
BAD Cold and drippy and foggy this morning
GOOD The car was in the garage last night. No scraping for me!
BAD I still have 7 more hours to go today.
GOOD .....
GOOD So was the post office. No Bills!
VERY, VERY BAD My first student didn't show up today
GOOD My second student did, and had a great lesson.
BAD One of my students came in proclaiming she wasn't going to sing in class tonight.
GOOD She is singing in class tonight. GreenTuna=Soprano=VOLCANO
BAD Cold and drippy and foggy this morning
GOOD The car was in the garage last night. No scraping for me!
BAD I still have 7 more hours to go today.
GOOD .....
Checks and Balances
BAD The Bank was closed yesterday for Columbus Day
GOOD So was the post office. No Bills!
VERY, VERY BAD My first student didn't show up today
GOOD My second student did, and had a great lesson.
BAD One of my students came in proclaiming she wasn't going to sing in class tonight.
GOOD She is singing in class tonight. GreenTuna=Soprano=VOLCANO
BAD Cold and drippy and foggy this morning
GOOD The car was in the garage last night. No scraping for me!
BAD I still have 7 more hours to go today.
GOOD .....
GOOD So was the post office. No Bills!
VERY, VERY BAD My first student didn't show up today
GOOD My second student did, and had a great lesson.
BAD One of my students came in proclaiming she wasn't going to sing in class tonight.
GOOD She is singing in class tonight. GreenTuna=Soprano=VOLCANO
BAD Cold and drippy and foggy this morning
GOOD The car was in the garage last night. No scraping for me!
BAD I still have 7 more hours to go today.
GOOD .....
Monday, October 11, 2004
Dueling Holidays
Today in the good ole US of A, it is Columbus Day, while in slightly odder yet lovable Canada, it is Canadian Thanksgiving Day.
According to the Library of Congress Website, Columbus day is a day of rest and relaxation. Evidently this fact has not been passed along to Tuna U, where I have been working all day. Additionally, what's there really to celebrate with Columbus day, anyway? He discovered a land that A. Was already inhabited, and B. He never intended to find in the first place. The whole thing seems so...Canadian.
Be that as it may, my neighbors to the South are busy today eating turkey drenched in maple syrup and stuffed with Smarties. Canadian Smarties, not regular Smarties. They are like M&M's, except you see it's Canada, so they are twice as big in order to compensate for the conversation rate. Or something.
Do you see how confusing Canada is?
Anyway, Thanksgiving in October is normal by Canadian standards, but listen to this: according to one self-admitted Canadian, Canadian Thanksgiving Day marks the beginning of The Christmas season. Of course, said self-admitted Canadian is spending his Canadian Thanksgiving holiday planning a trip to Hawaii. Which is so...Canadian.
But be that as it may, Canadian Thanksgiving in October simply cannot be. It means Canada is first. Which of course, is wholly Un-American.
I think our country better get on the ball and adopt oh, say, August 23 as Thanksgiving. Not only would we be FIRST (which is American as American can be), we would be FIRST. Oh, and we would have hella more shopping days to boot. Think of the boost to the American economy if we had 120 seasonal shopping days instead of the paltry 25 or 26.
And did I mention we would be FIRST?
Of course, moving back Thanksgiving would have a definite impact on Halloween, where it is estimated American idiots will fork over 3.12 billion dollars so their kids can bring home $5 worth of decent candy that you eat after they've gone to bed, and $9.95 worth of crap that you foist on your coworkers.
So, Halloween has to be moved back as well.
I propose Halloween should fall around June 1st. The weather will be spectacular, and all the poor children of the Mitten would be able to wear a costume that doesn't require a matching snowsuit. I bet you'd have a lot more belly dancers and fairies, and a lot less football players and hobos.
And, we'd be FIRST.
Of course, moving Halloween and Thanksgiving back means we need to smash Labor Day in there somewhere. Maybe somewhere around March, when the average working shmoe is in the middle of the 5-month holiday drought. But which would you rather celebrate? Labor Day or St. Patty's Barcrawl Hangover Day?
That's what I thought.
So, Happy Thanksgiving up there in the Great White North. You have a lot for which to be Thankful. On behalf of the US, we'd like to send you a small token of friendship.
Like a Shrub.
Please.
According to the Library of Congress Website, Columbus day is a day of rest and relaxation. Evidently this fact has not been passed along to Tuna U, where I have been working all day. Additionally, what's there really to celebrate with Columbus day, anyway? He discovered a land that A. Was already inhabited, and B. He never intended to find in the first place. The whole thing seems so...Canadian.
Be that as it may, my neighbors to the South are busy today eating turkey drenched in maple syrup and stuffed with Smarties. Canadian Smarties, not regular Smarties. They are like M&M's, except you see it's Canada, so they are twice as big in order to compensate for the conversation rate. Or something.
Do you see how confusing Canada is?
Anyway, Thanksgiving in October is normal by Canadian standards, but listen to this: according to one self-admitted Canadian, Canadian Thanksgiving Day marks the beginning of The Christmas season. Of course, said self-admitted Canadian is spending his Canadian Thanksgiving holiday planning a trip to Hawaii. Which is so...Canadian.
But be that as it may, Canadian Thanksgiving in October simply cannot be. It means Canada is first. Which of course, is wholly Un-American.
I think our country better get on the ball and adopt oh, say, August 23 as Thanksgiving. Not only would we be FIRST (which is American as American can be), we would be FIRST. Oh, and we would have hella more shopping days to boot. Think of the boost to the American economy if we had 120 seasonal shopping days instead of the paltry 25 or 26.
And did I mention we would be FIRST?
Of course, moving back Thanksgiving would have a definite impact on Halloween, where it is estimated American idiots will fork over 3.12 billion dollars so their kids can bring home $5 worth of decent candy that you eat after they've gone to bed, and $9.95 worth of crap that you foist on your coworkers.
So, Halloween has to be moved back as well.
I propose Halloween should fall around June 1st. The weather will be spectacular, and all the poor children of the Mitten would be able to wear a costume that doesn't require a matching snowsuit. I bet you'd have a lot more belly dancers and fairies, and a lot less football players and hobos.
And, we'd be FIRST.
Of course, moving Halloween and Thanksgiving back means we need to smash Labor Day in there somewhere. Maybe somewhere around March, when the average working shmoe is in the middle of the 5-month holiday drought. But which would you rather celebrate? Labor Day or St. Patty's Barcrawl Hangover Day?
That's what I thought.
So, Happy Thanksgiving up there in the Great White North. You have a lot for which to be Thankful. On behalf of the US, we'd like to send you a small token of friendship.
Like a Shrub.
Please.
Dueling Holidays
Today in the good ole US of A, it is Columbus Day, while in slightly odder yet lovable Canada, it is Canadian Thanksgiving Day.
According to the Library of Congress Website, Columbus day is a day of rest and relaxation. Evidently this fact has not been passed along to Tuna U, where I have been working all day. Additionally, what's there really to celebrate with Columbus day, anyway? He discovered a land that A. Was already inhabited, and B. He never intended to find in the first place. The whole thing seems so...Canadian.
Be that as it may, my neighbors to the South are busy today eating turkey drenched in maple syrup and stuffed with Smarties. Canadian Smarties, not regular Smarties. They are like M&M's, except you see it's Canada, so they are twice as big in order to compensate for the conversation rate. Or something.
Do you see how confusing Canada is?
Anyway, Thanksgiving in October is normal by Canadian standards, but listen to this: according to one self-admitted Canadian, Canadian Thanksgiving Day marks the beginning of The Christmas season. Of course, said self-admitted Canadian is spending his Canadian Thanksgiving holiday planning a trip to Hawaii. Which is so...Canadian.
But be that as it may, Canadian Thanksgiving in October simply cannot be. It means Canada is first. Which of course, is wholly Un-American.
I think our country better get on the ball and adopt oh, say, August 23 as Thanksgiving. Not only would we be FIRST (which is American as American can be), we would be FIRST. Oh, and we would have hella more shopping days to boot. Think of the boost to the American economy if we had 120 seasonal shopping days instead of the paltry 25 or 26.
And did I mention we would be FIRST?
Of course, moving back Thanksgiving would have a definite impact on Halloween, where it is estimated American idiots will fork over 3.12 billion dollars so their kids can bring home $5 worth of decent candy that you eat after they've gone to bed, and $9.95 worth of crap that you foist on your coworkers.
So, Halloween has to be moved back as well.
I propose Halloween should fall around June 1st. The weather will be spectacular, and all the poor children of the Mitten would be able to wear a costume that doesn't require a matching snowsuit. I bet you'd have a lot more belly dancers and fairies, and a lot less football players and hobos.
And, we'd be FIRST.
Of course, moving Halloween and Thanksgiving back means we need to smash Labor Day in there somewhere. Maybe somewhere around March, when the average working shmoe is in the middle of the 5-month holiday drought. But which would you rather celebrate? Labor Day or St. Patty's Barcrawl Hangover Day?
That's what I thought.
So, Happy Thanksgiving up there in the Great White North. You have a lot for which to be Thankful. On behalf of the US, we'd like to send you a small token of friendship.
Like a Shrub.
Please.
According to the Library of Congress Website, Columbus day is a day of rest and relaxation. Evidently this fact has not been passed along to Tuna U, where I have been working all day. Additionally, what's there really to celebrate with Columbus day, anyway? He discovered a land that A. Was already inhabited, and B. He never intended to find in the first place. The whole thing seems so...Canadian.
Be that as it may, my neighbors to the South are busy today eating turkey drenched in maple syrup and stuffed with Smarties. Canadian Smarties, not regular Smarties. They are like M&M's, except you see it's Canada, so they are twice as big in order to compensate for the conversation rate. Or something.
Do you see how confusing Canada is?
Anyway, Thanksgiving in October is normal by Canadian standards, but listen to this: according to one self-admitted Canadian, Canadian Thanksgiving Day marks the beginning of The Christmas season. Of course, said self-admitted Canadian is spending his Canadian Thanksgiving holiday planning a trip to Hawaii. Which is so...Canadian.
But be that as it may, Canadian Thanksgiving in October simply cannot be. It means Canada is first. Which of course, is wholly Un-American.
I think our country better get on the ball and adopt oh, say, August 23 as Thanksgiving. Not only would we be FIRST (which is American as American can be), we would be FIRST. Oh, and we would have hella more shopping days to boot. Think of the boost to the American economy if we had 120 seasonal shopping days instead of the paltry 25 or 26.
And did I mention we would be FIRST?
Of course, moving back Thanksgiving would have a definite impact on Halloween, where it is estimated American idiots will fork over 3.12 billion dollars so their kids can bring home $5 worth of decent candy that you eat after they've gone to bed, and $9.95 worth of crap that you foist on your coworkers.
So, Halloween has to be moved back as well.
I propose Halloween should fall around June 1st. The weather will be spectacular, and all the poor children of the Mitten would be able to wear a costume that doesn't require a matching snowsuit. I bet you'd have a lot more belly dancers and fairies, and a lot less football players and hobos.
And, we'd be FIRST.
Of course, moving Halloween and Thanksgiving back means we need to smash Labor Day in there somewhere. Maybe somewhere around March, when the average working shmoe is in the middle of the 5-month holiday drought. But which would you rather celebrate? Labor Day or St. Patty's Barcrawl Hangover Day?
That's what I thought.
So, Happy Thanksgiving up there in the Great White North. You have a lot for which to be Thankful. On behalf of the US, we'd like to send you a small token of friendship.
Like a Shrub.
Please.
Super Bummer
I do NOT like waking up to news like this.
Farewell, Superman -- You're free to fly.
Christopher Reeve, d. 10-10-04
Rodney Dangerfield, d. 10-5-04
Janet Leigh, d. 10-3-04
We're done for awhile, right??
Farewell, Superman -- You're free to fly.
Christopher Reeve, d. 10-10-04
Rodney Dangerfield, d. 10-5-04
Janet Leigh, d. 10-3-04
We're done for awhile, right??
Super Bummer
I do NOT like waking up to news like this.
Farewell, Superman -- You're free to fly.
Christopher Reeve, d. 10-10-04
Rodney Dangerfield, d. 10-5-04
Janet Leigh, d. 10-3-04
We're done for awhile, right??
Farewell, Superman -- You're free to fly.
Christopher Reeve, d. 10-10-04
Rodney Dangerfield, d. 10-5-04
Janet Leigh, d. 10-3-04
We're done for awhile, right??
Sunday, October 10, 2004
Volcano!
Today I was Volcano.
TinyTuna has been pressing for a full ten days to go forth and see the movie Shark Tale. Due to a lack of hours in the day, a crush of homework and several other obligations, so far it hasn't been feasible. Not that that has stopped her from trying. She's never been more interested in buying a newspaper in her entire life. "Just to check some things out," she says.
Mmmmyeah.
She really thought this afternoon was going to be the day. She had already "checked some things out" and was busily busting out the homework in hopes of catching a 4:20 show.
Too bad at 3:45pm we sat her down, made her close her eyes, and gave her tickets to a 6:30 performance of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat at the Masonic Temple in Detroit.
Needless to say, we didn't go to see a movie.
We had an absolute blast.
Volcano
TinyTuna has been pressing for a full ten days to go forth and see the movie Shark Tale. Due to a lack of hours in the day, a crush of homework and several other obligations, so far it hasn't been feasible. Not that that has stopped her from trying. She's never been more interested in buying a newspaper in her entire life. "Just to check some things out," she says.
Mmmmyeah.
She really thought this afternoon was going to be the day. She had already "checked some things out" and was busily busting out the homework in hopes of catching a 4:20 show.
Too bad at 3:45pm we sat her down, made her close her eyes, and gave her tickets to a 6:30 performance of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat at the Masonic Temple in Detroit.
Needless to say, we didn't go to see a movie.
We had an absolute blast.
Volcano
Volcano!
Today I was Volcano.
TinyTuna has been pressing for a full ten days to go forth and see the movie Shark Tale. Due to a lack of hours in the day, a crush of homework and several other obligations, so far it hasn't been feasible. Not that that has stopped her from trying. She's never been more interested in buying a newspaper in her entire life. "Just to check some things out," she says.
Mmmmyeah.
She really thought this afternoon was going to be the day. She had already "checked some things out" and was busily busting out the homework in hopes of catching a 4:20 show.
Too bad at 3:45pm we sat her down, made her close her eyes, and gave her tickets to a 6:30 performance of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat at the Masonic Temple in Detroit.
Needless to say, we didn't go to see a movie.
We had an absolute blast.
Volcano
TinyTuna has been pressing for a full ten days to go forth and see the movie Shark Tale. Due to a lack of hours in the day, a crush of homework and several other obligations, so far it hasn't been feasible. Not that that has stopped her from trying. She's never been more interested in buying a newspaper in her entire life. "Just to check some things out," she says.
Mmmmyeah.
She really thought this afternoon was going to be the day. She had already "checked some things out" and was busily busting out the homework in hopes of catching a 4:20 show.
Too bad at 3:45pm we sat her down, made her close her eyes, and gave her tickets to a 6:30 performance of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat at the Masonic Temple in Detroit.
Needless to say, we didn't go to see a movie.
We had an absolute blast.
Volcano
Friday, October 08, 2004
Denied
There's nothing worse than gearing up to leave early on Friday, and having your boss walk into the office saying, "I bought some cookies to help us survive the last hour of work."
Damn You Pepperidge Farm Raspberry Milano Cookies.
Damn You Pepperidge Farm Raspberry Milano Cookies.
Denied
There's nothing worse than gearing up to leave early on Friday, and having your boss walk into the office saying, "I bought some cookies to help us survive the last hour of work."
Damn You Pepperidge Farm Raspberry Milano Cookies.
Damn You Pepperidge Farm Raspberry Milano Cookies.
Thursday, October 07, 2004
Am I Blue?
Well, I don't know about some of this, but somebody thinks I'm blue. The Conservative part is wrong, and I'm not so sure about the dreaming, either. And would it be great if everybody in the world were like me? Good gracious, no.
I feel the need to click on an Origami link above (they're back!) and fold something.
You're the color blue. You have the three c's in
life--you're cool, caring and confident.
Trustworthy and honest, people are naturally
attracted to you. You're unusually optimistic,
but that makes life all the better. You're an
imaginative person who loves sleeping and
dreaming. Hard-working and determined, you
excell in school. You're everybody's favorite,
and this is because you have this undefined
richness in your personality and attitude.
Mild-tempered and stable. Not to mention very
intelligent. Along with the fact that you're
conservative, you're worried about the
environment. So basically, you're generous,
dependable and devoted--just the kind of person
everybody needs. Wouldn't it be great if
everybody in the world were like you?
What color are you? (Amazingly detailed & accurate--with pics!)
brought to you by Quizilla
I feel the need to click on an Origami link above (they're back!) and fold something.
You're the color blue. You have the three c's in
life--you're cool, caring and confident.
Trustworthy and honest, people are naturally
attracted to you. You're unusually optimistic,
but that makes life all the better. You're an
imaginative person who loves sleeping and
dreaming. Hard-working and determined, you
excell in school. You're everybody's favorite,
and this is because you have this undefined
richness in your personality and attitude.
Mild-tempered and stable. Not to mention very
intelligent. Along with the fact that you're
conservative, you're worried about the
environment. So basically, you're generous,
dependable and devoted--just the kind of person
everybody needs. Wouldn't it be great if
everybody in the world were like you?
What color are you? (Amazingly detailed & accurate--with pics!)
brought to you by Quizilla
Am I Blue?
Well, I don't know about some of this, but somebody thinks I'm blue. The Conservative part is wrong, and I'm not so sure about the dreaming, either. And would it be great if everybody in the world were like me? Good gracious, no.
I feel the need to click on an Origami link above (they're back!) and fold something.
You're the color blue. You have the three c's in
life--you're cool, caring and confident.
Trustworthy and honest, people are naturally
attracted to you. You're unusually optimistic,
but that makes life all the better. You're an
imaginative person who loves sleeping and
dreaming. Hard-working and determined, you
excell in school. You're everybody's favorite,
and this is because you have this undefined
richness in your personality and attitude.
Mild-tempered and stable. Not to mention very
intelligent. Along with the fact that you're
conservative, you're worried about the
environment. So basically, you're generous,
dependable and devoted--just the kind of person
everybody needs. Wouldn't it be great if
everybody in the world were like you?
What color are you? (Amazingly detailed & accurate--with pics!)
brought to you by Quizilla
I feel the need to click on an Origami link above (they're back!) and fold something.
You're the color blue. You have the three c's in
life--you're cool, caring and confident.
Trustworthy and honest, people are naturally
attracted to you. You're unusually optimistic,
but that makes life all the better. You're an
imaginative person who loves sleeping and
dreaming. Hard-working and determined, you
excell in school. You're everybody's favorite,
and this is because you have this undefined
richness in your personality and attitude.
Mild-tempered and stable. Not to mention very
intelligent. Along with the fact that you're
conservative, you're worried about the
environment. So basically, you're generous,
dependable and devoted--just the kind of person
everybody needs. Wouldn't it be great if
everybody in the world were like you?
What color are you? (Amazingly detailed & accurate--with pics!)
brought to you by Quizilla
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
Soup's On
A big CAPS LOCK LEANED OVER HINT!! for a certain someone.
When does Food Friday start again? I'm ready!
Please don't Ptery any longer!
Dino once,
Dino twice,
Eating T-Rex soup with rice...
When does Food Friday start again? I'm ready!
Please don't Ptery any longer!
Dino once,
Dino twice,
Eating T-Rex soup with rice...
Soup's On
A big CAPS LOCK LEANED OVER HINT!! for a certain someone.
When does Food Friday start again? I'm ready!
Please don't Ptery any longer!
Dino once,
Dino twice,
Eating T-Rex soup with rice...
When does Food Friday start again? I'm ready!
Please don't Ptery any longer!
Dino once,
Dino twice,
Eating T-Rex soup with rice...
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
TunaTainment
In the absence of anything particularly interesting to talk about (That's never stopped you before! Why, no, no it hasn't. Thank you), and having 35 minutes to fritter away before the last student of the day arrives, I thought I'd scan the pages of CNN to see what's happening.
Aladdin Out On Video!
Well, yep. Here we go again. Time to change media formats. I admit that mostly I'm a total sucker here. Yes, I have it on VHS. But DVD would be smaller. And small is good! Especially in my house. Plus it's the super-duper extra special SPECIAL EDITION CAPS-LOCK 2-DISC SET! And it has games. And I have a portable DVD player. Do I plunk down $20 to buy it again? Magic 8-ball says, unsure, but probably yes in a moment of weakness. Doh. If only Disney would buy my old copy back...
Fall 2004 TV Season - "Desperate Housewives"
I flipped back and forth between this and I don't remember what else on Sunday. I didn't hate it (what I saw of it), but the whole thing struck me as TRYING TOO HARD TO BE ALMOST BUT NOT QUITE SEX AND THE CITY. I think I must have been watching the all-day marathon of "From Here to the Moon" which was a lot more interesting. I might give Housewives another chance. After all, I think it's either that or football.
Fall 2004 TV Season - "Lost"
Well, I've seen parts of this a couple times now. Luckily for this show they replayed part of it again on Saturday night. It's up against a couple things I already watch, and I'm running low on spare TVs and VCRs. So. Keeping in mind that (once again) I didn't see the whole thing, I still have a few questions and comments.
Was it a polar bear? Really. A POLAR BEAR? This whole "monster in the jungle" concept seemed silly to me. I know Sony and their rocket propelled snake must be behind all this somewhere. Or some extra named "Bubba" who has to run around shaking the set. Whatever it was, it struck me as a tad bit lame. Wait. Maybe it was Big Foot. Was it BIG FOOT? No. The LOCH NESS MONSTER?
What exactly is the point of the show? Is it the scary unknown grass shaking monster? Is it the drama of the mysterious handcuffed lady who knows how to use a gun? Is it the tattooed hero? Is it shrapnel man? If the monster ends up being an Alien or a Mad Scientist, I'm going to be annoyed. Frankly, I don't know how they are going to dig themselves out of this hole. Maybe it's Gilligan and MaryAnn. Or the Verizon guy.
Fall 2004 TV Season - Everything Else
Survivor - Yawn. Please get interesting. Soon.
Top Model - Is it bad that I like this show?
Apprentice - Ditto.
South Park - End of October. End of October. End of October.
Amazing Race 6 - Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
Aladdin Out On Video!
Well, yep. Here we go again. Time to change media formats. I admit that mostly I'm a total sucker here. Yes, I have it on VHS. But DVD would be smaller. And small is good! Especially in my house. Plus it's the super-duper extra special SPECIAL EDITION CAPS-LOCK 2-DISC SET! And it has games. And I have a portable DVD player. Do I plunk down $20 to buy it again? Magic 8-ball says, unsure, but probably yes in a moment of weakness. Doh. If only Disney would buy my old copy back...
Fall 2004 TV Season - "Desperate Housewives"
I flipped back and forth between this and I don't remember what else on Sunday. I didn't hate it (what I saw of it), but the whole thing struck me as TRYING TOO HARD TO BE ALMOST BUT NOT QUITE SEX AND THE CITY. I think I must have been watching the all-day marathon of "From Here to the Moon" which was a lot more interesting. I might give Housewives another chance. After all, I think it's either that or football.
Fall 2004 TV Season - "Lost"
Well, I've seen parts of this a couple times now. Luckily for this show they replayed part of it again on Saturday night. It's up against a couple things I already watch, and I'm running low on spare TVs and VCRs. So. Keeping in mind that (once again) I didn't see the whole thing, I still have a few questions and comments.
Was it a polar bear? Really. A POLAR BEAR? This whole "monster in the jungle" concept seemed silly to me. I know Sony and their rocket propelled snake must be behind all this somewhere. Or some extra named "Bubba" who has to run around shaking the set. Whatever it was, it struck me as a tad bit lame. Wait. Maybe it was Big Foot. Was it BIG FOOT? No. The LOCH NESS MONSTER?
What exactly is the point of the show? Is it the scary unknown grass shaking monster? Is it the drama of the mysterious handcuffed lady who knows how to use a gun? Is it the tattooed hero? Is it shrapnel man? If the monster ends up being an Alien or a Mad Scientist, I'm going to be annoyed. Frankly, I don't know how they are going to dig themselves out of this hole. Maybe it's Gilligan and MaryAnn. Or the Verizon guy.
Fall 2004 TV Season - Everything Else
Survivor - Yawn. Please get interesting. Soon.
Top Model - Is it bad that I like this show?
Apprentice - Ditto.
South Park - End of October. End of October. End of October.
Amazing Race 6 - Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
TunaTainment
In the absence of anything particularly interesting to talk about (That's never stopped you before! Why, no, no it hasn't. Thank you), and having 35 minutes to fritter away before the last student of the day arrives, I thought I'd scan the pages of CNN to see what's happening.
Aladdin Out On Video!
Well, yep. Here we go again. Time to change media formats. I admit that mostly I'm a total sucker here. Yes, I have it on VHS. But DVD would be smaller. And small is good! Especially in my house. Plus it's the super-duper extra special SPECIAL EDITION CAPS-LOCK 2-DISC SET! And it has games. And I have a portable DVD player. Do I plunk down $20 to buy it again? Magic 8-ball says, unsure, but probably yes in a moment of weakness. Doh. If only Disney would buy my old copy back...
Fall 2004 TV Season - "Desperate Housewives"
I flipped back and forth between this and I don't remember what else on Sunday. I didn't hate it (what I saw of it), but the whole thing struck me as TRYING TOO HARD TO BE ALMOST BUT NOT QUITE SEX AND THE CITY. I think I must have been watching the all-day marathon of "From Here to the Moon" which was a lot more interesting. I might give Housewives another chance. After all, I think it's either that or football.
Fall 2004 TV Season - "Lost"
Well, I've seen parts of this a couple times now. Luckily for this show they replayed part of it again on Saturday night. It's up against a couple things I already watch, and I'm running low on spare TVs and VCRs. So. Keeping in mind that (once again) I didn't see the whole thing, I still have a few questions and comments.
Was it a polar bear? Really. A POLAR BEAR? This whole "monster in the jungle" concept seemed silly to me. I know Sony and their rocket propelled snake must be behind all this somewhere. Or some extra named "Bubba" who has to run around shaking the set. Whatever it was, it struck me as a tad bit lame. Wait. Maybe it was Big Foot. Was it BIG FOOT? No. The LOCH NESS MONSTER?
What exactly is the point of the show? Is it the scary unknown grass shaking monster? Is it the drama of the mysterious handcuffed lady who knows how to use a gun? Is it the tattooed hero? Is it shrapnel man? If the monster ends up being an Alien or a Mad Scientist, I'm going to be annoyed. Frankly, I don't know how they are going to dig themselves out of this hole. Maybe it's Gilligan and MaryAnn. Or the Verizon guy.
Fall 2004 TV Season - Everything Else
Survivor - Yawn. Please get interesting. Soon.
Top Model - Is it bad that I like this show?
Apprentice - Ditto.
South Park - End of October. End of October. End of October.
Amazing Race 6 - Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
Aladdin Out On Video!
Well, yep. Here we go again. Time to change media formats. I admit that mostly I'm a total sucker here. Yes, I have it on VHS. But DVD would be smaller. And small is good! Especially in my house. Plus it's the super-duper extra special SPECIAL EDITION CAPS-LOCK 2-DISC SET! And it has games. And I have a portable DVD player. Do I plunk down $20 to buy it again? Magic 8-ball says, unsure, but probably yes in a moment of weakness. Doh. If only Disney would buy my old copy back...
Fall 2004 TV Season - "Desperate Housewives"
I flipped back and forth between this and I don't remember what else on Sunday. I didn't hate it (what I saw of it), but the whole thing struck me as TRYING TOO HARD TO BE ALMOST BUT NOT QUITE SEX AND THE CITY. I think I must have been watching the all-day marathon of "From Here to the Moon" which was a lot more interesting. I might give Housewives another chance. After all, I think it's either that or football.
Fall 2004 TV Season - "Lost"
Well, I've seen parts of this a couple times now. Luckily for this show they replayed part of it again on Saturday night. It's up against a couple things I already watch, and I'm running low on spare TVs and VCRs. So. Keeping in mind that (once again) I didn't see the whole thing, I still have a few questions and comments.
Was it a polar bear? Really. A POLAR BEAR? This whole "monster in the jungle" concept seemed silly to me. I know Sony and their rocket propelled snake must be behind all this somewhere. Or some extra named "Bubba" who has to run around shaking the set. Whatever it was, it struck me as a tad bit lame. Wait. Maybe it was Big Foot. Was it BIG FOOT? No. The LOCH NESS MONSTER?
What exactly is the point of the show? Is it the scary unknown grass shaking monster? Is it the drama of the mysterious handcuffed lady who knows how to use a gun? Is it the tattooed hero? Is it shrapnel man? If the monster ends up being an Alien or a Mad Scientist, I'm going to be annoyed. Frankly, I don't know how they are going to dig themselves out of this hole. Maybe it's Gilligan and MaryAnn. Or the Verizon guy.
Fall 2004 TV Season - Everything Else
Survivor - Yawn. Please get interesting. Soon.
Top Model - Is it bad that I like this show?
Apprentice - Ditto.
South Park - End of October. End of October. End of October.
Amazing Race 6 - Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
Monday, October 04, 2004
Fifth Horseman
There are seven dwarves.
Fifty states.
Ten Commandments.
Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
War. Famine. Pestilence. Death.
And now I think, a fifth: Bankruptcy.
Words shouldn't fail me. I should not be surprised. But they do, and I am. And I'd like to meet whomever is responsible for this mess and whack them upside the head.
Yes, world. It's the Hello Kitty Debit Card.
Target age group? 10-14 Years Old.
Marketing slogan? "Freedom! You can use the Hello Kitty! Mastercard to shop 'til you drop!"
No. No. No. No. No. No.
Debit? Children don't need debit. Freedom? Ha! Children don't need freedom. Shop 'til you drop? If a child in my house shops until she drops, she will amass an armful of books (OK, that's genetic), several Barbies that will go largely untouched, 10-15 new journals, a handful of purses, various items with fairies, unicorns or ballerinas, and enough pens, pencils and sticky notes to outfit a Staples office supply store.
Drooling credit officials claim the cards are an educational tool. They say it "teaches good money management early on."
Please. TinyTuna is still working on an ice cream sprinkle management, an aggressive television abatement program, and getting dirty socks down the chute. We're not ready for freedom.
Finger-pointing credit officials say Hello Kitty isn't the only kid-targeted debit card. Hilary Duff (Mom! Mom! It's Hilary Duff!! It's Hilary Duff!!) came out with a Visa-sponsored debit card last year. Users were encouraged to "shop like a star" and Ms. Duff said it was "the perfect way to shop for school and beyond. . . . Now I can easily buy stuff online without having to borrow my parents' credit card."
Incredibly lazy parents say, "It's no different than an allowance; just a safer way to manage an allowance because if you're a parent, you can find every place your daughter spent her money: how much, when and where...You get a higher level of control than just giving your daughter $100 and say, 'Go to the mall.' "
Oy gah. Where do I start?
TinyTuna (thus far) doesn't get an allowance. But she has asked for one, and we have begun negotiations. I've already decided, financially speaking, what she will get and how it will be apportioned:
$20 Monthly allowance
$6 she will put in the bank for college
$6 she will put aside for an annual donation to the charity of her choice
$8 to be used by her for whatever she wants. To be spent immediately or saved. Her choice.
She and I will negotiate what chores must be completed to receive her allowance. Am I a mean mom? Maybe so. Does it teach her to save and give to others as well as paying herself? Absolutely. My hope is that this exercise will teach her restraint so she will have true financial freedom.
Dear consumer-driven children of America:
Do NOT come to live at my house. You will not get a debit card. You will have no freedom. You will not be allowed to "shop 'til you drop." Neither Hilary nor Hello Kitty will live in your wallet. You will not get $100 to "go to the mall." Ever.
Dear incredibly lazy parents of America:
Are you INSANE? How can you, on the one hand, propose ever giving a child $100 to "go to the mall" and then, on the other hand, be so concerned about knowing every last detail of how your child spends the money. Get off your butts, put down the latte, and go shop WITH YOUR CHILD. Teach them bargains. Stick to a budget. Show them financial restraint.
Dear Greedy Corporate Product-Placing Financial Scum-Sucking Leeches:
Shame on you. While you preach economic education, you practice supply and demand -- giving consumers what they desire -- whilst conveniently skimming off a $14.95 activation fee, a $14.95 yearly renewal fee, a $2.95 monthly fee, a $1.50 ATM fee, and a $1.00 per minute fee to speak with a customer service agent. Better you than some other greedy corporate product-placing financial scum-sucking leech , right? Why shouldn't it go into your pockets?
Because it's unnecessary. And it's wrong. Unfortunately thus far, it's not illegal, but it should be. Children don't need freedom to shop 'til they drop. Children need limits and guidance. Parents need wake up, become involved and take some responsibility.
And as for Hello Kitty? This is one feline who needs to be fixed.
Fifty states.
Ten Commandments.
Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
War. Famine. Pestilence. Death.
And now I think, a fifth: Bankruptcy.
Words shouldn't fail me. I should not be surprised. But they do, and I am. And I'd like to meet whomever is responsible for this mess and whack them upside the head.
Yes, world. It's the Hello Kitty Debit Card.
Target age group? 10-14 Years Old.
Marketing slogan? "Freedom! You can use the Hello Kitty! Mastercard to shop 'til you drop!"
No. No. No. No. No. No.
Debit? Children don't need debit. Freedom? Ha! Children don't need freedom. Shop 'til you drop? If a child in my house shops until she drops, she will amass an armful of books (OK, that's genetic), several Barbies that will go largely untouched, 10-15 new journals, a handful of purses, various items with fairies, unicorns or ballerinas, and enough pens, pencils and sticky notes to outfit a Staples office supply store.
Drooling credit officials claim the cards are an educational tool. They say it "teaches good money management early on."
Please. TinyTuna is still working on an ice cream sprinkle management, an aggressive television abatement program, and getting dirty socks down the chute. We're not ready for freedom.
Finger-pointing credit officials say Hello Kitty isn't the only kid-targeted debit card. Hilary Duff (Mom! Mom! It's Hilary Duff!! It's Hilary Duff!!) came out with a Visa-sponsored debit card last year. Users were encouraged to "shop like a star" and Ms. Duff said it was "the perfect way to shop for school and beyond. . . . Now I can easily buy stuff online without having to borrow my parents' credit card."
Incredibly lazy parents say, "It's no different than an allowance; just a safer way to manage an allowance because if you're a parent, you can find every place your daughter spent her money: how much, when and where...You get a higher level of control than just giving your daughter $100 and say, 'Go to the mall.' "
Oy gah. Where do I start?
TinyTuna (thus far) doesn't get an allowance. But she has asked for one, and we have begun negotiations. I've already decided, financially speaking, what she will get and how it will be apportioned:
$20 Monthly allowance
$6 she will put in the bank for college
$6 she will put aside for an annual donation to the charity of her choice
$8 to be used by her for whatever she wants. To be spent immediately or saved. Her choice.
She and I will negotiate what chores must be completed to receive her allowance. Am I a mean mom? Maybe so. Does it teach her to save and give to others as well as paying herself? Absolutely. My hope is that this exercise will teach her restraint so she will have true financial freedom.
Dear consumer-driven children of America:
Do NOT come to live at my house. You will not get a debit card. You will have no freedom. You will not be allowed to "shop 'til you drop." Neither Hilary nor Hello Kitty will live in your wallet. You will not get $100 to "go to the mall." Ever.
Dear incredibly lazy parents of America:
Are you INSANE? How can you, on the one hand, propose ever giving a child $100 to "go to the mall" and then, on the other hand, be so concerned about knowing every last detail of how your child spends the money. Get off your butts, put down the latte, and go shop WITH YOUR CHILD. Teach them bargains. Stick to a budget. Show them financial restraint.
Dear Greedy Corporate Product-Placing Financial Scum-Sucking Leeches:
Shame on you. While you preach economic education, you practice supply and demand -- giving consumers what they desire -- whilst conveniently skimming off a $14.95 activation fee, a $14.95 yearly renewal fee, a $2.95 monthly fee, a $1.50 ATM fee, and a $1.00 per minute fee to speak with a customer service agent. Better you than some other greedy corporate product-placing financial scum-sucking leech , right? Why shouldn't it go into your pockets?
Because it's unnecessary. And it's wrong. Unfortunately thus far, it's not illegal, but it should be. Children don't need freedom to shop 'til they drop. Children need limits and guidance. Parents need wake up, become involved and take some responsibility.
And as for Hello Kitty? This is one feline who needs to be fixed.
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