Today's best one-liner was uttered by TinyTuna today while playing the umpty billionth game of Clue on the previously hashed and rehashed Gameboy:
"Mom! I was right! I was right! I won the game!"
"Oh yeah, who did it?"
"REVEREND GREEN.....IN THE LIBRARY.......With the WENCH!
"I believe the word you are looking for is WRENCH. With an R."
"Oh."
"There's a BIG difference."
"Well...Well, he still DID IT."
"Evidently, he did."
Funny the magic one little letter can do.
Here's to hoping that in 2006 we might all be so lucky.
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Q - R - S
Today's best one-liner was uttered by TinyTuna today while playing the umpty billionth game of Clue on the previously hashed and rehashed Gameboy:
"Mom! I was right! I was right! I won the game!"
"Oh yeah, who did it?"
"REVEREND GREEN.....IN THE LIBRARY.......With the WENCH!
"I believe the word you are looking for is WRENCH. With an R."
"Oh."
"There's a BIG difference."
"Well...Well, he still DID IT."
"Evidently, he did."
Funny the magic one little letter can do.
Here's to hoping that in 2006 we might all be so lucky.
"Mom! I was right! I was right! I won the game!"
"Oh yeah, who did it?"
"REVEREND GREEN.....IN THE LIBRARY.......With the WENCH!
"I believe the word you are looking for is WRENCH. With an R."
"Oh."
"There's a BIG difference."
"Well...Well, he still DID IT."
"Evidently, he did."
Funny the magic one little letter can do.
Here's to hoping that in 2006 we might all be so lucky.
Friday, December 30, 2005
A Toast
Yesterday we raised our champagne glasses in celebration and honor of parents, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, family and friends.
Today I'm happy for the time I had, and for the family that makes it all possible.
Tomorrow we load up the car, the people and the presents, both wrapped and unwrapped, and head back home.
It will be several months until we are together again. But until that time, we have pictures to share and stories to tell.
For some reason, every pass between Michigan and Maryland, whether we're coming or going, is bittersweet. Each time we arrive we are different than the last time we left. Each time we leave, I cannot help but wonder changes will rearrange our lives in the interim.
It's impossible to know what life will bring us while we're apart. The best we can do is hope that next year at this time, we can be together to raise our champagne glasses once again.
Today I'm happy for the time I had, and for the family that makes it all possible.
Tomorrow we load up the car, the people and the presents, both wrapped and unwrapped, and head back home.
It will be several months until we are together again. But until that time, we have pictures to share and stories to tell.
For some reason, every pass between Michigan and Maryland, whether we're coming or going, is bittersweet. Each time we arrive we are different than the last time we left. Each time we leave, I cannot help but wonder changes will rearrange our lives in the interim.
It's impossible to know what life will bring us while we're apart. The best we can do is hope that next year at this time, we can be together to raise our champagne glasses once again.
A Toast
Yesterday we raised our champagne glasses in celebration and honor of parents, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, family and friends.
Today I'm happy for the time I had, and for the family that makes it all possible.
Tomorrow we load up the car, the people and the presents, both wrapped and unwrapped, and head back home.
It will be several months until we are together again. But until that time, we have pictures to share and stories to tell.
For some reason, every pass between Michigan and Maryland, whether we're coming or going, is bittersweet. Each time we arrive we are different than the last time we left. Each time we leave, I cannot help but wonder changes will rearrange our lives in the interim.
It's impossible to know what life will bring us while we're apart. The best we can do is hope that next year at this time, we can be together to raise our champagne glasses once again.
Today I'm happy for the time I had, and for the family that makes it all possible.
Tomorrow we load up the car, the people and the presents, both wrapped and unwrapped, and head back home.
It will be several months until we are together again. But until that time, we have pictures to share and stories to tell.
For some reason, every pass between Michigan and Maryland, whether we're coming or going, is bittersweet. Each time we arrive we are different than the last time we left. Each time we leave, I cannot help but wonder changes will rearrange our lives in the interim.
It's impossible to know what life will bring us while we're apart. The best we can do is hope that next year at this time, we can be together to raise our champagne glasses once again.
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Point-Counterpoint
As you can tell from the previous post, this Christmas I finally caved. I wasn't planning on admitting this to the Internets at large, because I had made such a big hairy deal for so many years: No Gameboys.
Despite my foot putting downing, TinyTuna hung on, as only a pre-teen can. She asked. She begged. She pleaded. She complained. She whined. Yet, in spite of her non-stop hammering, I held strong: No Gameboys.
This Christmas I finally decided, OK. A big reason was that I finally found some games that weren't all shoot 'em ups or steal and crash cars games. I found strategy games like Checkers and Chess, Scrabble and Sorry. I found word puzzle games like crosswords and word-searches. And, of course, I found the action-adventure games that everybody wants. So overall, I felt there were enough choices to appease my parental skin-crawling aversion to electronic mind-numbing.
The gift of the previously decreed No Gameboy was huge, because her slightly younger cousin got one just like it (and her even younger cousin had gotten one in July), so on Christmas day they spent much time clicking and clacking while the 30-second music track looped on and on and on and on.
I bought the previously decreed No Gameboy with the thought that this would be used under strict supervision and according to several household rules. Generally it was to be used for long car trips, which we take at least twice a year, or when her touring choir takes a long bus trip. These would be times when I felt it was appropriate to plug in a tune out, for a little while.
But the present is new, and I knew that she would want to overdose on the previously decreed No Gameboy for awhile, and I was prepared for that. Or so I thought.
It doesn't help when you give an obsessive compulsive kid an obsessive compulsive toy. It doesn't help when you give a perfectionist a new game that she doesn't know how to instantly master and beat AND WHY CAN'T I GET FROZONE TO MAKE ICE STEPS? AND OH MAN! THEY MELTED!! AND I'LL NEVER EVER KILL THE WHITE WITCH OF NARNIA EVER BECAUSE I JUST DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO THIS!!! AND THIS GAME IS TOO HARD.
This, of course, drives me through the roof.
Listen. I don't know how Frozone makes ice steps. I don't know how to kill the White Witch of Narnia, and there was no reason to get THAT bent out of shape when I suggested she throw a sandwich at her (MOM! That's NOT WHAT YOU DO). She asks for my help but won't hand me the game, which causes a great deal of difficulty, because I'm a hands-on Tuna when it comes to learning.
So, I'm listening to all the whining, the griping, and the complaining, and I'm thinking to myself, "Self, I was getting this crap BEFORE I bought the previously decreed No Gameboy. Where is my win in this situation?" Of course, all the aforementioned behavior only happens when she deigns to speak at all, which has now slowed to a "Mom will you get me......." trickle.
Needless to say, TinyTuna and I have had ISSUES.
Needless to say, I've already taken it away -- twice.
Needless to say, there have been tears.
But, needless to say, it has provided an opportunity to talk about self-control, and appropriate manners, and when to play it and when to put it away, and how, in the long run, we really prefer talking to her and listening to all her wonderful ideas and stories, because those are so much better than any previously decreed No Gameboy could ever be.
She's only 11, but she's starting to figure it out. So maybe the previously decreed No Gameboy was an educational toy after all.
I'll take it.
And yeah, I love her.
Despite my foot putting downing, TinyTuna hung on, as only a pre-teen can. She asked. She begged. She pleaded. She complained. She whined. Yet, in spite of her non-stop hammering, I held strong: No Gameboys.
This Christmas I finally decided, OK. A big reason was that I finally found some games that weren't all shoot 'em ups or steal and crash cars games. I found strategy games like Checkers and Chess, Scrabble and Sorry. I found word puzzle games like crosswords and word-searches. And, of course, I found the action-adventure games that everybody wants. So overall, I felt there were enough choices to appease my parental skin-crawling aversion to electronic mind-numbing.
The gift of the previously decreed No Gameboy was huge, because her slightly younger cousin got one just like it (and her even younger cousin had gotten one in July), so on Christmas day they spent much time clicking and clacking while the 30-second music track looped on and on and on and on.
I bought the previously decreed No Gameboy with the thought that this would be used under strict supervision and according to several household rules. Generally it was to be used for long car trips, which we take at least twice a year, or when her touring choir takes a long bus trip. These would be times when I felt it was appropriate to plug in a tune out, for a little while.
But the present is new, and I knew that she would want to overdose on the previously decreed No Gameboy for awhile, and I was prepared for that. Or so I thought.
It doesn't help when you give an obsessive compulsive kid an obsessive compulsive toy. It doesn't help when you give a perfectionist a new game that she doesn't know how to instantly master and beat AND WHY CAN'T I GET FROZONE TO MAKE ICE STEPS? AND OH MAN! THEY MELTED!! AND I'LL NEVER EVER KILL THE WHITE WITCH OF NARNIA EVER BECAUSE I JUST DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO THIS!!! AND THIS GAME IS TOO HARD.
This, of course, drives me through the roof.
Listen. I don't know how Frozone makes ice steps. I don't know how to kill the White Witch of Narnia, and there was no reason to get THAT bent out of shape when I suggested she throw a sandwich at her (MOM! That's NOT WHAT YOU DO). She asks for my help but won't hand me the game, which causes a great deal of difficulty, because I'm a hands-on Tuna when it comes to learning.
So, I'm listening to all the whining, the griping, and the complaining, and I'm thinking to myself, "Self, I was getting this crap BEFORE I bought the previously decreed No Gameboy. Where is my win in this situation?" Of course, all the aforementioned behavior only happens when she deigns to speak at all, which has now slowed to a "Mom will you get me......." trickle.
Needless to say, TinyTuna and I have had ISSUES.
Needless to say, I've already taken it away -- twice.
Needless to say, there have been tears.
But, needless to say, it has provided an opportunity to talk about self-control, and appropriate manners, and when to play it and when to put it away, and how, in the long run, we really prefer talking to her and listening to all her wonderful ideas and stories, because those are so much better than any previously decreed No Gameboy could ever be.
She's only 11, but she's starting to figure it out. So maybe the previously decreed No Gameboy was an educational toy after all.
I'll take it.
And yeah, I love her.
Point-Counterpoint
As you can tell from the previous post, this Christmas I finally caved. I wasn't planning on admitting this to the Internets at large, because I had made such a big hairy deal for so many years: No Gameboys.
Despite my foot putting downing, TinyTuna hung on, as only a pre-teen can. She asked. She begged. She pleaded. She complained. She whined. Yet, in spite of her non-stop hammering, I held strong: No Gameboys.
This Christmas I finally decided, OK. A big reason was that I finally found some games that weren't all shoot 'em ups or steal and crash cars games. I found strategy games like Checkers and Chess, Scrabble and Sorry. I found word puzzle games like crosswords and word-searches. And, of course, I found the action-adventure games that everybody wants. So overall, I felt there were enough choices to appease my parental skin-crawling aversion to electronic mind-numbing.
The gift of the previously decreed No Gameboy was huge, because her slightly younger cousin got one just like it (and her even younger cousin had gotten one in July), so on Christmas day they spent much time clicking and clacking while the 30-second music track looped on and on and on and on.
I bought the previously decreed No Gameboy with the thought that this would be used under strict supervision and according to several household rules. Generally it was to be used for long car trips, which we take at least twice a year, or when her touring choir takes a long bus trip. These would be times when I felt it was appropriate to plug in a tune out, for a little while.
But the present is new, and I knew that she would want to overdose on the previously decreed No Gameboy for awhile, and I was prepared for that. Or so I thought.
It doesn't help when you give an obsessive compulsive kid an obsessive compulsive toy. It doesn't help when you give a perfectionist a new game that she doesn't know how to instantly master and beat AND WHY CAN'T I GET FROZONE TO MAKE ICE STEPS? AND OH MAN! THEY MELTED!! AND I'LL NEVER EVER KILL THE WHITE WITCH OF NARNIA EVER BECAUSE I JUST DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO THIS!!! AND THIS GAME IS TOO HARD.
This, of course, drives me through the roof.
Listen. I don't know how Frozone makes ice steps. I don't know how to kill the White Witch of Narnia, and there was no reason to get THAT bent out of shape when I suggested she throw a sandwich at her (MOM! That's NOT WHAT YOU DO). She asks for my help but won't hand me the game, which causes a great deal of difficulty, because I'm a hands-on Tuna when it comes to learning.
So, I'm listening to all the whining, the griping, and the complaining, and I'm thinking to myself, "Self, I was getting this crap BEFORE I bought the previously decreed No Gameboy. Where is my win in this situation?" Of course, all the aforementioned behavior only happens when she deigns to speak at all, which has now slowed to a "Mom will you get me......." trickle.
Needless to say, TinyTuna and I have had ISSUES.
Needless to say, I've already taken it away -- twice.
Needless to say, there have been tears.
But, needless to say, it has provided an opportunity to talk about self-control, and appropriate manners, and when to play it and when to put it away, and how, in the long run, we really prefer talking to her and listening to all her wonderful ideas and stories, because those are so much better than any previously decreed No Gameboy could ever be.
She's only 11, but she's starting to figure it out. So maybe the previously decreed No Gameboy was an educational toy after all.
I'll take it.
And yeah, I love her.
Despite my foot putting downing, TinyTuna hung on, as only a pre-teen can. She asked. She begged. She pleaded. She complained. She whined. Yet, in spite of her non-stop hammering, I held strong: No Gameboys.
This Christmas I finally decided, OK. A big reason was that I finally found some games that weren't all shoot 'em ups or steal and crash cars games. I found strategy games like Checkers and Chess, Scrabble and Sorry. I found word puzzle games like crosswords and word-searches. And, of course, I found the action-adventure games that everybody wants. So overall, I felt there were enough choices to appease my parental skin-crawling aversion to electronic mind-numbing.
The gift of the previously decreed No Gameboy was huge, because her slightly younger cousin got one just like it (and her even younger cousin had gotten one in July), so on Christmas day they spent much time clicking and clacking while the 30-second music track looped on and on and on and on.
I bought the previously decreed No Gameboy with the thought that this would be used under strict supervision and according to several household rules. Generally it was to be used for long car trips, which we take at least twice a year, or when her touring choir takes a long bus trip. These would be times when I felt it was appropriate to plug in a tune out, for a little while.
But the present is new, and I knew that she would want to overdose on the previously decreed No Gameboy for awhile, and I was prepared for that. Or so I thought.
It doesn't help when you give an obsessive compulsive kid an obsessive compulsive toy. It doesn't help when you give a perfectionist a new game that she doesn't know how to instantly master and beat AND WHY CAN'T I GET FROZONE TO MAKE ICE STEPS? AND OH MAN! THEY MELTED!! AND I'LL NEVER EVER KILL THE WHITE WITCH OF NARNIA EVER BECAUSE I JUST DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO THIS!!! AND THIS GAME IS TOO HARD.
This, of course, drives me through the roof.
Listen. I don't know how Frozone makes ice steps. I don't know how to kill the White Witch of Narnia, and there was no reason to get THAT bent out of shape when I suggested she throw a sandwich at her (MOM! That's NOT WHAT YOU DO). She asks for my help but won't hand me the game, which causes a great deal of difficulty, because I'm a hands-on Tuna when it comes to learning.
So, I'm listening to all the whining, the griping, and the complaining, and I'm thinking to myself, "Self, I was getting this crap BEFORE I bought the previously decreed No Gameboy. Where is my win in this situation?" Of course, all the aforementioned behavior only happens when she deigns to speak at all, which has now slowed to a "Mom will you get me......." trickle.
Needless to say, TinyTuna and I have had ISSUES.
Needless to say, I've already taken it away -- twice.
Needless to say, there have been tears.
But, needless to say, it has provided an opportunity to talk about self-control, and appropriate manners, and when to play it and when to put it away, and how, in the long run, we really prefer talking to her and listening to all her wonderful ideas and stories, because those are so much better than any previously decreed No Gameboy could ever be.
She's only 11, but she's starting to figure it out. So maybe the previously decreed No Gameboy was an educational toy after all.
I'll take it.
And yeah, I love her.
Tinytuna Returns
For the first time in my life I'm posting a blog! So exciting, that I could just fall over. After watching my mother (Greentuna), I thought I would do one of my own. But I'm afraid that I'm not as funny as my mother, so mine might be more of showing and not telling.
This morning started out as usual. Breakfast at the table of sausage, and toast. It was about 10: 30 a.m. when I had a meltdown with Greentuna, and a little later at about 11:30 a.m. I had another. Sometimes I can't control myself and my emotions, so I let loose. Unlike some people who can control themselves are on a Control List as I call it, but me, well lets just say I'm at the top of the other list.
All of the whining and all the fighting was happening because of a Christmas present my mother gave me ,that I had wanted for a long time, a Game Boy Advance. I had wanted one for so many years I got right into it. I played and played in the car and almost everywhere I went I played for a long time. After playing all three games, (Chronicles of Narnia, Puzzles, Sorry, Scrabble Jr, and Aggravation,) I really lost it, but we're not going there.
Later on we had a talk, and I finally understood what I was doing wrong. Before I had the game boy I was pleasant and I talked to people. Now that I have one I spend all my time playing on it and I don't say a word. But I still make mistakes, as do everybody at some points, but I'm at the top of the list.
Even thought me and my mother fight a lot, we still love each other.
Well it has been a pleasure talking to you, and I hope that I will sometime post another blog. I'm Tinytuna, bidding you a good evening.
This morning started out as usual. Breakfast at the table of sausage, and toast. It was about 10: 30 a.m. when I had a meltdown with Greentuna, and a little later at about 11:30 a.m. I had another. Sometimes I can't control myself and my emotions, so I let loose. Unlike some people who can control themselves are on a Control List as I call it, but me, well lets just say I'm at the top of the other list.
All of the whining and all the fighting was happening because of a Christmas present my mother gave me ,that I had wanted for a long time, a Game Boy Advance. I had wanted one for so many years I got right into it. I played and played in the car and almost everywhere I went I played for a long time. After playing all three games, (Chronicles of Narnia, Puzzles, Sorry, Scrabble Jr, and Aggravation,) I really lost it, but we're not going there.
Later on we had a talk, and I finally understood what I was doing wrong. Before I had the game boy I was pleasant and I talked to people. Now that I have one I spend all my time playing on it and I don't say a word. But I still make mistakes, as do everybody at some points, but I'm at the top of the list.
Even thought me and my mother fight a lot, we still love each other.
Well it has been a pleasure talking to you, and I hope that I will sometime post another blog. I'm Tinytuna, bidding you a good evening.
Tinytuna Returns
For the first time in my life I'm posting a blog! So exciting, that I could just fall over. After watching my mother (Greentuna), I thought I would do one of my own. But I'm afraid that I'm not as funny as my mother, so mine might be more of showing and not telling.
This morning started out as usual. Breakfast at the table of sausage, and toast. It was about 10: 30 a.m. when I had a meltdown with Greentuna, and a little later at about 11:30 a.m. I had another. Sometimes I can't control myself and my emotions, so I let loose. Unlike some people who can control themselves are on a Control List as I call it, but me, well lets just say I'm at the top of the other list.
All of the whining and all the fighting was happening because of a Christmas present my mother gave me ,that I had wanted for a long time, a Game Boy Advance. I had wanted one for so many years I got right into it. I played and played in the car and almost everywhere I went I played for a long time. After playing all three games, (Chronicles of Narnia, Puzzles, Sorry, Scrabble Jr, and Aggravation,) I really lost it, but we're not going there.
Later on we had a talk, and I finally understood what I was doing wrong. Before I had the game boy I was pleasant and I talked to people. Now that I have one I spend all my time playing on it and I don't say a word. But I still make mistakes, as do everybody at some points, but I'm at the top of the list.
Even thought me and my mother fight a lot, we still love each other.
Well it has been a pleasure talking to you, and I hope that I will sometime post another blog. I'm Tinytuna, bidding you a good evening.
This morning started out as usual. Breakfast at the table of sausage, and toast. It was about 10: 30 a.m. when I had a meltdown with Greentuna, and a little later at about 11:30 a.m. I had another. Sometimes I can't control myself and my emotions, so I let loose. Unlike some people who can control themselves are on a Control List as I call it, but me, well lets just say I'm at the top of the other list.
All of the whining and all the fighting was happening because of a Christmas present my mother gave me ,that I had wanted for a long time, a Game Boy Advance. I had wanted one for so many years I got right into it. I played and played in the car and almost everywhere I went I played for a long time. After playing all three games, (Chronicles of Narnia, Puzzles, Sorry, Scrabble Jr, and Aggravation,) I really lost it, but we're not going there.
Later on we had a talk, and I finally understood what I was doing wrong. Before I had the game boy I was pleasant and I talked to people. Now that I have one I spend all my time playing on it and I don't say a word. But I still make mistakes, as do everybody at some points, but I'm at the top of the list.
Even thought me and my mother fight a lot, we still love each other.
Well it has been a pleasure talking to you, and I hope that I will sometime post another blog. I'm Tinytuna, bidding you a good evening.
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Let Sleeping Fuzz Lie
Away in a bucket, no crib for a bed,
The little boy panda laid down his sweet head.
A small soccer ball was placed down where he lay,
The little boy panda just sleeps all the day.
Travels With Tuna -- Day Two (Short Version)
Morning spent at National Zoo. Head count included:
Two lions -- sleeping.
One tiger -- sleeping.
One prairie dog town -- sleeping (we assume) underground.
One capybara -- sleeping.
One giraffe -- eating.
Two elephants outside -- shifting
Two elephants inside -- eating
An unconfirmed rumor of a hippopotamus eating a banana
One head of one adult panda eating bamboo.
One zebra -- zebraing.
One small horse thing with more consonants in its name than vowels -- standing
One gorilla -- sitting
One smaller reddish monkey -- examining his knee
One baby panda -- sleeping.
Tuna Clan -- watching one baby panda -- sleeping.
The little boy panda laid down his sweet head.
A small soccer ball was placed down where he lay,
The little boy panda just sleeps all the day.
Travels With Tuna -- Day Two (Short Version)
Morning spent at National Zoo. Head count included:
Two lions -- sleeping.
One tiger -- sleeping.
One prairie dog town -- sleeping (we assume) underground.
One capybara -- sleeping.
One giraffe -- eating.
Two elephants outside -- shifting
Two elephants inside -- eating
An unconfirmed rumor of a hippopotamus eating a banana
One head of one adult panda eating bamboo.
One zebra -- zebraing.
One small horse thing with more consonants in its name than vowels -- standing
One gorilla -- sitting
One smaller reddish monkey -- examining his knee
One baby panda -- sleeping.
Tuna Clan -- watching one baby panda -- sleeping.
Let Sleeping Fuzz Lie
Away in a bucket, no crib for a bed,
The little boy panda laid down his sweet head.
A small soccer ball was placed down where he lay,
The little boy panda just sleeps all the day.
Travels With Tuna -- Day Two (Short Version)
Morning spent at National Zoo. Head count included:
Two lions -- sleeping.
One tiger -- sleeping.
One prairie dog town -- sleeping (we assume) underground.
One capybara -- sleeping.
One giraffe -- eating.
Two elephants outside -- shifting
Two elephants inside -- eating
An unconfirmed rumor of a hippopotamus eating a banana
One head of one adult panda eating bamboo.
One zebra -- zebraing.
One small horse thing with more consonants in its name than vowels -- standing
One gorilla -- sitting
One smaller reddish monkey -- examining his knee
One baby panda -- sleeping.
Tuna Clan -- watching one baby panda -- sleeping.
The little boy panda laid down his sweet head.
A small soccer ball was placed down where he lay,
The little boy panda just sleeps all the day.
Travels With Tuna -- Day Two (Short Version)
Morning spent at National Zoo. Head count included:
Two lions -- sleeping.
One tiger -- sleeping.
One prairie dog town -- sleeping (we assume) underground.
One capybara -- sleeping.
One giraffe -- eating.
Two elephants outside -- shifting
Two elephants inside -- eating
An unconfirmed rumor of a hippopotamus eating a banana
One head of one adult panda eating bamboo.
One zebra -- zebraing.
One small horse thing with more consonants in its name than vowels -- standing
One gorilla -- sitting
One smaller reddish monkey -- examining his knee
One baby panda -- sleeping.
Tuna Clan -- watching one baby panda -- sleeping.
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Royal Flush
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
A heated seat upon which I could pee!
Travels With Tuna -- Day The First
Today the Tuna clan jumped in the car to visit with BabyBrotherTuna and family. As nice as it is to see Mr. and Mrs. BBTuna, it would most come as no surprise that once the grownup hugs were exchanged we were all, "It's so great to see you again. NOW WHERE IS THE BABY?"
The baby was produced and we spent some time visiting and smooching and rolling around on the floor playing with toys. Presents were exchanged, and BabyTuna made sure to personally taste-test everything within arms reach.
After awhile, I excused myself to use the facilities. At the first mention of "bathroom" my brother got very wide-eyed. "Ohhhhh!" He said excitedly. "Are you ready? Are you ready for the best thing ever?"
I had no idea what he was talking about.
So he takes me toward the bathroom, which I thought was strange because I knew where it was and didn't really feel as if I needed an escort. "It's the greatest thing ever!" He said.
"What are you talking about?"
He proceeded to tell me all about his new acquisition. I'm not sure if I can even come close to describing this, so suffice it to say, if your toilet is the CPU, he got a...peripheral. It was kind of a multi-function bidet deal, with more bells and whistles than High Church on Sunday. He gave me a guided tour of all the features and their corresponding buttons on the wall-mounted touch pad. "Here is wash, and here is soft wash, and you can dry, and you can adjust the pressure, and the seat is heated...."
I must admit I was a bit embarrassed. "I just have to go," I said. "You know, just regular go."
"That's ok!" He said cheerily. "It still flushes the same. Have fun!"
And off he went.
I stared at the mecha-porcelain deity and sat down. OH. MY. GOD. It was cushy and it was warm. If loving this was wrong, I didn't want to be right. Staring at the buttons on the wall, I felt like Alice in Wonderland. Which one should I try first? I settled on wash.
Woah.
Then I tried soft wash.
Woah.
(I wondered if it did wax too)
I went for the hat-trick and hit the dry button.
Woah.
I finally emerged, refreshed, a little embarrassed and a lot less innocent than when I went in.
"Nice, huh?" Asked my brother.
Wide-eyed, I nodded, secretly calculating when we'd be visiting again.
"I feel like I should leave some money on the night stand."
A heated seat upon which I could pee!
Travels With Tuna -- Day The First
Today the Tuna clan jumped in the car to visit with BabyBrotherTuna and family. As nice as it is to see Mr. and Mrs. BBTuna, it would most come as no surprise that once the grownup hugs were exchanged we were all, "It's so great to see you again. NOW WHERE IS THE BABY?"
The baby was produced and we spent some time visiting and smooching and rolling around on the floor playing with toys. Presents were exchanged, and BabyTuna made sure to personally taste-test everything within arms reach.
After awhile, I excused myself to use the facilities. At the first mention of "bathroom" my brother got very wide-eyed. "Ohhhhh!" He said excitedly. "Are you ready? Are you ready for the best thing ever?"
I had no idea what he was talking about.
So he takes me toward the bathroom, which I thought was strange because I knew where it was and didn't really feel as if I needed an escort. "It's the greatest thing ever!" He said.
"What are you talking about?"
He proceeded to tell me all about his new acquisition. I'm not sure if I can even come close to describing this, so suffice it to say, if your toilet is the CPU, he got a...peripheral. It was kind of a multi-function bidet deal, with more bells and whistles than High Church on Sunday. He gave me a guided tour of all the features and their corresponding buttons on the wall-mounted touch pad. "Here is wash, and here is soft wash, and you can dry, and you can adjust the pressure, and the seat is heated...."
I must admit I was a bit embarrassed. "I just have to go," I said. "You know, just regular go."
"That's ok!" He said cheerily. "It still flushes the same. Have fun!"
And off he went.
I stared at the mecha-porcelain deity and sat down. OH. MY. GOD. It was cushy and it was warm. If loving this was wrong, I didn't want to be right. Staring at the buttons on the wall, I felt like Alice in Wonderland. Which one should I try first? I settled on wash.
Woah.
Then I tried soft wash.
Woah.
(I wondered if it did wax too)
I went for the hat-trick and hit the dry button.
Woah.
I finally emerged, refreshed, a little embarrassed and a lot less innocent than when I went in.
"Nice, huh?" Asked my brother.
Wide-eyed, I nodded, secretly calculating when we'd be visiting again.
"I feel like I should leave some money on the night stand."
Royal Flush
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
A heated seat upon which I could pee!
Travels With Tuna -- Day The First
Today the Tuna clan jumped in the car to visit with BabyBrotherTuna and family. As nice as it is to see Mr. and Mrs. BBTuna, it would most come as no surprise that once the grownup hugs were exchanged we were all, "It's so great to see you again. NOW WHERE IS THE BABY?"
The baby was produced and we spent some time visiting and smooching and rolling around on the floor playing with toys. Presents were exchanged, and BabyTuna made sure to personally taste-test everything within arms reach.
After awhile, I excused myself to use the facilities. At the first mention of "bathroom" my brother got very wide-eyed. "Ohhhhh!" He said excitedly. "Are you ready? Are you ready for the best thing ever?"
I had no idea what he was talking about.
So he takes me toward the bathroom, which I thought was strange because I knew where it was and didn't really feel as if I needed an escort. "It's the greatest thing ever!" He said.
"What are you talking about?"
He proceeded to tell me all about his new acquisition. I'm not sure if I can even come close to describing this, so suffice it to say, if your toilet is the CPU, he got a...peripheral. It was kind of a multi-function bidet deal, with more bells and whistles than High Church on Sunday. He gave me a guided tour of all the features and their corresponding buttons on the wall-mounted touch pad. "Here is wash, and here is soft wash, and you can dry, and you can adjust the pressure, and the seat is heated...."
I must admit I was a bit embarrassed. "I just have to go," I said. "You know, just regular go."
"That's ok!" He said cheerily. "It still flushes the same. Have fun!"
And off he went.
I stared at the mecha-porcelain deity and sat down. OH. MY. GOD. It was cushy and it was warm. If loving this was wrong, I didn't want to be right. Staring at the buttons on the wall, I felt like Alice in Wonderland. Which one should I try first? I settled on wash.
Woah.
Then I tried soft wash.
Woah.
(I wondered if it did wax too)
I went for the hat-trick and hit the dry button.
Woah.
I finally emerged, refreshed, a little embarrassed and a lot less innocent than when I went in.
"Nice, huh?" Asked my brother.
Wide-eyed, I nodded, secretly calculating when we'd be visiting again.
"I feel like I should leave some money on the night stand."
A heated seat upon which I could pee!
Travels With Tuna -- Day The First
Today the Tuna clan jumped in the car to visit with BabyBrotherTuna and family. As nice as it is to see Mr. and Mrs. BBTuna, it would most come as no surprise that once the grownup hugs were exchanged we were all, "It's so great to see you again. NOW WHERE IS THE BABY?"
The baby was produced and we spent some time visiting and smooching and rolling around on the floor playing with toys. Presents were exchanged, and BabyTuna made sure to personally taste-test everything within arms reach.
After awhile, I excused myself to use the facilities. At the first mention of "bathroom" my brother got very wide-eyed. "Ohhhhh!" He said excitedly. "Are you ready? Are you ready for the best thing ever?"
I had no idea what he was talking about.
So he takes me toward the bathroom, which I thought was strange because I knew where it was and didn't really feel as if I needed an escort. "It's the greatest thing ever!" He said.
"What are you talking about?"
He proceeded to tell me all about his new acquisition. I'm not sure if I can even come close to describing this, so suffice it to say, if your toilet is the CPU, he got a...peripheral. It was kind of a multi-function bidet deal, with more bells and whistles than High Church on Sunday. He gave me a guided tour of all the features and their corresponding buttons on the wall-mounted touch pad. "Here is wash, and here is soft wash, and you can dry, and you can adjust the pressure, and the seat is heated...."
I must admit I was a bit embarrassed. "I just have to go," I said. "You know, just regular go."
"That's ok!" He said cheerily. "It still flushes the same. Have fun!"
And off he went.
I stared at the mecha-porcelain deity and sat down. OH. MY. GOD. It was cushy and it was warm. If loving this was wrong, I didn't want to be right. Staring at the buttons on the wall, I felt like Alice in Wonderland. Which one should I try first? I settled on wash.
Woah.
Then I tried soft wash.
Woah.
(I wondered if it did wax too)
I went for the hat-trick and hit the dry button.
Woah.
I finally emerged, refreshed, a little embarrassed and a lot less innocent than when I went in.
"Nice, huh?" Asked my brother.
Wide-eyed, I nodded, secretly calculating when we'd be visiting again.
"I feel like I should leave some money on the night stand."
Monday, December 26, 2005
Why Pay More?
In my little world, there is nothing quite so embarrassing as being one of those "early bird" shoppers. For those of you who may live and die by the 6am call of the cash register, more power to you. But for me, I'm content to pay a few extra bucks later and stay in bed until Katie, Matt, Ann and Al have given me the 15 minute lowdown.
So today, at 5:55 am, the day after Christmas, with all its day after Christmas sales, where was I? You guessed it. I was standing outside the local grocery-mart-arama, shivering, with about 20 otherinsane people early bird shoppers because one of my Christmas Day not so Wise Men feats included frying the portable DVD player, and today was spend twelve hours in the car driving with everybody else in the world day.
And the eleventh commandment, for those who might not know is, Thou shalt not drive for 12 hours without copious electronic diversions. Otherwise, it's "Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?" on permanent tape loop, which gets old after the first hour or two. At least it did when TinyTuna was three.
At 6am prompt they unlocked the doors of the local grocery-mart-arama. This is the only day in the entire year when this is done, since Christmas is the only day the store is closed. And in marched: me, the portable DVD slayer, and a bunch of old people who (seriously, they said this) had nothing else to do, so they thought they'd walk around the grocery store for awhile.
If only I had that much nothing to do...
I found the DVD players, but none had a Special Markdown Price for those who celebrate Baby Jesus' birthday by trying to set their house on fire tags. After speaking to no less than 5 bleary-eyed associates, we found someone with the holy keys to the display case, nabbed a DVD player, checked the price, and out I went.
The rest of the day was fairly uneventful, as we drove through grey Michigan, grey Ohio and grey Pennsylvania. Just when we were starting to feel pretty smug in the travelling department, the weather in Pennsylvania went from "isn't the snow on the trees pretty?" to "hrm, it's getting hard to see the trees" to "wow, it's getting kind of foggy" to "AIEEEE! WHERE WAS THE TRUCK THAT WAS 10 FEET IN FRONT OF ME?"
You may think your trip is going well, but I'm here to tell you, the Pennsylvania turnpike is the great equalizer.
And now we are here, south of the Mason-Dixon line, ready for some fun and relaxation Maryland style. As long as I don't have to drive Pennsylvania for a few days, or shop at 6am, things are looking mighty fine.
Y'all.
So today, at 5:55 am, the day after Christmas, with all its day after Christmas sales, where was I? You guessed it. I was standing outside the local grocery-mart-arama, shivering, with about 20 other
And the eleventh commandment, for those who might not know is, Thou shalt not drive for 12 hours without copious electronic diversions. Otherwise, it's "Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?" on permanent tape loop, which gets old after the first hour or two. At least it did when TinyTuna was three.
At 6am prompt they unlocked the doors of the local grocery-mart-arama. This is the only day in the entire year when this is done, since Christmas is the only day the store is closed. And in marched: me, the portable DVD slayer, and a bunch of old people who (seriously, they said this) had nothing else to do, so they thought they'd walk around the grocery store for awhile.
If only I had that much nothing to do...
I found the DVD players, but none had a Special Markdown Price for those who celebrate Baby Jesus' birthday by trying to set their house on fire tags. After speaking to no less than 5 bleary-eyed associates, we found someone with the holy keys to the display case, nabbed a DVD player, checked the price, and out I went.
The rest of the day was fairly uneventful, as we drove through grey Michigan, grey Ohio and grey Pennsylvania. Just when we were starting to feel pretty smug in the travelling department, the weather in Pennsylvania went from "isn't the snow on the trees pretty?" to "hrm, it's getting hard to see the trees" to "wow, it's getting kind of foggy" to "AIEEEE! WHERE WAS THE TRUCK THAT WAS 10 FEET IN FRONT OF ME?"
You may think your trip is going well, but I'm here to tell you, the Pennsylvania turnpike is the great equalizer.
And now we are here, south of the Mason-Dixon line, ready for some fun and relaxation Maryland style. As long as I don't have to drive Pennsylvania for a few days, or shop at 6am, things are looking mighty fine.
Y'all.
Why Pay More?
In my little world, there is nothing quite so embarrassing as being one of those "early bird" shoppers. For those of you who may live and die by the 6am call of the cash register, more power to you. But for me, I'm content to pay a few extra bucks later and stay in bed until Katie, Matt, Ann and Al have given me the 15 minute lowdown.
So today, at 5:55 am, the day after Christmas, with all its day after Christmas sales, where was I? You guessed it. I was standing outside the local grocery-mart-arama, shivering, with about 20 otherinsane people early bird shoppers because one of my Christmas Day not so Wise Men feats included frying the portable DVD player, and today was spend twelve hours in the car driving with everybody else in the world day.
And the eleventh commandment, for those who might not know is, Thou shalt not drive for 12 hours without copious electronic diversions. Otherwise, it's "Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?" on permanent tape loop, which gets old after the first hour or two. At least it did when TinyTuna was three.
At 6am prompt they unlocked the doors of the local grocery-mart-arama. This is the only day in the entire year when this is done, since Christmas is the only day the store is closed. And in marched: me, the portable DVD slayer, and a bunch of old people who (seriously, they said this) had nothing else to do, so they thought they'd walk around the grocery store for awhile.
If only I had that much nothing to do...
I found the DVD players, but none had a Special Markdown Price for those who celebrate Baby Jesus' birthday by trying to set their house on fire tags. After speaking to no less than 5 bleary-eyed associates, we found someone with the holy keys to the display case, nabbed a DVD player, checked the price, and out I went.
The rest of the day was fairly uneventful, as we drove through grey Michigan, grey Ohio and grey Pennsylvania. Just when we were starting to feel pretty smug in the travelling department, the weather in Pennsylvania went from "isn't the snow on the trees pretty?" to "hrm, it's getting hard to see the trees" to "wow, it's getting kind of foggy" to "AIEEEE! WHERE WAS THE TRUCK THAT WAS 10 FEET IN FRONT OF ME?"
You may think your trip is going well, but I'm here to tell you, the Pennsylvania turnpike is the great equalizer.
And now we are here, south of the Mason-Dixon line, ready for some fun and relaxation Maryland style. As long as I don't have to drive Pennsylvania for a few days, or shop at 6am, things are looking mighty fine.
Y'all.
So today, at 5:55 am, the day after Christmas, with all its day after Christmas sales, where was I? You guessed it. I was standing outside the local grocery-mart-arama, shivering, with about 20 other
And the eleventh commandment, for those who might not know is, Thou shalt not drive for 12 hours without copious electronic diversions. Otherwise, it's "Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?" on permanent tape loop, which gets old after the first hour or two. At least it did when TinyTuna was three.
At 6am prompt they unlocked the doors of the local grocery-mart-arama. This is the only day in the entire year when this is done, since Christmas is the only day the store is closed. And in marched: me, the portable DVD slayer, and a bunch of old people who (seriously, they said this) had nothing else to do, so they thought they'd walk around the grocery store for awhile.
If only I had that much nothing to do...
I found the DVD players, but none had a Special Markdown Price for those who celebrate Baby Jesus' birthday by trying to set their house on fire tags. After speaking to no less than 5 bleary-eyed associates, we found someone with the holy keys to the display case, nabbed a DVD player, checked the price, and out I went.
The rest of the day was fairly uneventful, as we drove through grey Michigan, grey Ohio and grey Pennsylvania. Just when we were starting to feel pretty smug in the travelling department, the weather in Pennsylvania went from "isn't the snow on the trees pretty?" to "hrm, it's getting hard to see the trees" to "wow, it's getting kind of foggy" to "AIEEEE! WHERE WAS THE TRUCK THAT WAS 10 FEET IN FRONT OF ME?"
You may think your trip is going well, but I'm here to tell you, the Pennsylvania turnpike is the great equalizer.
And now we are here, south of the Mason-Dixon line, ready for some fun and relaxation Maryland style. As long as I don't have to drive Pennsylvania for a few days, or shop at 6am, things are looking mighty fine.
Y'all.
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Great Expectations
It's hard to live up to an impossibly idyllic rendition of The Family Christmas. A thousand unknowns can torpedo any get together, and when you mix Christmas cookies, toys and really tired children, you can be sure there will be tears in under an hour.
This year, I'm happy to report, the kids did us proud. They behaved. They played well together. They said please and thank you. They seemed really happy with all their presents, and there was no shouting, crying or pouting, despite the fact that the 2006 naughty and nice list is now fully into play.
Food was good. Family was good. Kids were good. The various fluffy beasts were good. Presents were good. Even the holiday aftermath mess was tolerable, which is saying a lot.
Of course, today was only Phase A. Tomorrow begins Phase B, which involves the loser having to drive through all of Ohio, dealing with the Pennsylvania toll roads and the infamous Washington D.C. traffic. It might not sound like any fun at all, but the thought of ten hours in the car with no other messes or deadlines staring at me sounds like heaven on earth to this loser.
This year, I'm happy to report, the kids did us proud. They behaved. They played well together. They said please and thank you. They seemed really happy with all their presents, and there was no shouting, crying or pouting, despite the fact that the 2006 naughty and nice list is now fully into play.
Food was good. Family was good. Kids were good. The various fluffy beasts were good. Presents were good. Even the holiday aftermath mess was tolerable, which is saying a lot.
Of course, today was only Phase A. Tomorrow begins Phase B, which involves the loser having to drive through all of Ohio, dealing with the Pennsylvania toll roads and the infamous Washington D.C. traffic. It might not sound like any fun at all, but the thought of ten hours in the car with no other messes or deadlines staring at me sounds like heaven on earth to this loser.
Great Expectations
It's hard to live up to an impossibly idyllic rendition of The Family Christmas. A thousand unknowns can torpedo any get together, and when you mix Christmas cookies, toys and really tired children, you can be sure there will be tears in under an hour.
This year, I'm happy to report, the kids did us proud. They behaved. They played well together. They said please and thank you. They seemed really happy with all their presents, and there was no shouting, crying or pouting, despite the fact that the 2006 naughty and nice list is now fully into play.
Food was good. Family was good. Kids were good. The various fluffy beasts were good. Presents were good. Even the holiday aftermath mess was tolerable, which is saying a lot.
Of course, today was only Phase A. Tomorrow begins Phase B, which involves the loser having to drive through all of Ohio, dealing with the Pennsylvania toll roads and the infamous Washington D.C. traffic. It might not sound like any fun at all, but the thought of ten hours in the car with no other messes or deadlines staring at me sounds like heaven on earth to this loser.
This year, I'm happy to report, the kids did us proud. They behaved. They played well together. They said please and thank you. They seemed really happy with all their presents, and there was no shouting, crying or pouting, despite the fact that the 2006 naughty and nice list is now fully into play.
Food was good. Family was good. Kids were good. The various fluffy beasts were good. Presents were good. Even the holiday aftermath mess was tolerable, which is saying a lot.
Of course, today was only Phase A. Tomorrow begins Phase B, which involves the loser having to drive through all of Ohio, dealing with the Pennsylvania toll roads and the infamous Washington D.C. traffic. It might not sound like any fun at all, but the thought of ten hours in the car with no other messes or deadlines staring at me sounds like heaven on earth to this loser.
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Twinkle Twinkle
It should come as no surprise to anyone that TinyTuna had a plan. She had decided that Christmas Eve dinner should be a candlelight affair -- and by candlelight, I mean ONLY candlelight allowed. TinyTuna, GramTuna and I were to eat together, basking in the glow of hundreds of candles plus one well-lit Christmas Tree, and enjoy a special time together.
I'm sorry to say, I probably rolled my eyes when she wasn't looking.
TinyTuna loves the spectacle seen through the eyes of Norman Rockwell and tied up with one hundred Martha Stewart bows. I can only aspire to her elaborate dreams, because even when her idea of a summer afternoon respite includes a lazy Susan crammed with yogurt, raisins, Skittles, an old banana, popsicles, microwave popcorn, bread and a center compartment overflowing with butter, at least she had a plan and went to the trouble to see it through.
So, despite the private eyerolling deep in my soul, I said OK, while secretly hoping she'd forget all about it.
I had no idea how we were going to pull this off. My house is a holiday themed wreck, with everything all over everywhere, including my 32-inch Toshiba (it was FREE!) that continues to sit on the floor (I really should throw some tinsel on it or something). GramTuna's house wasn't much better, since every flat surface has become the Christmas Cookie Corral; something I cannot do now that I have hungry, greedy and evil furry toddlers. I'm not sure they'd eat the cookies, but I bet they'd grab a bunch and play with them.
After we got home tonight from Church the First (4pm service), TinyTuna went to work to prepare the way of the candlelight dinner. She cleaned up the table and made my crooked piles straight. She was not to be deterred. Like it or not, we WERE going to go through with this.
Surprisingly, though, things started to pick up quickly and we grabbed as many candles and votives as we could find and started to light them. Between the candles and the colorful tree, I had to admit that she was right: it really was a beautiful, special setting. I would have never thought it would have worked, but she believed in it all along.
Tonight and tomorrow and hopefully many tomorrows to come, my wish is to remember the light. It doesn't matter much if you celebrate Christmas or Hanukkah or Kwanzaa or Solstice or something else or nothing at all. It doesn't have to be about a deity. The common theme is recognizing the difficulties and darkness in our existences, and then looking towards the light, be it physical or spiritual. Each of us need to find those things that heal us, inspire us and uplift us. As a world community we understand hardships and sadly, the difficulties of our existence will never be entirely gone. But with a light, be it one candle or one hundred, there is comfort and hope during the darkest of times.
I know it's hard to believe. I didn't at first. But TinyTuna did, and showed us all. One candle at a time.
Merry Christmas.
I'm sorry to say, I probably rolled my eyes when she wasn't looking.
TinyTuna loves the spectacle seen through the eyes of Norman Rockwell and tied up with one hundred Martha Stewart bows. I can only aspire to her elaborate dreams, because even when her idea of a summer afternoon respite includes a lazy Susan crammed with yogurt, raisins, Skittles, an old banana, popsicles, microwave popcorn, bread and a center compartment overflowing with butter, at least she had a plan and went to the trouble to see it through.
So, despite the private eyerolling deep in my soul, I said OK, while secretly hoping she'd forget all about it.
I had no idea how we were going to pull this off. My house is a holiday themed wreck, with everything all over everywhere, including my 32-inch Toshiba (it was FREE!) that continues to sit on the floor (I really should throw some tinsel on it or something). GramTuna's house wasn't much better, since every flat surface has become the Christmas Cookie Corral; something I cannot do now that I have hungry, greedy and evil furry toddlers. I'm not sure they'd eat the cookies, but I bet they'd grab a bunch and play with them.
After we got home tonight from Church the First (4pm service), TinyTuna went to work to prepare the way of the candlelight dinner. She cleaned up the table and made my crooked piles straight. She was not to be deterred. Like it or not, we WERE going to go through with this.
Surprisingly, though, things started to pick up quickly and we grabbed as many candles and votives as we could find and started to light them. Between the candles and the colorful tree, I had to admit that she was right: it really was a beautiful, special setting. I would have never thought it would have worked, but she believed in it all along.
Tonight and tomorrow and hopefully many tomorrows to come, my wish is to remember the light. It doesn't matter much if you celebrate Christmas or Hanukkah or Kwanzaa or Solstice or something else or nothing at all. It doesn't have to be about a deity. The common theme is recognizing the difficulties and darkness in our existences, and then looking towards the light, be it physical or spiritual. Each of us need to find those things that heal us, inspire us and uplift us. As a world community we understand hardships and sadly, the difficulties of our existence will never be entirely gone. But with a light, be it one candle or one hundred, there is comfort and hope during the darkest of times.
I know it's hard to believe. I didn't at first. But TinyTuna did, and showed us all. One candle at a time.
Merry Christmas.
Twinkle Twinkle
It should come as no surprise to anyone that TinyTuna had a plan. She had decided that Christmas Eve dinner should be a candlelight affair -- and by candlelight, I mean ONLY candlelight allowed. TinyTuna, GramTuna and I were to eat together, basking in the glow of hundreds of candles plus one well-lit Christmas Tree, and enjoy a special time together.
I'm sorry to say, I probably rolled my eyes when she wasn't looking.
TinyTuna loves the spectacle seen through the eyes of Norman Rockwell and tied up with one hundred Martha Stewart bows. I can only aspire to her elaborate dreams, because even when her idea of a summer afternoon respite includes a lazy Susan crammed with yogurt, raisins, Skittles, an old banana, popsicles, microwave popcorn, bread and a center compartment overflowing with butter, at least she had a plan and went to the trouble to see it through.
So, despite the private eyerolling deep in my soul, I said OK, while secretly hoping she'd forget all about it.
I had no idea how we were going to pull this off. My house is a holiday themed wreck, with everything all over everywhere, including my 32-inch Toshiba (it was FREE!) that continues to sit on the floor (I really should throw some tinsel on it or something). GramTuna's house wasn't much better, since every flat surface has become the Christmas Cookie Corral; something I cannot do now that I have hungry, greedy and evil furry toddlers. I'm not sure they'd eat the cookies, but I bet they'd grab a bunch and play with them.
After we got home tonight from Church the First (4pm service), TinyTuna went to work to prepare the way of the candlelight dinner. She cleaned up the table and made my crooked piles straight. She was not to be deterred. Like it or not, we WERE going to go through with this.
Surprisingly, though, things started to pick up quickly and we grabbed as many candles and votives as we could find and started to light them. Between the candles and the colorful tree, I had to admit that she was right: it really was a beautiful, special setting. I would have never thought it would have worked, but she believed in it all along.
Tonight and tomorrow and hopefully many tomorrows to come, my wish is to remember the light. It doesn't matter much if you celebrate Christmas or Hanukkah or Kwanzaa or Solstice or something else or nothing at all. It doesn't have to be about a deity. The common theme is recognizing the difficulties and darkness in our existences, and then looking towards the light, be it physical or spiritual. Each of us need to find those things that heal us, inspire us and uplift us. As a world community we understand hardships and sadly, the difficulties of our existence will never be entirely gone. But with a light, be it one candle or one hundred, there is comfort and hope during the darkest of times.
I know it's hard to believe. I didn't at first. But TinyTuna did, and showed us all. One candle at a time.
Merry Christmas.
I'm sorry to say, I probably rolled my eyes when she wasn't looking.
TinyTuna loves the spectacle seen through the eyes of Norman Rockwell and tied up with one hundred Martha Stewart bows. I can only aspire to her elaborate dreams, because even when her idea of a summer afternoon respite includes a lazy Susan crammed with yogurt, raisins, Skittles, an old banana, popsicles, microwave popcorn, bread and a center compartment overflowing with butter, at least she had a plan and went to the trouble to see it through.
So, despite the private eyerolling deep in my soul, I said OK, while secretly hoping she'd forget all about it.
I had no idea how we were going to pull this off. My house is a holiday themed wreck, with everything all over everywhere, including my 32-inch Toshiba (it was FREE!) that continues to sit on the floor (I really should throw some tinsel on it or something). GramTuna's house wasn't much better, since every flat surface has become the Christmas Cookie Corral; something I cannot do now that I have hungry, greedy and evil furry toddlers. I'm not sure they'd eat the cookies, but I bet they'd grab a bunch and play with them.
After we got home tonight from Church the First (4pm service), TinyTuna went to work to prepare the way of the candlelight dinner. She cleaned up the table and made my crooked piles straight. She was not to be deterred. Like it or not, we WERE going to go through with this.
Surprisingly, though, things started to pick up quickly and we grabbed as many candles and votives as we could find and started to light them. Between the candles and the colorful tree, I had to admit that she was right: it really was a beautiful, special setting. I would have never thought it would have worked, but she believed in it all along.
Tonight and tomorrow and hopefully many tomorrows to come, my wish is to remember the light. It doesn't matter much if you celebrate Christmas or Hanukkah or Kwanzaa or Solstice or something else or nothing at all. It doesn't have to be about a deity. The common theme is recognizing the difficulties and darkness in our existences, and then looking towards the light, be it physical or spiritual. Each of us need to find those things that heal us, inspire us and uplift us. As a world community we understand hardships and sadly, the difficulties of our existence will never be entirely gone. But with a light, be it one candle or one hundred, there is comfort and hope during the darkest of times.
I know it's hard to believe. I didn't at first. But TinyTuna did, and showed us all. One candle at a time.
Merry Christmas.
Friday, December 23, 2005
Reading List
If you happened to peruse my Bloglines list -- the list of all the blogs I follow on a regular basis (on good days), whenever I can get around to them (on busy days), and, despite my best intentions, so so often (on ordinary run, run as fast as you can days) -- you'd have a hard time pinning down my online whims.
Take, for instance, my love of the ugly. My two favorite ugly blogs are Go Fug Yourself, which mocks with great mockitude that well-known oxymoron, celebrity fashion. The second blog, You Knit What? may be a bit more subject specific, but remember: just as you don't have to own a paintbrush to appreciate Van Gogh, you don't have to be a knitter to love the ug. And believe me, there is a lot of ug to love.
Now, lest you think my heart is full of unwashed socks and gunk, I subscribe to several websites that provide a Yin to my Yang; a Fung to my Shui; a Wang to my Chung. Cute Overload is one such place: a site so overwhelmingly and utterly cute that even the most hardened webbie would have an instantaneous and irreversible seizure after suffering from acute cute. Be still my evil Diva Soprano heart. It's awesome!!
A whole bunch of my blogs had to have their URLs updated following a huge kerfluffle with AOL a month ago. If you aren't familiar with the AOL debacle, DO NOT bring this up with any present or former AOL journalists, because they'll curl up in the fetal position and start wailing loudly. The problems started when AOL in a rather SURPRISE! fashion pasted gaudy, blinky ads at the headers of individual journals. Yep, the ads were ugly. Yep, it seemed the journalists had no say what the ad content would be, and yep, they paid GOOD MONEY for AOL's fantabulous service and jaunty e-mail alerts, and now...NOW look what AOL did to them??? It was an enormous mess and many people up and left in protest.
As a sidebar, I have to wonder how much fun they had canceling AOL's service? It's not like the cancel information is anywhere on the page, and the one time I had to cancel AOL, I had to make up several lies -- including a genius claim about becoming Amish and having no more electricity -- to shut up the pathetically nosy AOL PLEASE DON'T LEAVE OUR COMPANY phone guy.
In response to AOL's decision to do whatever the hell they want with their own site and if you don't like it, you can lump it, many AOLers joined Blogger and other free online blogging services. I'm hoping they will come to learn to love the banner ads. Heck, I put mine back in after Blogger made banner ads voluntary. I love trying to manipulate the ad content by writing about specific topics in my blog. My current ads include two pirate sites (because didn't I tell you? Pirates bring the funny), a Lemony Snicket site and an audio book site. Even better? On Blogger, nothing blinks.
I follow daily cartoon blogs, and blogs written by cartoons. Last week I stumbled across RSS feeds for all NPR programs, thus ensuring I'll never get anything done ever again. I read blogs written by pundits and essayists that discuss the current political and social landscape, and yet I feel a real kinship with those writers who dissect the everyday drama that is life. Although I've never met most of them, I cannot help but feel a little privaledged to be allowed to share in the story of their life.
So, Wide, Wide, Wonderful World of Blogs, I thank you. If the pen is indeed mightier than the sword, we are one well-armed, if not well-versed army.
Take, for instance, my love of the ugly. My two favorite ugly blogs are Go Fug Yourself, which mocks with great mockitude that well-known oxymoron, celebrity fashion. The second blog, You Knit What? may be a bit more subject specific, but remember: just as you don't have to own a paintbrush to appreciate Van Gogh, you don't have to be a knitter to love the ug. And believe me, there is a lot of ug to love.
Now, lest you think my heart is full of unwashed socks and gunk, I subscribe to several websites that provide a Yin to my Yang; a Fung to my Shui; a Wang to my Chung. Cute Overload is one such place: a site so overwhelmingly and utterly cute that even the most hardened webbie would have an instantaneous and irreversible seizure after suffering from acute cute. Be still my evil Diva Soprano heart. It's awesome!!
A whole bunch of my blogs had to have their URLs updated following a huge kerfluffle with AOL a month ago. If you aren't familiar with the AOL debacle, DO NOT bring this up with any present or former AOL journalists, because they'll curl up in the fetal position and start wailing loudly. The problems started when AOL in a rather SURPRISE! fashion pasted gaudy, blinky ads at the headers of individual journals. Yep, the ads were ugly. Yep, it seemed the journalists had no say what the ad content would be, and yep, they paid GOOD MONEY for AOL's fantabulous service and jaunty e-mail alerts, and now...NOW look what AOL did to them??? It was an enormous mess and many people up and left in protest.
As a sidebar, I have to wonder how much fun they had canceling AOL's service? It's not like the cancel information is anywhere on the page, and the one time I had to cancel AOL, I had to make up several lies -- including a genius claim about becoming Amish and having no more electricity -- to shut up the pathetically nosy AOL PLEASE DON'T LEAVE OUR COMPANY phone guy.
In response to AOL's decision to do whatever the hell they want with their own site and if you don't like it, you can lump it, many AOLers joined Blogger and other free online blogging services. I'm hoping they will come to learn to love the banner ads. Heck, I put mine back in after Blogger made banner ads voluntary. I love trying to manipulate the ad content by writing about specific topics in my blog. My current ads include two pirate sites (because didn't I tell you? Pirates bring the funny), a Lemony Snicket site and an audio book site. Even better? On Blogger, nothing blinks.
I follow daily cartoon blogs, and blogs written by cartoons. Last week I stumbled across RSS feeds for all NPR programs, thus ensuring I'll never get anything done ever again. I read blogs written by pundits and essayists that discuss the current political and social landscape, and yet I feel a real kinship with those writers who dissect the everyday drama that is life. Although I've never met most of them, I cannot help but feel a little privaledged to be allowed to share in the story of their life.
So, Wide, Wide, Wonderful World of Blogs, I thank you. If the pen is indeed mightier than the sword, we are one well-armed, if not well-versed army.
Reading List
If you happened to peruse my Bloglines list -- the list of all the blogs I follow on a regular basis (on good days), whenever I can get around to them (on busy days), and, despite my best intentions, so so often (on ordinary run, run as fast as you can days) -- you'd have a hard time pinning down my online whims.
Take, for instance, my love of the ugly. My two favorite ugly blogs are Go Fug Yourself, which mocks with great mockitude that well-known oxymoron, celebrity fashion. The second blog, You Knit What? may be a bit more subject specific, but remember: just as you don't have to own a paintbrush to appreciate Van Gogh, you don't have to be a knitter to love the ug. And believe me, there is a lot of ug to love.
Now, lest you think my heart is full of unwashed socks and gunk, I subscribe to several websites that provide a Yin to my Yang; a Fung to my Shui; a Wang to my Chung. Cute Overload is one such place: a site so overwhelmingly and utterly cute that even the most hardened webbie would have an instantaneous and irreversible seizure after suffering from acute cute. Be still my evil Diva Soprano heart. It's awesome!!
A whole bunch of my blogs had to have their URLs updated following a huge kerfluffle with AOL a month ago. If you aren't familiar with the AOL debacle, DO NOT bring this up with any present or former AOL journalists, because they'll curl up in the fetal position and start wailing loudly. The problems started when AOL in a rather SURPRISE! fashion pasted gaudy, blinky ads at the headers of individual journals. Yep, the ads were ugly. Yep, it seemed the journalists had no say what the ad content would be, and yep, they paid GOOD MONEY for AOL's fantabulous service and jaunty e-mail alerts, and now...NOW look what AOL did to them??? It was an enormous mess and many people up and left in protest.
As a sidebar, I have to wonder how much fun they had canceling AOL's service? It's not like the cancel information is anywhere on the page, and the one time I had to cancel AOL, I had to make up several lies -- including a genius claim about becoming Amish and having no more electricity -- to shut up the pathetically nosy AOL PLEASE DON'T LEAVE OUR COMPANY phone guy.
In response to AOL's decision to do whatever the hell they want with their own site and if you don't like it, you can lump it, many AOLers joined Blogger and other free online blogging services. I'm hoping they will come to learn to love the banner ads. Heck, I put mine back in after Blogger made banner ads voluntary. I love trying to manipulate the ad content by writing about specific topics in my blog. My current ads include two pirate sites (because didn't I tell you? Pirates bring the funny), a Lemony Snicket site and an audio book site. Even better? On Blogger, nothing blinks.
I follow daily cartoon blogs, and blogs written by cartoons. Last week I stumbled across RSS feeds for all NPR programs, thus ensuring I'll never get anything done ever again. I read blogs written by pundits and essayists that discuss the current political and social landscape, and yet I feel a real kinship with those writers who dissect the everyday drama that is life. Although I've never met most of them, I cannot help but feel a little privaledged to be allowed to share in the story of their life.
So, Wide, Wide, Wonderful World of Blogs, I thank you. If the pen is indeed mightier than the sword, we are one well-armed, if not well-versed army.
Take, for instance, my love of the ugly. My two favorite ugly blogs are Go Fug Yourself, which mocks with great mockitude that well-known oxymoron, celebrity fashion. The second blog, You Knit What? may be a bit more subject specific, but remember: just as you don't have to own a paintbrush to appreciate Van Gogh, you don't have to be a knitter to love the ug. And believe me, there is a lot of ug to love.
Now, lest you think my heart is full of unwashed socks and gunk, I subscribe to several websites that provide a Yin to my Yang; a Fung to my Shui; a Wang to my Chung. Cute Overload is one such place: a site so overwhelmingly and utterly cute that even the most hardened webbie would have an instantaneous and irreversible seizure after suffering from acute cute. Be still my evil Diva Soprano heart. It's awesome!!
A whole bunch of my blogs had to have their URLs updated following a huge kerfluffle with AOL a month ago. If you aren't familiar with the AOL debacle, DO NOT bring this up with any present or former AOL journalists, because they'll curl up in the fetal position and start wailing loudly. The problems started when AOL in a rather SURPRISE! fashion pasted gaudy, blinky ads at the headers of individual journals. Yep, the ads were ugly. Yep, it seemed the journalists had no say what the ad content would be, and yep, they paid GOOD MONEY for AOL's fantabulous service and jaunty e-mail alerts, and now...NOW look what AOL did to them??? It was an enormous mess and many people up and left in protest.
As a sidebar, I have to wonder how much fun they had canceling AOL's service? It's not like the cancel information is anywhere on the page, and the one time I had to cancel AOL, I had to make up several lies -- including a genius claim about becoming Amish and having no more electricity -- to shut up the pathetically nosy AOL PLEASE DON'T LEAVE OUR COMPANY phone guy.
In response to AOL's decision to do whatever the hell they want with their own site and if you don't like it, you can lump it, many AOLers joined Blogger and other free online blogging services. I'm hoping they will come to learn to love the banner ads. Heck, I put mine back in after Blogger made banner ads voluntary. I love trying to manipulate the ad content by writing about specific topics in my blog. My current ads include two pirate sites (because didn't I tell you? Pirates bring the funny), a Lemony Snicket site and an audio book site. Even better? On Blogger, nothing blinks.
I follow daily cartoon blogs, and blogs written by cartoons. Last week I stumbled across RSS feeds for all NPR programs, thus ensuring I'll never get anything done ever again. I read blogs written by pundits and essayists that discuss the current political and social landscape, and yet I feel a real kinship with those writers who dissect the everyday drama that is life. Although I've never met most of them, I cannot help but feel a little privaledged to be allowed to share in the story of their life.
So, Wide, Wide, Wonderful World of Blogs, I thank you. If the pen is indeed mightier than the sword, we are one well-armed, if not well-versed army.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
March of the Penguins
This fall the Tuna clan went to see the popular documentary March of the Penguins. Despite the rarity of seeing the word "popular" next to "documentary," we, like the rest of the free world, loved watching the little tuxedo clad wonders waddle about and swim like a torpedo through the icy waters. The baby penguins were seizure-worthy cute, and the adults possessed such humanistic qualities, I would have sworn that in reality they were marching off to rehearse the big dance number from Mary Poppins.
Tonight, as I trudged around the local book emporium, looking for anything that might be present-worthy, I realized, I'm was nothing more than a penguin. Mile after mile after mile I trudged through the store, looking for that one true match of giftage to family member. I browsed through table after table of books, stopping every once to perform the ritual: pick it up, turn it over, turn it over again, open the front cover, look it over, flip some pages, close it, turn it over again and check the back cover for the price; but more often than not, it just wasn't right. Somehow the book and I were not meant for each other, and this development left me no other choice but to continue the march. Like my arctic friends, the journey was not without peril, as another unfortunate penguin discovered. I'm not sure if she just wasn't looking and ran into me, or I wasn't in full control of my hand basket and bashed into her as I turned a corner. Whatever it was, we mutually mumbled our "sorrys" and "excuse mes" and went on our way.
Free from the monotonous trudging, TinyTuna alternated between reading on the wooden bench in the children's section and the overstuffed easy chairs near the faux fireplace. If someone threw her a fish -- albeit a bubblegum flavored fish -- she would have been in heaven. As it was, she was just as tired as we were, and as she continued to ask "how's it going?" -- codespeak for "when do we get to go?" -- all I could manage in passing was a lot of yawning. A humanistic trait, I might add, that was left OUT of the movie.
After what seemed like forever in the bookstore (and after I couldn't manage to convince cash register guy that "today is free stuff day") we trudged en masse to the car. By this time, the sharks had left the frozen tundra of the parking lot, and thankfully it was time to return to the nest.
Tonight, as I trudged around the local book emporium, looking for anything that might be present-worthy, I realized, I'm was nothing more than a penguin. Mile after mile after mile I trudged through the store, looking for that one true match of giftage to family member. I browsed through table after table of books, stopping every once to perform the ritual: pick it up, turn it over, turn it over again, open the front cover, look it over, flip some pages, close it, turn it over again and check the back cover for the price; but more often than not, it just wasn't right. Somehow the book and I were not meant for each other, and this development left me no other choice but to continue the march. Like my arctic friends, the journey was not without peril, as another unfortunate penguin discovered. I'm not sure if she just wasn't looking and ran into me, or I wasn't in full control of my hand basket and bashed into her as I turned a corner. Whatever it was, we mutually mumbled our "sorrys" and "excuse mes" and went on our way.
Free from the monotonous trudging, TinyTuna alternated between reading on the wooden bench in the children's section and the overstuffed easy chairs near the faux fireplace. If someone threw her a fish -- albeit a bubblegum flavored fish -- she would have been in heaven. As it was, she was just as tired as we were, and as she continued to ask "how's it going?" -- codespeak for "when do we get to go?" -- all I could manage in passing was a lot of yawning. A humanistic trait, I might add, that was left OUT of the movie.
After what seemed like forever in the bookstore (and after I couldn't manage to convince cash register guy that "today is free stuff day") we trudged en masse to the car. By this time, the sharks had left the frozen tundra of the parking lot, and thankfully it was time to return to the nest.
March of the Penguins
This fall the Tuna clan went to see the popular documentary March of the Penguins. Despite the rarity of seeing the word "popular" next to "documentary," we, like the rest of the free world, loved watching the little tuxedo clad wonders waddle about and swim like a torpedo through the icy waters. The baby penguins were seizure-worthy cute, and the adults possessed such humanistic qualities, I would have sworn that in reality they were marching off to rehearse the big dance number from Mary Poppins.
Tonight, as I trudged around the local book emporium, looking for anything that might be present-worthy, I realized, I'm was nothing more than a penguin. Mile after mile after mile I trudged through the store, looking for that one true match of giftage to family member. I browsed through table after table of books, stopping every once to perform the ritual: pick it up, turn it over, turn it over again, open the front cover, look it over, flip some pages, close it, turn it over again and check the back cover for the price; but more often than not, it just wasn't right. Somehow the book and I were not meant for each other, and this development left me no other choice but to continue the march. Like my arctic friends, the journey was not without peril, as another unfortunate penguin discovered. I'm not sure if she just wasn't looking and ran into me, or I wasn't in full control of my hand basket and bashed into her as I turned a corner. Whatever it was, we mutually mumbled our "sorrys" and "excuse mes" and went on our way.
Free from the monotonous trudging, TinyTuna alternated between reading on the wooden bench in the children's section and the overstuffed easy chairs near the faux fireplace. If someone threw her a fish -- albeit a bubblegum flavored fish -- she would have been in heaven. As it was, she was just as tired as we were, and as she continued to ask "how's it going?" -- codespeak for "when do we get to go?" -- all I could manage in passing was a lot of yawning. A humanistic trait, I might add, that was left OUT of the movie.
After what seemed like forever in the bookstore (and after I couldn't manage to convince cash register guy that "today is free stuff day") we trudged en masse to the car. By this time, the sharks had left the frozen tundra of the parking lot, and thankfully it was time to return to the nest.
Tonight, as I trudged around the local book emporium, looking for anything that might be present-worthy, I realized, I'm was nothing more than a penguin. Mile after mile after mile I trudged through the store, looking for that one true match of giftage to family member. I browsed through table after table of books, stopping every once to perform the ritual: pick it up, turn it over, turn it over again, open the front cover, look it over, flip some pages, close it, turn it over again and check the back cover for the price; but more often than not, it just wasn't right. Somehow the book and I were not meant for each other, and this development left me no other choice but to continue the march. Like my arctic friends, the journey was not without peril, as another unfortunate penguin discovered. I'm not sure if she just wasn't looking and ran into me, or I wasn't in full control of my hand basket and bashed into her as I turned a corner. Whatever it was, we mutually mumbled our "sorrys" and "excuse mes" and went on our way.
Free from the monotonous trudging, TinyTuna alternated between reading on the wooden bench in the children's section and the overstuffed easy chairs near the faux fireplace. If someone threw her a fish -- albeit a bubblegum flavored fish -- she would have been in heaven. As it was, she was just as tired as we were, and as she continued to ask "how's it going?" -- codespeak for "when do we get to go?" -- all I could manage in passing was a lot of yawning. A humanistic trait, I might add, that was left OUT of the movie.
After what seemed like forever in the bookstore (and after I couldn't manage to convince cash register guy that "today is free stuff day") we trudged en masse to the car. By this time, the sharks had left the frozen tundra of the parking lot, and thankfully it was time to return to the nest.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Do Tunas Have Thumbs?
As the year draws to an end, everybody starts preparing lists. List of things done. Things undone. Wonderful things. Horrible things. Fat things. Skinny things. Things who climb on rocks....
One of the first lists I've run across thus far is Roger Ebert's list of the 10 Best Movies of 2005. Because the Oscar Derby is right around the corner (give or take several months), it's never too early to start figuring out the cinematic winners and losers. Ebert's picks?
BUT
In his list of Best Animated Films I'm three-for-three! Wallace and Gromit, Corpse Bride AND Robots. Check. Check. And Check. If it's a kids movie, then I have a snowball's chance of having seen it. Sad to say, I'm fairly certain these three won't be Oscar feature film nominees. It's time to stock up on Milk Duds and popcorn. I have a bit of catching up to do.
One of the first lists I've run across thus far is Roger Ebert's list of the 10 Best Movies of 2005. Because the Oscar Derby is right around the corner (give or take several months), it's never too early to start figuring out the cinematic winners and losers. Ebert's picks?
- Crash
- Syriana
- Munich
- Junebug
- Brokeback Mountain
- Me and You and Everyone We Know
- Nine Lives
- King Kong
- Yes
- Millions
- Never heard of it.
- Just came out. I think.
- Not even here yet.
- Never heard of it.
- Heard lots about it, but keep channeling South Park.
- Never heard of it.
- Never heard of it.
- A big monkey makes a lot of noise and wrecks things (tm BSTuna)
- Never heard of it.
- Never heard of it.
BUT
In his list of Best Animated Films I'm three-for-three! Wallace and Gromit, Corpse Bride AND Robots. Check. Check. And Check. If it's a kids movie, then I have a snowball's chance of having seen it. Sad to say, I'm fairly certain these three won't be Oscar feature film nominees. It's time to stock up on Milk Duds and popcorn. I have a bit of catching up to do.
Do Tunas Have Thumbs?
As the year draws to an end, everybody starts preparing lists. List of things done. Things undone. Wonderful things. Horrible things. Fat things. Skinny things. Things who climb on rocks....
One of the first lists I've run across thus far is Roger Ebert's list of the 10 Best Movies of 2005. Because the Oscar Derby is right around the corner (give or take several months), it's never too early to start figuring out the cinematic winners and losers. Ebert's picks?
BUT
In his list of Best Animated Films I'm three-for-three! Wallace and Gromit, Corpse Bride AND Robots. Check. Check. And Check. If it's a kids movie, then I have a snowball's chance of having seen it. Sad to say, I'm fairly certain these three won't be Oscar feature film nominees. It's time to stock up on Milk Duds and popcorn. I have a bit of catching up to do.
One of the first lists I've run across thus far is Roger Ebert's list of the 10 Best Movies of 2005. Because the Oscar Derby is right around the corner (give or take several months), it's never too early to start figuring out the cinematic winners and losers. Ebert's picks?
- Crash
- Syriana
- Munich
- Junebug
- Brokeback Mountain
- Me and You and Everyone We Know
- Nine Lives
- King Kong
- Yes
- Millions
- Never heard of it.
- Just came out. I think.
- Not even here yet.
- Never heard of it.
- Heard lots about it, but keep channeling South Park.
- Never heard of it.
- Never heard of it.
- A big monkey makes a lot of noise and wrecks things (tm BSTuna)
- Never heard of it.
- Never heard of it.
BUT
In his list of Best Animated Films I'm three-for-three! Wallace and Gromit, Corpse Bride AND Robots. Check. Check. And Check. If it's a kids movie, then I have a snowball's chance of having seen it. Sad to say, I'm fairly certain these three won't be Oscar feature film nominees. It's time to stock up on Milk Duds and popcorn. I have a bit of catching up to do.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Geometric Equations
As I continue to struggle through sixth grade geometry -- my hands-down worst subject in high school -- TinyTuna and I have been learning about angles and polygons, and how increasing the number of sides can make something like a building much stronger.
At least I hope that's right, because after my Lewis Carroll / C.S. Lewis / Alice in Wonder - Lookinglass - Land analogy from yesterday, I'm a little skittish. But not too skittish to actually stop writing and check with my boyfriend to see if I know what I'm talking about or not. Deadlines are a bitch.
But this bit of geometry was something that actually made sense to me. Not in a prove this theorem kind of way (because who thinks in theorems?), but more in a practical application let's have a contest to build a house of cards to see if The Brady Bunch will buy the rowboat or the sewing machine with all the extra green stamps kind of way. As you may remember, to successfully build a house of cards, you must lean two or more cards against each other. In this way they will be stronger than if you just stood them up by themselves and tried to balance more cards on top.
/\ /\ /\ /\ /\
It's an unwritten law that mothers are caregivers. Moms heal scraped knees with a kiss. Moms heal hurt feelings with a hug. Moms stay up late helping with homework and get up early to make lunches. Moms bake cookies for parties, buy wrapping paper, popcorn and chocolate covered peanuts for fundraisers, and provide 24-7 taxi service to lessons, soccer games, basketball games, rehearsals, plays, parties and any other activity imaginable -- or schedulable.
Although I may have been slightly hazy (ok, crazily drugged because after 36 hours of labor I EARNED it, thank you very much), I don't recall signing any contract agreeing to provide ANY of the above mentioned services. I'm not certain if it is a matter of having an extra nurturing gene or an extra gullible gene (complete with car keys and a cup holder), but even when faced with troubles that I'd rather not have to deal with, I have been an overwhelmingly willing participant in the life and times of TinyTuna.
What she probably doesn't know is how much I depend her. She adds an indescribable complexity to life. Sometimes funny, sometimes poignant and often insightful far beyond her eleven young years, I find that even in her most maddening moments -- and believe me, there are many -- I wouldn't give up an instant of her presence.
/\ /\ /\ /\ /\
Today the theorem was put into practice. Today we were not able to stand alone. Today mothers depended on daughters as much as daughters depended on mothers. When one was weak and hurting, the other would lean in and provide that extra degree of support. Maybe it simply a matter of geometry, polygons and sides. I like to think that instead of angles it was angels. Whatever it was, it worked. And we were all a lot stronger for it.
At least I hope that's right, because after my Lewis Carroll / C.S. Lewis / Alice in Wonder - Lookinglass - Land analogy from yesterday, I'm a little skittish. But not too skittish to actually stop writing and check with my boyfriend to see if I know what I'm talking about or not. Deadlines are a bitch.
But this bit of geometry was something that actually made sense to me. Not in a prove this theorem kind of way (because who thinks in theorems?), but more in a practical application let's have a contest to build a house of cards to see if The Brady Bunch will buy the rowboat or the sewing machine with all the extra green stamps kind of way. As you may remember, to successfully build a house of cards, you must lean two or more cards against each other. In this way they will be stronger than if you just stood them up by themselves and tried to balance more cards on top.
It's an unwritten law that mothers are caregivers. Moms heal scraped knees with a kiss. Moms heal hurt feelings with a hug. Moms stay up late helping with homework and get up early to make lunches. Moms bake cookies for parties, buy wrapping paper, popcorn and chocolate covered peanuts for fundraisers, and provide 24-7 taxi service to lessons, soccer games, basketball games, rehearsals, plays, parties and any other activity imaginable -- or schedulable.
Although I may have been slightly hazy (ok, crazily drugged because after 36 hours of labor I EARNED it, thank you very much), I don't recall signing any contract agreeing to provide ANY of the above mentioned services. I'm not certain if it is a matter of having an extra nurturing gene or an extra gullible gene (complete with car keys and a cup holder), but even when faced with troubles that I'd rather not have to deal with, I have been an overwhelmingly willing participant in the life and times of TinyTuna.
What she probably doesn't know is how much I depend her. She adds an indescribable complexity to life. Sometimes funny, sometimes poignant and often insightful far beyond her eleven young years, I find that even in her most maddening moments -- and believe me, there are many -- I wouldn't give up an instant of her presence.
Today the theorem was put into practice. Today we were not able to stand alone. Today mothers depended on daughters as much as daughters depended on mothers. When one was weak and hurting, the other would lean in and provide that extra degree of support. Maybe it simply a matter of geometry, polygons and sides. I like to think that instead of angles it was angels. Whatever it was, it worked. And we were all a lot stronger for it.
Geometric Equations
As I continue to struggle through sixth grade geometry -- my hands-down worst subject in high school -- TinyTuna and I have been learning about angles and polygons, and how increasing the number of sides can make something like a building much stronger.
At least I hope that's right, because after my Lewis Carroll / C.S. Lewis / Alice in Wonder - Lookinglass - Land analogy from yesterday, I'm a little skittish. But not too skittish to actually stop writing and check with my boyfriend to see if I know what I'm talking about or not. Deadlines are a bitch.
But this bit of geometry was something that actually made sense to me. Not in a prove this theorem kind of way (because who thinks in theorems?), but more in a practical application let's have a contest to build a house of cards to see if The Brady Bunch will buy the rowboat or the sewing machine with all the extra green stamps kind of way. As you may remember, to successfully build a house of cards, you must lean two or more cards against each other. In this way they will be stronger than if you just stood them up by themselves and tried to balance more cards on top.
/\ /\ /\ /\ /\
It's an unwritten law that mothers are caregivers. Moms heal scraped knees with a kiss. Moms heal hurt feelings with a hug. Moms stay up late helping with homework and get up early to make lunches. Moms bake cookies for parties, buy wrapping paper, popcorn and chocolate covered peanuts for fundraisers, and provide 24-7 taxi service to lessons, soccer games, basketball games, rehearsals, plays, parties and any other activity imaginable -- or schedulable.
Although I may have been slightly hazy (ok, crazily drugged because after 36 hours of labor I EARNED it, thank you very much), I don't recall signing any contract agreeing to provide ANY of the above mentioned services. I'm not certain if it is a matter of having an extra nurturing gene or an extra gullible gene (complete with car keys and a cup holder), but even when faced with troubles that I'd rather not have to deal with, I have been an overwhelmingly willing participant in the life and times of TinyTuna.
What she probably doesn't know is how much I depend her. She adds an indescribable complexity to life. Sometimes funny, sometimes poignant and often insightful far beyond her eleven young years, I find that even in her most maddening moments -- and believe me, there are many -- I wouldn't give up an instant of her presence.
/\ /\ /\ /\ /\
Today the theorem was put into practice. Today we were not able to stand alone. Today mothers depended on daughters as much as daughters depended on mothers. When one was weak and hurting, the other would lean in and provide that extra degree of support. Maybe it simply a matter of geometry, polygons and sides. I like to think that instead of angles it was angels. Whatever it was, it worked. And we were all a lot stronger for it.
At least I hope that's right, because after my Lewis Carroll / C.S. Lewis / Alice in Wonder - Lookinglass - Land analogy from yesterday, I'm a little skittish. But not too skittish to actually stop writing and check with my boyfriend to see if I know what I'm talking about or not. Deadlines are a bitch.
But this bit of geometry was something that actually made sense to me. Not in a prove this theorem kind of way (because who thinks in theorems?), but more in a practical application let's have a contest to build a house of cards to see if The Brady Bunch will buy the rowboat or the sewing machine with all the extra green stamps kind of way. As you may remember, to successfully build a house of cards, you must lean two or more cards against each other. In this way they will be stronger than if you just stood them up by themselves and tried to balance more cards on top.
It's an unwritten law that mothers are caregivers. Moms heal scraped knees with a kiss. Moms heal hurt feelings with a hug. Moms stay up late helping with homework and get up early to make lunches. Moms bake cookies for parties, buy wrapping paper, popcorn and chocolate covered peanuts for fundraisers, and provide 24-7 taxi service to lessons, soccer games, basketball games, rehearsals, plays, parties and any other activity imaginable -- or schedulable.
Although I may have been slightly hazy (ok, crazily drugged because after 36 hours of labor I EARNED it, thank you very much), I don't recall signing any contract agreeing to provide ANY of the above mentioned services. I'm not certain if it is a matter of having an extra nurturing gene or an extra gullible gene (complete with car keys and a cup holder), but even when faced with troubles that I'd rather not have to deal with, I have been an overwhelmingly willing participant in the life and times of TinyTuna.
What she probably doesn't know is how much I depend her. She adds an indescribable complexity to life. Sometimes funny, sometimes poignant and often insightful far beyond her eleven young years, I find that even in her most maddening moments -- and believe me, there are many -- I wouldn't give up an instant of her presence.
Today the theorem was put into practice. Today we were not able to stand alone. Today mothers depended on daughters as much as daughters depended on mothers. When one was weak and hurting, the other would lean in and provide that extra degree of support. Maybe it simply a matter of geometry, polygons and sides. I like to think that instead of angles it was angels. Whatever it was, it worked. And we were all a lot stronger for it.
Monday, December 19, 2005
Random Acts of Blogness
The time has come, the walrus said, to talk of many things
Of shoes, and ships, and sealing wax,
of cabbages and kings,
and why the sea is boiling hot,
and whether pigs have wings.
--Alice in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll
If a list of disparate thoughts is good enough for Lewis Carroll, then by Jove, it's good enough for me. Fasten your seatbelts, and keep your arms inside the blog at all time:
1. Internet Truism: Pirates are Funny
It doesn't matter who you are; if you dress like a pirate, you are funny and beloved. Even the Bloglines Plumber, who represents a website when it is BROKEN, is now being dressed as a pirate. And you know what? I love it. Who can get mad when there is a pirate? It's impossible. And if you can throw in a little pirate-speak? HilARRRRRRRRRious, Matey!
2. Sometimes it's better not to know
BSTuna sent me this picture which was odd enough on its own
The idea of spinning a chunky custom fun yarn with Baby Jesus beads that look like a mummy with a teeny tiny CD on top of his head is a little weird. I can't imagine knitting any sort of garment where the Baby Jesus could get stuck in your nose or or armpit. The real puzzlement comes from the title of the picture file I was sent: JesusButton. Now, since BSTuna is currently nowhere to be seen and I can't ask what the heck "JesusButton" means, I decided to consult my boyfriend. The answers were inconclusive, but the pictures were just BIZZARE.
3. Number of Minutes it took the Toddlers to Climb the Fox TV Holiday Hating ChriSolsticemaKwanzaHanukah Scotch Pine
Five.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled browsing.
Of shoes, and ships, and sealing wax,
of cabbages and kings,
and why the sea is boiling hot,
and whether pigs have wings.
--Alice in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll
If a list of disparate thoughts is good enough for Lewis Carroll, then by Jove, it's good enough for me. Fasten your seatbelts, and keep your arms inside the blog at all time:
1. Internet Truism: Pirates are Funny
It doesn't matter who you are; if you dress like a pirate, you are funny and beloved. Even the Bloglines Plumber, who represents a website when it is BROKEN, is now being dressed as a pirate. And you know what? I love it. Who can get mad when there is a pirate? It's impossible. And if you can throw in a little pirate-speak? HilARRRRRRRRRious, Matey!
2. Sometimes it's better not to know
BSTuna sent me this picture which was odd enough on its own
The idea of spinning a chunky custom fun yarn with Baby Jesus beads that look like a mummy with a teeny tiny CD on top of his head is a little weird. I can't imagine knitting any sort of garment where the Baby Jesus could get stuck in your nose or or armpit. The real puzzlement comes from the title of the picture file I was sent: JesusButton. Now, since BSTuna is currently nowhere to be seen and I can't ask what the heck "JesusButton" means, I decided to consult my boyfriend. The answers were inconclusive, but the pictures were just BIZZARE.
3. Number of Minutes it took the Toddlers to Climb the Fox TV Holiday Hating ChriSolsticemaKwanzaHanukah Scotch Pine
Five.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled browsing.
Random Acts of Blogness
The time has come, the walrus said, to talk of many things
Of shoes, and ships, and sealing wax,
of cabbages and kings,
and why the sea is boiling hot,
and whether pigs have wings.
--Alice in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll
If a list of disparate thoughts is good enough for Lewis Carroll, then by Jove, it's good enough for me. Fasten your seatbelts, and keep your arms inside the blog at all time:
1. Internet Truism: Pirates are Funny
It doesn't matter who you are; if you dress like a pirate, you are funny and beloved. Even the Bloglines Plumber, who represents a website when it is BROKEN, is now being dressed as a pirate. And you know what? I love it. Who can get mad when there is a pirate? It's impossible. And if you can throw in a little pirate-speak? HilARRRRRRRRRious, Matey!
2. Sometimes it's better not to know
BSTuna sent me this picture which was odd enough on its own
The idea of spinning a chunky custom fun yarn with Baby Jesus beads that look like a mummy with a teeny tiny CD on top of his head is a little weird. I can't imagine knitting any sort of garment where the Baby Jesus could get stuck in your nose or or armpit. The real puzzlement comes from the title of the picture file I was sent: JesusButton. Now, since BSTuna is currently nowhere to be seen and I can't ask what the heck "JesusButton" means, I decided to consult my boyfriend. The answers were inconclusive, but the pictures were just BIZZARE.
3. Number of Minutes it took the Toddlers to Climb the Fox TV Holiday Hating ChriSolsticemaKwanzaHanukah Scotch Pine
Five.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled browsing.
Of shoes, and ships, and sealing wax,
of cabbages and kings,
and why the sea is boiling hot,
and whether pigs have wings.
--Alice in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll
If a list of disparate thoughts is good enough for Lewis Carroll, then by Jove, it's good enough for me. Fasten your seatbelts, and keep your arms inside the blog at all time:
1. Internet Truism: Pirates are Funny
It doesn't matter who you are; if you dress like a pirate, you are funny and beloved. Even the Bloglines Plumber, who represents a website when it is BROKEN, is now being dressed as a pirate. And you know what? I love it. Who can get mad when there is a pirate? It's impossible. And if you can throw in a little pirate-speak? HilARRRRRRRRRious, Matey!
2. Sometimes it's better not to know
BSTuna sent me this picture which was odd enough on its own
The idea of spinning a chunky custom fun yarn with Baby Jesus beads that look like a mummy with a teeny tiny CD on top of his head is a little weird. I can't imagine knitting any sort of garment where the Baby Jesus could get stuck in your nose or or armpit. The real puzzlement comes from the title of the picture file I was sent: JesusButton. Now, since BSTuna is currently nowhere to be seen and I can't ask what the heck "JesusButton" means, I decided to consult my boyfriend. The answers were inconclusive, but the pictures were just BIZZARE.
3. Number of Minutes it took the Toddlers to Climb the Fox TV Holiday Hating ChriSolsticemaKwanzaHanukah Scotch Pine
Five.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled browsing.
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Tug of War
My house, much like my life, is forever reminding me of all the choices I have to make. In the corner of my living room sits my spinning wheel and a basket full of fluff. It begs me to stop and relax. I know that working with fibers calms my life, but it will have to wait for another day.
In my bedroom sits piles and piles of books. They wonder if today might be the day I slow down, grab one off the shelf, and curl up in my chair with a glass of warm mulled cider. I know that taking time to read ignites my brain and sparks my imagination, but once again, the books will continue to sit undisturbed on the shelf.
In my basement sits a mountain of laundry.
I have no love of laundry, so it can just sit there for all I care.
Everywhere I turn I am faced with choices: things I should do, things I could do, things I must do, things I can do later, things I desperately wish I could do right now. These options are like tiny pieces of rope waiting to be pulled. The problem is, I cannot see the other end, so I don't know if the result of my tugging will be a victory...or a great big nasty knot. Some days I am brave (or foolhardy) and pull with reckless abandon. Other days I am paralyzed by my choices, and I spend all my time staring at my options and doing nothing.
Tonight I'm going to sleep in the midst of what seems like a thousand ropes. Tomorrow I hope to be rested enough that I might be strong enough to pick up a rope. I don't need to win the war, but I do need to start the battle. Hopefully, if I tug at these ropes a little at a time, eventually the knots will work themselves out.
And then maybe, hopefully, there won't be so many loose ends.
In my bedroom sits piles and piles of books. They wonder if today might be the day I slow down, grab one off the shelf, and curl up in my chair with a glass of warm mulled cider. I know that taking time to read ignites my brain and sparks my imagination, but once again, the books will continue to sit undisturbed on the shelf.
In my basement sits a mountain of laundry.
I have no love of laundry, so it can just sit there for all I care.
Everywhere I turn I am faced with choices: things I should do, things I could do, things I must do, things I can do later, things I desperately wish I could do right now. These options are like tiny pieces of rope waiting to be pulled. The problem is, I cannot see the other end, so I don't know if the result of my tugging will be a victory...or a great big nasty knot. Some days I am brave (or foolhardy) and pull with reckless abandon. Other days I am paralyzed by my choices, and I spend all my time staring at my options and doing nothing.
Tonight I'm going to sleep in the midst of what seems like a thousand ropes. Tomorrow I hope to be rested enough that I might be strong enough to pick up a rope. I don't need to win the war, but I do need to start the battle. Hopefully, if I tug at these ropes a little at a time, eventually the knots will work themselves out.
And then maybe, hopefully, there won't be so many loose ends.
Tug of War
My house, much like my life, is forever reminding me of all the choices I have to make. In the corner of my living room sits my spinning wheel and a basket full of fluff. It begs me to stop and relax. I know that working with fibers calms my life, but it will have to wait for another day.
In my bedroom sits piles and piles of books. They wonder if today might be the day I slow down, grab one off the shelf, and curl up in my chair with a glass of warm mulled cider. I know that taking time to read ignites my brain and sparks my imagination, but once again, the books will continue to sit undisturbed on the shelf.
In my basement sits a mountain of laundry.
I have no love of laundry, so it can just sit there for all I care.
Everywhere I turn I am faced with choices: things I should do, things I could do, things I must do, things I can do later, things I desperately wish I could do right now. These options are like tiny pieces of rope waiting to be pulled. The problem is, I cannot see the other end, so I don't know if the result of my tugging will be a victory...or a great big nasty knot. Some days I am brave (or foolhardy) and pull with reckless abandon. Other days I am paralyzed by my choices, and I spend all my time staring at my options and doing nothing.
Tonight I'm going to sleep in the midst of what seems like a thousand ropes. Tomorrow I hope to be rested enough that I might be strong enough to pick up a rope. I don't need to win the war, but I do need to start the battle. Hopefully, if I tug at these ropes a little at a time, eventually the knots will work themselves out.
And then maybe, hopefully, there won't be so many loose ends.
In my bedroom sits piles and piles of books. They wonder if today might be the day I slow down, grab one off the shelf, and curl up in my chair with a glass of warm mulled cider. I know that taking time to read ignites my brain and sparks my imagination, but once again, the books will continue to sit undisturbed on the shelf.
In my basement sits a mountain of laundry.
I have no love of laundry, so it can just sit there for all I care.
Everywhere I turn I am faced with choices: things I should do, things I could do, things I must do, things I can do later, things I desperately wish I could do right now. These options are like tiny pieces of rope waiting to be pulled. The problem is, I cannot see the other end, so I don't know if the result of my tugging will be a victory...or a great big nasty knot. Some days I am brave (or foolhardy) and pull with reckless abandon. Other days I am paralyzed by my choices, and I spend all my time staring at my options and doing nothing.
Tonight I'm going to sleep in the midst of what seems like a thousand ropes. Tomorrow I hope to be rested enough that I might be strong enough to pick up a rope. I don't need to win the war, but I do need to start the battle. Hopefully, if I tug at these ropes a little at a time, eventually the knots will work themselves out.
And then maybe, hopefully, there won't be so many loose ends.
Unconscious Mutterings
It's been awhile. I say ... And you think:
1. Replenish :: Renew
2. People :: People Who Need People
3. Trend :: Fad
4. Girlfriends :: Friends
5. Spirit :: Essence
6. Banshee :: Scream
7. Oasis :: Water in the desert
8. Thrills :: And Chills
9. Fountain :: Of Youth
10. Boxes :: And Bags
Hmmm. A favorite Streisand song, and the best part of the the Grinch (#10). It works.
It came without ribbons!
It came without tags!
It came without packages, boxes and bags!
He puzzled and puzzed, till his puzzler was sore,
then The Grinch thought of something he hadn't before.
"Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store.
Maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more."
Mutter along HERE.
1. Replenish :: Renew
2. People :: People Who Need People
3. Trend :: Fad
4. Girlfriends :: Friends
5. Spirit :: Essence
6. Banshee :: Scream
7. Oasis :: Water in the desert
8. Thrills :: And Chills
9. Fountain :: Of Youth
10. Boxes :: And Bags
Hmmm. A favorite Streisand song, and the best part of the the Grinch (#10). It works.
It came without ribbons!
It came without tags!
It came without packages, boxes and bags!
He puzzled and puzzed, till his puzzler was sore,
then The Grinch thought of something he hadn't before.
"Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store.
Maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more."
Mutter along HERE.
Unconscious Mutterings
It's been awhile. I say ... And you think:
1. Replenish :: Renew
2. People :: People Who Need People
3. Trend :: Fad
4. Girlfriends :: Friends
5. Spirit :: Essence
6. Banshee :: Scream
7. Oasis :: Water in the desert
8. Thrills :: And Chills
9. Fountain :: Of Youth
10. Boxes :: And Bags
Hmmm. A favorite Streisand song, and the best part of the the Grinch (#10). It works.
It came without ribbons!
It came without tags!
It came without packages, boxes and bags!
He puzzled and puzzed, till his puzzler was sore,
then The Grinch thought of something he hadn't before.
"Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store.
Maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more."
Mutter along HERE.
1. Replenish :: Renew
2. People :: People Who Need People
3. Trend :: Fad
4. Girlfriends :: Friends
5. Spirit :: Essence
6. Banshee :: Scream
7. Oasis :: Water in the desert
8. Thrills :: And Chills
9. Fountain :: Of Youth
10. Boxes :: And Bags
Hmmm. A favorite Streisand song, and the best part of the the Grinch (#10). It works.
It came without ribbons!
It came without tags!
It came without packages, boxes and bags!
He puzzled and puzzed, till his puzzler was sore,
then The Grinch thought of something he hadn't before.
"Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store.
Maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more."
Mutter along HERE.
Saturday, December 17, 2005
Movie of the Week
After just now waking up to see the last bits of The Sound of Music on television, I noticed a couple of things:
1. The woman who takes third place in the singing competition -- the one that keeps bowing and bowing like an idiot -- was actually way ahead of her time. She wore her hair in the classic Princess Leia Cinnabon style. Help me Rodgers and Hammerstein..you're my only hope.
2. A bit earlier in the same scene after Max announces that the family Von Trapp will not be singing together for a long time because The Captain is going to "join" the Nazi Navy, there is some general crowd noise signifying surprise and dismay. The microphone appeared to be very near Mr. Scenery Chewer, who, I swore, says, "The NAZIS??? Watermelon watermelon watermelon watermelon watermelon." Corky St. Clair? Table for one.
3. To this day I don't understand how or why they chose to have Maria walk down the aisle to the song, "How do you solve a problem like Maria?" If I were her, I would have yelled, "Solve this, suckas! I'm getting Christopher Plummer!"
Oops. Almost time for the nuns to become automotive heroes. So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Goodbye!
1. The woman who takes third place in the singing competition -- the one that keeps bowing and bowing like an idiot -- was actually way ahead of her time. She wore her hair in the classic Princess Leia Cinnabon style. Help me Rodgers and Hammerstein..you're my only hope.
2. A bit earlier in the same scene after Max announces that the family Von Trapp will not be singing together for a long time because The Captain is going to "join" the Nazi Navy, there is some general crowd noise signifying surprise and dismay. The microphone appeared to be very near Mr. Scenery Chewer, who, I swore, says, "The NAZIS??? Watermelon watermelon watermelon watermelon watermelon." Corky St. Clair? Table for one.
3. To this day I don't understand how or why they chose to have Maria walk down the aisle to the song, "How do you solve a problem like Maria?" If I were her, I would have yelled, "Solve this, suckas! I'm getting Christopher Plummer!"
Oops. Almost time for the nuns to become automotive heroes. So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Goodbye!
Movie of the Week
After just now waking up to see the last bits of The Sound of Music on television, I noticed a couple of things:
1. The woman who takes third place in the singing competition -- the one that keeps bowing and bowing like an idiot -- was actually way ahead of her time. She wore her hair in the classic Princess Leia Cinnabon style. Help me Rodgers and Hammerstein..you're my only hope.
2. A bit earlier in the same scene after Max announces that the family Von Trapp will not be singing together for a long time because The Captain is going to "join" the Nazi Navy, there is some general crowd noise signifying surprise and dismay. The microphone appeared to be very near Mr. Scenery Chewer, who, I swore, says, "The NAZIS??? Watermelon watermelon watermelon watermelon watermelon." Corky St. Clair? Table for one.
3. To this day I don't understand how or why they chose to have Maria walk down the aisle to the song, "How do you solve a problem like Maria?" If I were her, I would have yelled, "Solve this, suckas! I'm getting Christopher Plummer!"
Oops. Almost time for the nuns to become automotive heroes. So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Goodbye!
1. The woman who takes third place in the singing competition -- the one that keeps bowing and bowing like an idiot -- was actually way ahead of her time. She wore her hair in the classic Princess Leia Cinnabon style. Help me Rodgers and Hammerstein..you're my only hope.
2. A bit earlier in the same scene after Max announces that the family Von Trapp will not be singing together for a long time because The Captain is going to "join" the Nazi Navy, there is some general crowd noise signifying surprise and dismay. The microphone appeared to be very near Mr. Scenery Chewer, who, I swore, says, "The NAZIS??? Watermelon watermelon watermelon watermelon watermelon." Corky St. Clair? Table for one.
3. To this day I don't understand how or why they chose to have Maria walk down the aisle to the song, "How do you solve a problem like Maria?" If I were her, I would have yelled, "Solve this, suckas! I'm getting Christopher Plummer!"
Oops. Almost time for the nuns to become automotive heroes. So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Goodbye!
Friday, December 16, 2005
Whales in the Night Sky
It seems only appropriate that the last story I heard was about whale farts.
Whale farts, it seems, was the explanation given to a very gullible young woman who saw the Northern Lights up in the sky and had no idea what they were or how they were formed.
It was a great story with a classic explanation. Best of all, she believed it.
Over the years I heard lots of his stories: Classic embarrassing family tales, Navy stories, work stories, and stories about the outdoors that seemed to overflow with a lifetime -- his lifetime -- of love and knowledge. The stories were so fabulous you would want to take notes so you wouldn't forget. Even if they were about whale farts.
Sometimes I teased him about his stories. He proudly spoke of his mother, a missionary I believe, and how she could say the Lord's Prayer in Chinese. I gave him a sideways glance and in my usual smartassy way said I didn't think that was so hard; most undergraduates can do that on a Saturday night if given enough beer.
For a while the stories became scarce. There were other things to think about and other battles to fight. But over the past few months, they started to flow again: stories about his father, stories about singers and jazz musicians, stories about photography and nature and the outdoors. I heard many of them over and over, but I didn't mind. When he told his stories, he was full of life. I sensed it was important that he tell his stories -- as many as he could -- because if his stories lived on, he would too.
Because his profession was photography, there are thousands upon thousands of lasting visual representations of all those things he experienced in his life. Because his passion was teaching people to love the complexity and simplicity in nature, there are hundreds of articles filled with his wisdom. Most precious to me, though, are his stories, and his willingness to share them. I plan on telling the whale fart story, and often. And then I'll be sure to tell the story of the storyteller to make it complete.
Soon, he will have new stories to tell, and I can only imagine that they will be wondrously amazing. Sadly, they won'’t be shared amongst friends during Sunday brunch over a big steaming bowl of oatmeal. It will be up to me to slow down, look into the crisp night sky and listen quietly. I think he'd like that.
I just hope the whales come and join me, farts and all. I know I'd like that.
Whale farts, it seems, was the explanation given to a very gullible young woman who saw the Northern Lights up in the sky and had no idea what they were or how they were formed.
It was a great story with a classic explanation. Best of all, she believed it.
Over the years I heard lots of his stories: Classic embarrassing family tales, Navy stories, work stories, and stories about the outdoors that seemed to overflow with a lifetime -- his lifetime -- of love and knowledge. The stories were so fabulous you would want to take notes so you wouldn't forget. Even if they were about whale farts.
Sometimes I teased him about his stories. He proudly spoke of his mother, a missionary I believe, and how she could say the Lord's Prayer in Chinese. I gave him a sideways glance and in my usual smartassy way said I didn't think that was so hard; most undergraduates can do that on a Saturday night if given enough beer.
For a while the stories became scarce. There were other things to think about and other battles to fight. But over the past few months, they started to flow again: stories about his father, stories about singers and jazz musicians, stories about photography and nature and the outdoors. I heard many of them over and over, but I didn't mind. When he told his stories, he was full of life. I sensed it was important that he tell his stories -- as many as he could -- because if his stories lived on, he would too.
Because his profession was photography, there are thousands upon thousands of lasting visual representations of all those things he experienced in his life. Because his passion was teaching people to love the complexity and simplicity in nature, there are hundreds of articles filled with his wisdom. Most precious to me, though, are his stories, and his willingness to share them. I plan on telling the whale fart story, and often. And then I'll be sure to tell the story of the storyteller to make it complete.
Soon, he will have new stories to tell, and I can only imagine that they will be wondrously amazing. Sadly, they won'’t be shared amongst friends during Sunday brunch over a big steaming bowl of oatmeal. It will be up to me to slow down, look into the crisp night sky and listen quietly. I think he'd like that.
I just hope the whales come and join me, farts and all. I know I'd like that.
Whales in the Night Sky
It seems only appropriate that the last story I heard was about whale farts.
Whale farts, it seems, was the explanation given to a very gullible young woman who saw the Northern Lights up in the sky and had no idea what they were or how they were formed.
It was a great story with a classic explanation. Best of all, she believed it.
Over the years I heard lots of his stories: Classic embarrassing family tales, Navy stories, work stories, and stories about the outdoors that seemed to overflow with a lifetime -- his lifetime -- of love and knowledge. The stories were so fabulous you would want to take notes so you wouldn't forget. Even if they were about whale farts.
Sometimes I teased him about his stories. He proudly spoke of his mother, a missionary I believe, and how she could say the Lord's Prayer in Chinese. I gave him a sideways glance and in my usual smartassy way said I didn't think that was so hard; most undergraduates can do that on a Saturday night if given enough beer.
For a while the stories became scarce. There were other things to think about and other battles to fight. But over the past few months, they started to flow again: stories about his father, stories about singers and jazz musicians, stories about photography and nature and the outdoors. I heard many of them over and over, but I didn't mind. When he told his stories, he was full of life. I sensed it was important that he tell his stories -- as many as he could -- because if his stories lived on, he would too.
Because his profession was photography, there are thousands upon thousands of lasting visual representations of all those things he experienced in his life. Because his passion was teaching people to love the complexity and simplicity in nature, there are hundreds of articles filled with his wisdom. Most precious to me, though, are his stories, and his willingness to share them. I plan on telling the whale fart story, and often. And then I'll be sure to tell the story of the storyteller to make it complete.
Soon, he will have new stories to tell, and I can only imagine that they will be wondrously amazing. Sadly, they won'’t be shared amongst friends during Sunday brunch over a big steaming bowl of oatmeal. It will be up to me to slow down, look into the crisp night sky and listen quietly. I think he'd like that.
I just hope the whales come and join me, farts and all. I know I'd like that.
Whale farts, it seems, was the explanation given to a very gullible young woman who saw the Northern Lights up in the sky and had no idea what they were or how they were formed.
It was a great story with a classic explanation. Best of all, she believed it.
Over the years I heard lots of his stories: Classic embarrassing family tales, Navy stories, work stories, and stories about the outdoors that seemed to overflow with a lifetime -- his lifetime -- of love and knowledge. The stories were so fabulous you would want to take notes so you wouldn't forget. Even if they were about whale farts.
Sometimes I teased him about his stories. He proudly spoke of his mother, a missionary I believe, and how she could say the Lord's Prayer in Chinese. I gave him a sideways glance and in my usual smartassy way said I didn't think that was so hard; most undergraduates can do that on a Saturday night if given enough beer.
For a while the stories became scarce. There were other things to think about and other battles to fight. But over the past few months, they started to flow again: stories about his father, stories about singers and jazz musicians, stories about photography and nature and the outdoors. I heard many of them over and over, but I didn't mind. When he told his stories, he was full of life. I sensed it was important that he tell his stories -- as many as he could -- because if his stories lived on, he would too.
Because his profession was photography, there are thousands upon thousands of lasting visual representations of all those things he experienced in his life. Because his passion was teaching people to love the complexity and simplicity in nature, there are hundreds of articles filled with his wisdom. Most precious to me, though, are his stories, and his willingness to share them. I plan on telling the whale fart story, and often. And then I'll be sure to tell the story of the storyteller to make it complete.
Soon, he will have new stories to tell, and I can only imagine that they will be wondrously amazing. Sadly, they won'’t be shared amongst friends during Sunday brunch over a big steaming bowl of oatmeal. It will be up to me to slow down, look into the crisp night sky and listen quietly. I think he'd like that.
I just hope the whales come and join me, farts and all. I know I'd like that.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Free at Last
A couple of weeks ago a library-wide email was sent on our non-work list. It had all the magic words: Free and Television. It was an offer for a free 32-inch television. Like all freebies, this was a first-come, first served affair, with the only caveat being the winner had to pick it up. Pick it up as in pick it up and carry it out themselves, because the doctor of the owner's back wouldn't allow him to offer any assistance.
I tossed off a quick "I'll take it!" email, figuring I had no chance at this one because the original email was now a solid five minutes old. As luck would have it, I was the first responder, and now, the proud owner of a free 32-inch television.
My first problem was I owned no vehicle capable of transporting a free 32-inch television. No army of bungee cords would be able to hold this behemoth in the trunk of a Geo Prism. I managed to sweet-talk BSTuna and her van of great hugeness to help me retrieve the free 32-inch television. When we arrived at the house, the owner looked at us GIRLS and just shook his head. "No way you're gonna be able to lift that," he said. Within five minutes, he was asking if it would be ok if he got his video camera, because he couldn't believe it.
Please. We're tough. We're strong. We roar in numbers too big to ignore. We have hymns sung to us by Helen Reddy, and she's Canadian, meaning we roar in numbers too big to ignore multiplied by 1.1577. That alone should give one pause.
But I digress. Alot. Multiplied by 1.1577.
We grabbed the TV, walked it out the back door, across the deck, through the back yard and put it into the van. Off to Casa de Tuna we went, where we lugged it out of the van, across the yard (no way it was going through the back door), through the front door and onto the living room floor.
Where it still sits today.
Sadly, the downside to me owning a free 32-inch television is that in actuality, I have no place to put a free 32-inch television. This in turn might beg the question, then why the hell did you want it? The answer is simple: FREE.
It. was. free.
I seem to be genetically unable to resist the free, as is evidenced by a house full of stuff. So, while I figure out what to do with the older, lesser, not-free television of inferior size, my new free 32-inch television sits darkened, on the living room floor. I also have a largish entertainment center meaning I ahve a largish entertainment center problem, because said furniture has an opening that is just big enough for the older, lesser, not-free television of inferior size.
In the meantime, my freebie is currently serving double duty as a Toshiba jungle gym for the toddlers. And I can assure you, they love it. So I suppose free isn't so bad after all.
I tossed off a quick "I'll take it!" email, figuring I had no chance at this one because the original email was now a solid five minutes old. As luck would have it, I was the first responder, and now, the proud owner of a free 32-inch television.
My first problem was I owned no vehicle capable of transporting a free 32-inch television. No army of bungee cords would be able to hold this behemoth in the trunk of a Geo Prism. I managed to sweet-talk BSTuna and her van of great hugeness to help me retrieve the free 32-inch television. When we arrived at the house, the owner looked at us GIRLS and just shook his head. "No way you're gonna be able to lift that," he said. Within five minutes, he was asking if it would be ok if he got his video camera, because he couldn't believe it.
Please. We're tough. We're strong. We roar in numbers too big to ignore. We have hymns sung to us by Helen Reddy, and she's Canadian, meaning we roar in numbers too big to ignore multiplied by 1.1577. That alone should give one pause.
But I digress. Alot. Multiplied by 1.1577.
We grabbed the TV, walked it out the back door, across the deck, through the back yard and put it into the van. Off to Casa de Tuna we went, where we lugged it out of the van, across the yard (no way it was going through the back door), through the front door and onto the living room floor.
Where it still sits today.
Sadly, the downside to me owning a free 32-inch television is that in actuality, I have no place to put a free 32-inch television. This in turn might beg the question, then why the hell did you want it? The answer is simple: FREE.
It. was. free.
I seem to be genetically unable to resist the free, as is evidenced by a house full of stuff. So, while I figure out what to do with the older, lesser, not-free television of inferior size, my new free 32-inch television sits darkened, on the living room floor. I also have a largish entertainment center meaning I ahve a largish entertainment center problem, because said furniture has an opening that is just big enough for the older, lesser, not-free television of inferior size.
In the meantime, my freebie is currently serving double duty as a Toshiba jungle gym for the toddlers. And I can assure you, they love it. So I suppose free isn't so bad after all.
Free at Last
A couple of weeks ago a library-wide email was sent on our non-work list. It had all the magic words: Free and Television. It was an offer for a free 32-inch television. Like all freebies, this was a first-come, first served affair, with the only caveat being the winner had to pick it up. Pick it up as in pick it up and carry it out themselves, because the doctor of the owner's back wouldn't allow him to offer any assistance.
I tossed off a quick "I'll take it!" email, figuring I had no chance at this one because the original email was now a solid five minutes old. As luck would have it, I was the first responder, and now, the proud owner of a free 32-inch television.
My first problem was I owned no vehicle capable of transporting a free 32-inch television. No army of bungee cords would be able to hold this behemoth in the trunk of a Geo Prism. I managed to sweet-talk BSTuna and her van of great hugeness to help me retrieve the free 32-inch television. When we arrived at the house, the owner looked at us GIRLS and just shook his head. "No way you're gonna be able to lift that," he said. Within five minutes, he was asking if it would be ok if he got his video camera, because he couldn't believe it.
Please. We're tough. We're strong. We roar in numbers too big to ignore. We have hymns sung to us by Helen Reddy, and she's Canadian, meaning we roar in numbers too big to ignore multiplied by 1.1577. That alone should give one pause.
But I digress. Alot. Multiplied by 1.1577.
We grabbed the TV, walked it out the back door, across the deck, through the back yard and put it into the van. Off to Casa de Tuna we went, where we lugged it out of the van, across the yard (no way it was going through the back door), through the front door and onto the living room floor.
Where it still sits today.
Sadly, the downside to me owning a free 32-inch television is that in actuality, I have no place to put a free 32-inch television. This in turn might beg the question, then why the hell did you want it? The answer is simple: FREE.
It. was. free.
I seem to be genetically unable to resist the free, as is evidenced by a house full of stuff. So, while I figure out what to do with the older, lesser, not-free television of inferior size, my new free 32-inch television sits darkened, on the living room floor. I also have a largish entertainment center meaning I ahve a largish entertainment center problem, because said furniture has an opening that is just big enough for the older, lesser, not-free television of inferior size.
In the meantime, my freebie is currently serving double duty as a Toshiba jungle gym for the toddlers. And I can assure you, they love it. So I suppose free isn't so bad after all.
I tossed off a quick "I'll take it!" email, figuring I had no chance at this one because the original email was now a solid five minutes old. As luck would have it, I was the first responder, and now, the proud owner of a free 32-inch television.
My first problem was I owned no vehicle capable of transporting a free 32-inch television. No army of bungee cords would be able to hold this behemoth in the trunk of a Geo Prism. I managed to sweet-talk BSTuna and her van of great hugeness to help me retrieve the free 32-inch television. When we arrived at the house, the owner looked at us GIRLS and just shook his head. "No way you're gonna be able to lift that," he said. Within five minutes, he was asking if it would be ok if he got his video camera, because he couldn't believe it.
Please. We're tough. We're strong. We roar in numbers too big to ignore. We have hymns sung to us by Helen Reddy, and she's Canadian, meaning we roar in numbers too big to ignore multiplied by 1.1577. That alone should give one pause.
But I digress. Alot. Multiplied by 1.1577.
We grabbed the TV, walked it out the back door, across the deck, through the back yard and put it into the van. Off to Casa de Tuna we went, where we lugged it out of the van, across the yard (no way it was going through the back door), through the front door and onto the living room floor.
Where it still sits today.
Sadly, the downside to me owning a free 32-inch television is that in actuality, I have no place to put a free 32-inch television. This in turn might beg the question, then why the hell did you want it? The answer is simple: FREE.
It. was. free.
I seem to be genetically unable to resist the free, as is evidenced by a house full of stuff. So, while I figure out what to do with the older, lesser, not-free television of inferior size, my new free 32-inch television sits darkened, on the living room floor. I also have a largish entertainment center meaning I ahve a largish entertainment center problem, because said furniture has an opening that is just big enough for the older, lesser, not-free television of inferior size.
In the meantime, my freebie is currently serving double duty as a Toshiba jungle gym for the toddlers. And I can assure you, they love it. So I suppose free isn't so bad after all.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Kicking Butt and Taking Names
On the surface it would seem that librarians are a predictable lot.Just the word “librarian” conjures up images of bad hair, glasses, drab clothing and orthopedic shoes. Like Charon guarding the river Styx, librarians must be charmed so that one might be ferried across the waters of ignorance to the shores of bliss. Generally speaking, this can be accomplished via chocolate chip cookies, the demonstration that you have done something (anything) to do your own research, and lots of asking and manner words, also known as “please” and “thank you”.
Money also works well.
Just when I had started to think that library work was intellectual masochism combined with passive aggressive parenting (Stop….Don’t….Don’t worry, let’s walk together and see if we can find it), I discovered the librarian has gotten an image upgrade. According to an October 2003 email, the FBI complained bitterly about being kicked around by “Radical Militant Librarians.”
In one word, this is AWESOME.
Now that we have the FBI shaking in their covert boots, maybe Joe Public will stop messing with the librarian. Superheroes have nothing on the librarian's super shushing abilities or inner GPS system. I’d like to see Batman find “that one blue book” among millions of volumes on miles of shelves. We don’t need no stinking codpieces, masks or capes.
Librarians have buns of steel.
Money also works well.
Just when I had started to think that library work was intellectual masochism combined with passive aggressive parenting (Stop….Don’t….Don’t worry, let’s walk together and see if we can find it), I discovered the librarian has gotten an image upgrade. According to an October 2003 email, the FBI complained bitterly about being kicked around by “Radical Militant Librarians.”
In one word, this is AWESOME.
Now that we have the FBI shaking in their covert boots, maybe Joe Public will stop messing with the librarian. Superheroes have nothing on the librarian's super shushing abilities or inner GPS system. I’d like to see Batman find “that one blue book” among millions of volumes on miles of shelves. We don’t need no stinking codpieces, masks or capes.
Librarians have buns of steel.
Kicking Butt and Taking Names
On the surface it would seem that librarians are a predictable lot.Just the word “librarian” conjures up images of bad hair, glasses, drab clothing and orthopedic shoes. Like Charon guarding the river Styx, librarians must be charmed so that one might be ferried across the waters of ignorance to the shores of bliss. Generally speaking, this can be accomplished via chocolate chip cookies, the demonstration that you have done something (anything) to do your own research, and lots of asking and manner words, also known as “please” and “thank you”.
Money also works well.
Just when I had started to think that library work was intellectual masochism combined with passive aggressive parenting (Stop….Don’t….Don’t worry, let’s walk together and see if we can find it), I discovered the librarian has gotten an image upgrade. According to an October 2003 email, the FBI complained bitterly about being kicked around by “Radical Militant Librarians.”
In one word, this is AWESOME.
Now that we have the FBI shaking in their covert boots, maybe Joe Public will stop messing with the librarian. Superheroes have nothing on the librarian's super shushing abilities or inner GPS system. I’d like to see Batman find “that one blue book” among millions of volumes on miles of shelves. We don’t need no stinking codpieces, masks or capes.
Librarians have buns of steel.
Money also works well.
Just when I had started to think that library work was intellectual masochism combined with passive aggressive parenting (Stop….Don’t….Don’t worry, let’s walk together and see if we can find it), I discovered the librarian has gotten an image upgrade. According to an October 2003 email, the FBI complained bitterly about being kicked around by “Radical Militant Librarians.”
In one word, this is AWESOME.
Now that we have the FBI shaking in their covert boots, maybe Joe Public will stop messing with the librarian. Superheroes have nothing on the librarian's super shushing abilities or inner GPS system. I’d like to see Batman find “that one blue book” among millions of volumes on miles of shelves. We don’t need no stinking codpieces, masks or capes.
Librarians have buns of steel.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
A Date with Destiny
Because I cannot stand to spend another day whining about my sixth grade homework (except to say dammit, I didn't understand Geometry during the Nixon administration, why am I still being tortured by polygons today?) and today is now nearly tomorrow, I am turning to a "this day in history" post to highlight even more things I do not know.
This day in History
1621: Under the care of Robert Cushman, the first American furs to be exported from the continent leave for England.
Furs. I know nothing about furs except they are furry. And just say no. Run Rabbit, Run!
1642: Dutch navigator Abel Tasman discovers New Zealand.
New Zealand has a lot of sheep.
1769: Dartmouth College is chartered.
I'm sure this is important to somebody.
1862: Outnumbered Confederate forces defeat Union troops at the Battle of Fredericksburg, Virginia.
I am mindful of the saying of battles and wars. Thankfully we won the one that matters.
1979: The first Susan B. Anthony dollar coin is minted.
Tomorrow in history: The first person got stuck with the first Susan B. Anthony dollar and couldn't figure out a way to get rid of it because NOBODY wanted a Susan B. Anthony dollar.
2003: U.S. troops capture ousted Iraqi president Saddam Hussein, who is found hiding in a small underground chamber dubbed a "spider hole."
Do I have an opinion on this subject? You bet your Susan B. Anthony I do. Am I going to talk about it here? Not so much, except to say that to replace one political mess with another political mess makes no sense to me whatsoever.
Mary Todd Lincoln, 1818-1882
Today is the birth anniversary of first lady Mary Todd Lincoln. The White House offers an overview of her life, along with biographies of every first lady since Martha Washington.
Aside from being Mrs. Abraham, Mary Todd Lincoln was pretty much cuckoo for Cocoa-Puffs.
I give up. I guess I should be eternally grateful that irregular polygons weren't discovered today. I'm going to go to bed and hope I'm smarter than the pillow. But honestly, I'm not betting my Susan B. Anthony on it.
This day in History
1621: Under the care of Robert Cushman, the first American furs to be exported from the continent leave for England.
Furs. I know nothing about furs except they are furry. And just say no. Run Rabbit, Run!
1642: Dutch navigator Abel Tasman discovers New Zealand.
New Zealand has a lot of sheep.
1769: Dartmouth College is chartered.
I'm sure this is important to somebody.
1862: Outnumbered Confederate forces defeat Union troops at the Battle of Fredericksburg, Virginia.
I am mindful of the saying of battles and wars. Thankfully we won the one that matters.
1979: The first Susan B. Anthony dollar coin is minted.
Tomorrow in history: The first person got stuck with the first Susan B. Anthony dollar and couldn't figure out a way to get rid of it because NOBODY wanted a Susan B. Anthony dollar.
2003: U.S. troops capture ousted Iraqi president Saddam Hussein, who is found hiding in a small underground chamber dubbed a "spider hole."
Do I have an opinion on this subject? You bet your Susan B. Anthony I do. Am I going to talk about it here? Not so much, except to say that to replace one political mess with another political mess makes no sense to me whatsoever.
Mary Todd Lincoln, 1818-1882
Today is the birth anniversary of first lady Mary Todd Lincoln. The White House offers an overview of her life, along with biographies of every first lady since Martha Washington.
Aside from being Mrs. Abraham, Mary Todd Lincoln was pretty much cuckoo for Cocoa-Puffs.
I give up. I guess I should be eternally grateful that irregular polygons weren't discovered today. I'm going to go to bed and hope I'm smarter than the pillow. But honestly, I'm not betting my Susan B. Anthony on it.
A Date with Destiny
Because I cannot stand to spend another day whining about my sixth grade homework (except to say dammit, I didn't understand Geometry during the Nixon administration, why am I still being tortured by polygons today?) and today is now nearly tomorrow, I am turning to a "this day in history" post to highlight even more things I do not know.
This day in History
1621: Under the care of Robert Cushman, the first American furs to be exported from the continent leave for England.
Furs. I know nothing about furs except they are furry. And just say no. Run Rabbit, Run!
1642: Dutch navigator Abel Tasman discovers New Zealand.
New Zealand has a lot of sheep.
1769: Dartmouth College is chartered.
I'm sure this is important to somebody.
1862: Outnumbered Confederate forces defeat Union troops at the Battle of Fredericksburg, Virginia.
I am mindful of the saying of battles and wars. Thankfully we won the one that matters.
1979: The first Susan B. Anthony dollar coin is minted.
Tomorrow in history: The first person got stuck with the first Susan B. Anthony dollar and couldn't figure out a way to get rid of it because NOBODY wanted a Susan B. Anthony dollar.
2003: U.S. troops capture ousted Iraqi president Saddam Hussein, who is found hiding in a small underground chamber dubbed a "spider hole."
Do I have an opinion on this subject? You bet your Susan B. Anthony I do. Am I going to talk about it here? Not so much, except to say that to replace one political mess with another political mess makes no sense to me whatsoever.
Mary Todd Lincoln, 1818-1882
Today is the birth anniversary of first lady Mary Todd Lincoln. The White House offers an overview of her life, along with biographies of every first lady since Martha Washington.
Aside from being Mrs. Abraham, Mary Todd Lincoln was pretty much cuckoo for Cocoa-Puffs.
I give up. I guess I should be eternally grateful that irregular polygons weren't discovered today. I'm going to go to bed and hope I'm smarter than the pillow. But honestly, I'm not betting my Susan B. Anthony on it.
This day in History
1621: Under the care of Robert Cushman, the first American furs to be exported from the continent leave for England.
Furs. I know nothing about furs except they are furry. And just say no. Run Rabbit, Run!
1642: Dutch navigator Abel Tasman discovers New Zealand.
New Zealand has a lot of sheep.
1769: Dartmouth College is chartered.
I'm sure this is important to somebody.
1862: Outnumbered Confederate forces defeat Union troops at the Battle of Fredericksburg, Virginia.
I am mindful of the saying of battles and wars. Thankfully we won the one that matters.
1979: The first Susan B. Anthony dollar coin is minted.
Tomorrow in history: The first person got stuck with the first Susan B. Anthony dollar and couldn't figure out a way to get rid of it because NOBODY wanted a Susan B. Anthony dollar.
2003: U.S. troops capture ousted Iraqi president Saddam Hussein, who is found hiding in a small underground chamber dubbed a "spider hole."
Do I have an opinion on this subject? You bet your Susan B. Anthony I do. Am I going to talk about it here? Not so much, except to say that to replace one political mess with another political mess makes no sense to me whatsoever.
Mary Todd Lincoln, 1818-1882
Today is the birth anniversary of first lady Mary Todd Lincoln. The White House offers an overview of her life, along with biographies of every first lady since Martha Washington.
Aside from being Mrs. Abraham, Mary Todd Lincoln was pretty much cuckoo for Cocoa-Puffs.
I give up. I guess I should be eternally grateful that irregular polygons weren't discovered today. I'm going to go to bed and hope I'm smarter than the pillow. But honestly, I'm not betting my Susan B. Anthony on it.
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