Once More, With Feeling

Because lessons hadn't been learned the first time around, I was back in a mall AGAIN today. This time, however, I was with Gram and TinyTuna as we had to travel to ye yon distant mall in order to get things not readily available in ye nearby mallfullofcrap.

The drive down was quite pleasant, as the iPod was on Christmas shuffle (and honestly, whom among us does NOT enjoy Christmas carols pounded on steel drums?) and TinyTuna supplemented the humdrum pa-rum-pa-pum-pums with an electronic obbligato courtesy of her Gameboy as it booped and beeped and crashed down the highway.

Once we procured the required elements in ye yon distant mall, we began the hunt for the Grail. Today it was finding an appropriate something for TinyTuna to wear next Friday when her school has its Winter Wonderland dance thing. According to TinyTuna (code for consider the source) they were told to "dress up." Gram and I double-teamed her and explained that "dress up" meant something along the lines of please don't wear sweat pants, nasty blue jeans or pajama bottoms and not ballgowns preferred. We went in store after store after store, searching for something...anything. To her credit and dare I say good taste, she hated everything. Or at least did not prefer it. Sometimes she just made a classic YEESH MincePieFace (MPF) and snorted, so we got the idea and left. In the end we saved lots of money, but by the time we trudged back to the car, both TinyTuna and her Gameboy were on red battery about to run out of juice. It was very discouraging.

After we returned home and she had yet another rehearsal, we decided to hit one last clothing emporium. We walked in the door and voila! Options! Clothing that covered! Not skanky! Wouldn't go up in flames in 5 seconds flat! TinyTuna was in heaven and you could see the weight of her 12-year old world lift. She selected a black skirt that has a lovely twirl factor and a cute red camisole and shirt that has a smidgen of sparkle and long sleeves with the big billowy cuffs.

As luck would have it, I also found a little something something to wear for my mystery date on New Years Eve (the mystery being the where of the date and not the whom. Scout is being uncharacteristically secretive in a somewhat charming way on this one).

As we went to pay and I was complementing her on her selection that was BOTH stylish and appropriate (this is HARD, people!) she leaned in and whispered, Do you think he'll like it? I looked at her, knowing EXACTLY to whom she was referring and whispered, If he doesn't he has no taste whatsoever. She thought about it for a minute and replied, "Yeah. If he doesn't like it, I'll hit him over the head with his cello."

Although I outwardly chuckled and told her that might not be the best idea, I was inwardly impressed. A little crack upside the head with a large stringed instrument would surely get the point across. But then I was faced with a dilemma: Scout doesn't play the cello...

Once More, With Feeling

Because lessons hadn't been learned the first time around, I was back in a mall AGAIN today. This time, however, I was with Gram and TinyTuna as we had to travel to ye yon distant mall in order to get things not readily available in ye nearby mallfullofcrap.

The drive down was quite pleasant, as the iPod was on Christmas shuffle (and honestly, whom among us does NOT enjoy Christmas carols pounded on steel drums?) and TinyTuna supplemented the humdrum pa-rum-pa-pum-pums with an electronic obbligato courtesy of her Gameboy as it booped and beeped and crashed down the highway.

Once we procured the required elements in ye yon distant mall, we began the hunt for the Grail. Today it was finding an appropriate something for TinyTuna to wear next Friday when her school has its Winter Wonderland dance thing. According to TinyTuna (code for consider the source) they were told to "dress up." Gram and I double-teamed her and explained that "dress up" meant something along the lines of please don't wear sweat pants, nasty blue jeans or pajama bottoms and not ballgowns preferred. We went in store after store after store, searching for something...anything. To her credit and dare I say good taste, she hated everything. Or at least did not prefer it. Sometimes she just made a classic YEESH MincePieFace (MPF) and snorted, so we got the idea and left. In the end we saved lots of money, but by the time we trudged back to the car, both TinyTuna and her Gameboy were on red battery about to run out of juice. It was very discouraging.

After we returned home and she had yet another rehearsal, we decided to hit one last clothing emporium. We walked in the door and voila! Options! Clothing that covered! Not skanky! Wouldn't go up in flames in 5 seconds flat! TinyTuna was in heaven and you could see the weight of her 12-year old world lift. She selected a black skirt that has a lovely twirl factor and a cute red camisole and shirt that has a smidgen of sparkle and long sleeves with the big billowy cuffs.

As luck would have it, I also found a little something something to wear for my mystery date on New Years Eve (the mystery being the where of the date and not the whom. Scout is being uncharacteristically secretive in a somewhat charming way on this one).

As we went to pay and I was complementing her on her selection that was BOTH stylish and appropriate (this is HARD, people!) she leaned in and whispered, Do you think he'll like it? I looked at her, knowing EXACTLY to whom she was referring and whispered, If he doesn't he has no taste whatsoever. She thought about it for a minute and replied, "Yeah. If he doesn't like it, I'll hit him over the head with his cello."

Although I outwardly chuckled and told her that might not be the best idea, I was inwardly impressed. A little crack upside the head with a large stringed instrument would surely get the point across. But then I was faced with a dilemma: Scout doesn't play the cello...

Friday Night Ramblings

Tonight we got our Christmas tree. We brought it home, put it in the tree stand, tossed in some water (so the trunk wouldn't close up) and then went off to a holiday party. Two hours later we came home and found the tree sprawled in the middle of the living room floor. The only thing missing was a chalk outline. The cats were curled up where we left them (fakers!) and gave us that "whaaaaat?" look when we walked in. I don't know for sure if the tree fell over on its own, or if it had a bit of help, but O Tannenbaum had better be standing tomorrow morning or eight furry legs are in big trouble.

A huge plug for The Office. There aren't many shows that I stampede to watch on a weekly basis, but this (along with Heroes) is one of them. Last night the boss, Michael, was dumped by his realtor-girlfriend. As he was leaving with the boys from the office to soothe his broken heart at the nearby Benihana's ("The Asian Hooters"), Michael tearfully summed up his current state of affairs:

"Bros before Hos! Why? Because your bros are always there for you. They've got your back after your ho rips your heart out for no good reason....And you were nothing but great to your ho...and you told her she was the only ho for you...and she was better than all the hos in the world...and then...then suddenly she's not your ho...no mo!"

Truer words were never spoken.

Friday Night Ramblings

Tonight we got our Christmas tree. We brought it home, put it in the tree stand, tossed in some water (so the trunk wouldn't close up) and then went off to a holiday party. Two hours later we came home and found the tree sprawled in the middle of the living room floor. The only thing missing was a chalk outline. The cats were curled up where we left them (fakers!) and gave us that "whaaaaat?" look when we walked in. I don't know for sure if the tree fell over on its own, or if it had a bit of help, but O Tannenbaum had better be standing tomorrow morning or eight furry legs are in big trouble.

A huge plug for The Office. There aren't many shows that I stampede to watch on a weekly basis, but this (along with Heroes) is one of them. Last night the boss, Michael, was dumped by his realtor-girlfriend. As he was leaving with the boys from the office to soothe his broken heart at the nearby Benihana's ("The Asian Hooters"), Michael tearfully summed up his current state of affairs:

"Bros before Hos! Why? Because your bros are always there for you. They've got your back after your ho rips your heart out for no good reason....And you were nothing but great to your ho...and you told her she was the only ho for you...and she was better than all the hos in the world...and then...then suddenly she's not your ho...no mo!"

Truer words were never spoken.

Holiday Recipe

Ingredients needed for peace on earth and goodwill towards men whomever:

1. Equal number of pitchers of beer to goodwill recipients

2. One rollicking game of "I never"

3. A life well-lived (AKA lots of ammo)

4. Short bathroom lines

5. One digital camera to capture the moments


Seriously? All problems on earth have been solved for today.
You're welcome.

Holiday Recipe

Ingredients needed for peace on earth and goodwill towards men whomever:

1. Equal number of pitchers of beer to goodwill recipients

2. One rollicking game of "I never"

3. A life well-lived (AKA lots of ammo)

4. Short bathroom lines

5. One digital camera to capture the moments


Seriously? All problems on earth have been solved for today.
You're welcome.

Teamwork

I've always been big on the idea of being a team.

This has nothing to do with sports. This has to do with the idea of banding together to live, thrive and survive in the insanity we call life. Ever since TinyTuna was little, I've always talked about how we are a team. How the two of us are a strong force. How we work together. How we care for each other. How we are unstoppable.

Call it propaganda if you will, but these big tough words are necessary. I never want her to feel like she is facing the world alone. I never want to feel that way either. Deep down I think, nobody does.

Everyone should have the luxury -- no, the right -- to feel as if they have someone on their side. It's not always about tilting at windmills. Sometimes it's as simple as having someone to laugh with, or cry with. Someone to do crossword puzzles with during lunch, or someone to share a Law and Order marathon on a Friday night. Other times it's bigger, like having someone to hold you up when unbearable days turn into unending nights. The unknown can be dark and scary. It's so much easier to be brave when someone else is nearby.

Usually when we go about forming our team we tend to look for THE ONE. Call it significant other, call it mate, call it spouse, whatever it may be, we tend to think THE ONE is the only one we need and we forget about or ignore everyone else. Super team -- table for two. And if you think about it, this makes no sense at all. There aren't super powers in being super exclusionary. The simple fact is, THE ONE cannot be THE ALL. The one is only and can only be one. So then what?

Open your eyes and look around. There are people ready, willing and able to be on your team. Some will instinctively sense when they're needed. Others might not know and will need to be asked. Some will rush right in and others may not be able to help at the moment. That's OK. You can't have hundreds of players on the field all at the same time. Valuable support can also come from the sidelines.

When times get tough, the unknown takes over and in this inky darkness it's hard to see that you aren't alone. Call out for others; ask for help. Your team might be family or friends, teachers, peers, acquaintances...even strangers. Do whatever it takes, accept whoever it is. Even if it's only one, you've doubled your forces and you aren't alone.

Watch out, windmills.

Teamwork

I've always been big on the idea of being a team.

This has nothing to do with sports. This has to do with the idea of banding together to live, thrive and survive in the insanity we call life. Ever since TinyTuna was little, I've always talked about how we are a team. How the two of us are a strong force. How we work together. How we care for each other. How we are unstoppable.

Call it propaganda if you will, but these big tough words are necessary. I never want her to feel like she is facing the world alone. I never want to feel that way either. Deep down I think, nobody does.

Everyone should have the luxury -- no, the right -- to feel as if they have someone on their side. It's not always about tilting at windmills. Sometimes it's as simple as having someone to laugh with, or cry with. Someone to do crossword puzzles with during lunch, or someone to share a Law and Order marathon on a Friday night. Other times it's bigger, like having someone to hold you up when unbearable days turn into unending nights. The unknown can be dark and scary. It's so much easier to be brave when someone else is nearby.

Usually when we go about forming our team we tend to look for THE ONE. Call it significant other, call it mate, call it spouse, whatever it may be, we tend to think THE ONE is the only one we need and we forget about or ignore everyone else. Super team -- table for two. And if you think about it, this makes no sense at all. There aren't super powers in being super exclusionary. The simple fact is, THE ONE cannot be THE ALL. The one is only and can only be one. So then what?

Open your eyes and look around. There are people ready, willing and able to be on your team. Some will instinctively sense when they're needed. Others might not know and will need to be asked. Some will rush right in and others may not be able to help at the moment. That's OK. You can't have hundreds of players on the field all at the same time. Valuable support can also come from the sidelines.

When times get tough, the unknown takes over and in this inky darkness it's hard to see that you aren't alone. Call out for others; ask for help. Your team might be family or friends, teachers, peers, acquaintances...even strangers. Do whatever it takes, accept whoever it is. Even if it's only one, you've doubled your forces and you aren't alone.

Watch out, windmills.

What Not to Wear

While walking back to work after lunch, GramTuna and I passed what I can only assume is a college student. This child was wearing variations on a theme of Crack is Not a Breakfast Food on a day that was windy, rainy, and that especially unpleasant damp and cold that makes you want to run for something warm by the fire. Today's outfit consisted of a skirt (bare legs, of course) and cheap flip flops. Her wiggly toes must have been a fetching shade of frostbite blue, but I cannot be absolutely certain of that because I wasn't going stop and investigate any further.

"OH MY GOD!" I said as I pulled my coat closer around my neck. "She's gotta be FREEZING!"

GramTuna shook her head. "Students," she said, flatly. "If it's not flip-flops and shorts in the winter, it's tank tops and furry boots in the summer."

"Makes me cold just looking at her," I said.

Without missing a beat GramTuna added, "I know for some people this is a fashion statement. To me, it's more like an IQ test."

What Not to Wear

While walking back to work after lunch, GramTuna and I passed what I can only assume is a college student. This child was wearing variations on a theme of Crack is Not a Breakfast Food on a day that was windy, rainy, and that especially unpleasant damp and cold that makes you want to run for something warm by the fire. Today's outfit consisted of a skirt (bare legs, of course) and cheap flip flops. Her wiggly toes must have been a fetching shade of frostbite blue, but I cannot be absolutely certain of that because I wasn't going stop and investigate any further.

"OH MY GOD!" I said as I pulled my coat closer around my neck. "She's gotta be FREEZING!"

GramTuna shook her head. "Students," she said, flatly. "If it's not flip-flops and shorts in the winter, it's tank tops and furry boots in the summer."

"Makes me cold just looking at her," I said.

Without missing a beat GramTuna added, "I know for some people this is a fashion statement. To me, it's more like an IQ test."

Take A Letter

Todays writing prompt from the Holidailies crew is Those Mass Produced Family Holiday Newsletters. Unsurprisingly, I don't have a single family holiday newsletter to share, because let's face it: The Tuna Clan isn't exactly a Mass Produced Holiday Newsletter kind of family. The closest we ever got to being remotely traditional was to get together a few years back to take a massive family picture. Of course you know the Tuna Spirit was with us. With each picture an enormous flash would go off, the room would go dark for a few seconds and then 4-year old Nephew Tuna would shout CREEPY!! at the top of his lungs. This continued with each subsequent shot for the next 45 minutes, until all twelve of us were saying it and laughing like idiots. Good times.

I must admit a tiny part of me admires someone who has the ability to whittle the past 365 days into a First Class 39-cent epic. I couldn't be that brief if you muzzled me and chopped off all my fingers. And then there is the whole problem of remembering. A whole year? Multiple people? Good Lord, people, I can't remember what I did three days ago, much less last March. But in the spirit of giving it the old college try, here is my first (and most likely last) attempt at a Mass Produced Family Holiday Newsletter.

Two Thousand Six has come and gone
Our basement's dry. We're blessed.

We painted rooms and ripped up grass
and yardwork was our quest.

This year our ocean holiday
had weather that was best.

The kid became a "pre-adult"
our sanity to test.

We've still two cats and I've a Scout
and as for all the rest,

You'll have to read my archives for
these letters I detest.

Take A Letter

Todays writing prompt from the Holidailies crew is Those Mass Produced Family Holiday Newsletters. Unsurprisingly, I don't have a single family holiday newsletter to share, because let's face it: The Tuna Clan isn't exactly a Mass Produced Holiday Newsletter kind of family. The closest we ever got to being remotely traditional was to get together a few years back to take a massive family picture. Of course you know the Tuna Spirit was with us. With each picture an enormous flash would go off, the room would go dark for a few seconds and then 4-year old Nephew Tuna would shout CREEPY!! at the top of his lungs. This continued with each subsequent shot for the next 45 minutes, until all twelve of us were saying it and laughing like idiots. Good times.

I must admit a tiny part of me admires someone who has the ability to whittle the past 365 days into a First Class 39-cent epic. I couldn't be that brief if you muzzled me and chopped off all my fingers. And then there is the whole problem of remembering. A whole year? Multiple people? Good Lord, people, I can't remember what I did three days ago, much less last March. But in the spirit of giving it the old college try, here is my first (and most likely last) attempt at a Mass Produced Family Holiday Newsletter.

Two Thousand Six has come and gone
Our basement's dry. We're blessed.

We painted rooms and ripped up grass
and yardwork was our quest.

This year our ocean holiday
had weather that was best.

The kid became a "pre-adult"
our sanity to test.

We've still two cats and I've a Scout
and as for all the rest,

You'll have to read my archives for
these letters I detest.

Da Capo al Fine

My brain is exhausted
I can't keep my eyes open
The weight of the weekend's activities have pinned me to the mat.

The calendar shows no improvement
Another seven days to survive
Four more performances
Five more rehearsals
And this doesn't include school.

How do we do it?
Why do we do it?

If you went to the concert today you'd understand.
The kids so obviously moved by their art.
Words and music wash over and through them.
Sometimes swaying, sometimes smiling and bopping their heads.
A twinkle in their eye. Joy unbounded.

And yet they are like a laser beam. More than focused.
Rounded vowels. Beautiful sounds.
One voice. Always one voice.

Precision. Perfection.
Performance Professionals.

But at concert's end,
after the final bows
and the applause fades away
Congratulations are shared
giggles return
kids once more.
Magical transformation.

We'll do it all again tomorrow.

Da Capo al Fine

My brain is exhausted
I can't keep my eyes open
The weight of the weekend's activities have pinned me to the mat.

The calendar shows no improvement
Another seven days to survive
Four more performances
Five more rehearsals
And this doesn't include school.

How do we do it?
Why do we do it?

If you went to the concert today you'd understand.
The kids so obviously moved by their art.
Words and music wash over and through them.
Sometimes swaying, sometimes smiling and bopping their heads.
A twinkle in their eye. Joy unbounded.

And yet they are like a laser beam. More than focused.
Rounded vowels. Beautiful sounds.
One voice. Always one voice.

Precision. Perfection.
Performance Professionals.

But at concert's end,
after the final bows
and the applause fades away
Congratulations are shared
giggles return
kids once more.
Magical transformation.

We'll do it all again tomorrow.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And You Think:

1. Research :: Library

2. Chuck :: Throw

3. Insert :: Sunday Newspapers

4. Bang :: Boom

5. Lousy :: Rotten

6. Rehearsal :: Where many of us seem to spend WAY too much time (in)

7. Critics :: Qualified or not, still a fun read

8. Memory :: Cats or The Way We Were ... take your pick

9. Squid :: Eww

10. Remove :: Goo Gone.



Some notes from the unconscious:

1. Libraries are where you go to do your own damn research, not where you stand there and ask somebody to look everything up for you and find all your materials. If we were dogs, we're more like pointers, not retrievers. Just a friendly FYI from your local library personnel.

2. I really wanted to say "up". So there, I said it.

3. There was probably no worse torture than having to sub on a December Sunday for your older brother who had a humongous paper route. The insets? Bigger than the newspaper. Sadly, not much has changed.

6. The less said about rehearsals, the better. I have ten more minutes before we are off again for concert number I have no idea because I've lost count.

7. Best story I have about critics: I was in an international voice competition and the review which came out the next day called it The Battle of the Gowns. Sadly, the was the nicest thing they had to say about any of us. Too bad included in this group were singers who placed second, fifth, and sixth. So Nyah!

10. Goo Gone. It's just fun to say.

Mutter along HERE. You know you want to.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And You Think:

1. Research :: Library

2. Chuck :: Throw

3. Insert :: Sunday Newspapers

4. Bang :: Boom

5. Lousy :: Rotten

6. Rehearsal :: Where many of us seem to spend WAY too much time (in)

7. Critics :: Qualified or not, still a fun read

8. Memory :: Cats or The Way We Were ... take your pick

9. Squid :: Eww

10. Remove :: Goo Gone.



Some notes from the unconscious:

1. Libraries are where you go to do your own damn research, not where you stand there and ask somebody to look everything up for you and find all your materials. If we were dogs, we're more like pointers, not retrievers. Just a friendly FYI from your local library personnel.

2. I really wanted to say "up". So there, I said it.

3. There was probably no worse torture than having to sub on a December Sunday for your older brother who had a humongous paper route. The insets? Bigger than the newspaper. Sadly, not much has changed.

6. The less said about rehearsals, the better. I have ten more minutes before we are off again for concert number I have no idea because I've lost count.

7. Best story I have about critics: I was in an international voice competition and the review which came out the next day called it The Battle of the Gowns. Sadly, the was the nicest thing they had to say about any of us. Too bad included in this group were singers who placed second, fifth, and sixth. So Nyah!

10. Goo Gone. It's just fun to say.

Mutter along HERE. You know you want to.

Holiday Stuffing

I spent a couple hours this morning in enemy territory: the mall. I wasn't looking for anything in particular, but I thought I would wander around to see what there was to see. I wasn't disappointed. There was lots to see. Lots and lots and lots. Rows and rows and aisles and aisles. Markdowns and door busters and colored dots and special savings in every single store.

As I went in and out of stores I was hoping to hit upon a few good gift ideas and came up with a big load of nothing. I can't say I was surprised, but I was disappointed.

I don't know exactly what my problem is. I think part of it is the fact that a mall seems to be nothing more than miles and miles of stuff, and Lord Almighty, I feel like I spend too much time as it is trying to get rid of it myself. I worry about inflicting stuff on others. Is it stuff they want? Is it stuff they need? Or is it just stuff for stuff's sake that seems to make the all-too quick and ugly transformation from stuff to clutter?

Part of my problem comes from the large twinge of annoyance I feel every December. I love the idea that we take the time to think of others. I hate the idea that we do it because the calendar tells us so, and come December 26th, we selfishly stampede like rabid lemmings back to the stores to exchange the kind thoughts and gestures for something else.

And then there is the whole idea of self-doubt. I always worry it won't be good enough, it won't be special enough, and even to my shame, it won't be expensive enough. But in the end, there is nothing, and I mean nothing that I could buy that could ever come close to representing the love, thanks, admiration and joy that so many people have brought to my life.

But this year, like every year, I'll try my best to find that a special something for all the special someones in my life. I'll worry more than I should that my gift is not a worthy messenger, but maybe this year instead of making stuff tell my friends and family how important they are to me, I'll do it myself. And when they ask me what I'd like for Christmas, maybe the answer for once will be easy. I don't want stuff. I want another year with all of them in my life.

Unconditional. Non-returnable.

That's the best stuff there is.

Holiday Stuffing

I spent a couple hours this morning in enemy territory: the mall. I wasn't looking for anything in particular, but I thought I would wander around to see what there was to see. I wasn't disappointed. There was lots to see. Lots and lots and lots. Rows and rows and aisles and aisles. Markdowns and door busters and colored dots and special savings in every single store.

As I went in and out of stores I was hoping to hit upon a few good gift ideas and came up with a big load of nothing. I can't say I was surprised, but I was disappointed.

I don't know exactly what my problem is. I think part of it is the fact that a mall seems to be nothing more than miles and miles of stuff, and Lord Almighty, I feel like I spend too much time as it is trying to get rid of it myself. I worry about inflicting stuff on others. Is it stuff they want? Is it stuff they need? Or is it just stuff for stuff's sake that seems to make the all-too quick and ugly transformation from stuff to clutter?

Part of my problem comes from the large twinge of annoyance I feel every December. I love the idea that we take the time to think of others. I hate the idea that we do it because the calendar tells us so, and come December 26th, we selfishly stampede like rabid lemmings back to the stores to exchange the kind thoughts and gestures for something else.

And then there is the whole idea of self-doubt. I always worry it won't be good enough, it won't be special enough, and even to my shame, it won't be expensive enough. But in the end, there is nothing, and I mean nothing that I could buy that could ever come close to representing the love, thanks, admiration and joy that so many people have brought to my life.

But this year, like every year, I'll try my best to find that a special something for all the special someones in my life. I'll worry more than I should that my gift is not a worthy messenger, but maybe this year instead of making stuff tell my friends and family how important they are to me, I'll do it myself. And when they ask me what I'd like for Christmas, maybe the answer for once will be easy. I don't want stuff. I want another year with all of them in my life.

Unconditional. Non-returnable.

That's the best stuff there is.

That Was The Year That Was

Currently gallivanting through the pipes of the Internets -- Take the first line from the first blog of the month (not including memes) and list them here, giving you a review of the past twelve fun-filled months:

January
Today the Tuna clan ventured forth to TunaU to watch the Lady Spartunas demolish the visiting University of Michigan Wolverines on the basketball court (77-44 for those keeping score. Like me).
**This year we learned that Women's Basketball is a great way to spend an afternoon and is a good bargain to boot. We hope to hit a couple games this season as well.

February
It's teaching day again, and half of the college appears to have the plague.
**Why am I complaining? Sick students means a possibility of grabbing some LUNCH.

March
We were able to sneak out while TinyTuna was at rehearsal and we saw Capote.
**It's hard to find time to get out and see grown-up movies. Capote was a great film.

April
Yes, today is the big 1-2 for TinyTuna. I would like to point out, however, that even as of now -- a little after 3:00 pm -- there was NO TinyTuna.
**Poor kid. Will I ever stop complaining about 36 hours of labor and her being three weeks late? Magic Eight Ball say "Outlook Unlikely".


May
This morning TinyTuna and I had another episode of "Good God, she's twelve, and neither one of us is going to see thirteen."
**Wow. Same song. 97th verse.

June
TinyTuna has always been a fairly savvy concert-goer. This is because she has been dragged here, there and everywhere since she was a much tinier TinyTuna.
**So where did I drag her this time? To a BAR.

July
Lately TinyTuna has been picking up on my (sometimes bad) habit of public commentary.
**It is incredibly satisfying to bust others for your bad habits.

August
This past weekend Tuna Clan joined forces with PeaceTuna, climbed into the Peacemobile (very nice) and drove to Flint, Michigan for an afternoon folk music concert.
**Carrie Newcomer. New favorite. Still love her.

September
There will be no sister kissing today.
**Does this really need any explanation? This was one of only a handful of football games the Spartunas managed to win this season.

October
Yesterday afternoon, after sitting/napping through Open Season (MPF!), Scout, TinyTuna and I returned home to catch a little TV and play a couple of games.
**In which we learn that a "premature accusation" is NOT a good thing.

November
Thursdays are long, LONG days.
**And this is news?

December
I'm having a love-hate relationship with noise.
**Sometimes life needs a giant MUTE button.

That Was The Year That Was

Currently gallivanting through the pipes of the Internets -- Take the first line from the first blog of the month (not including memes) and list them here, giving you a review of the past twelve fun-filled months:

January
Today the Tuna clan ventured forth to TunaU to watch the Lady Spartunas demolish the visiting University of Michigan Wolverines on the basketball court (77-44 for those keeping score. Like me).
**This year we learned that Women's Basketball is a great way to spend an afternoon and is a good bargain to boot. We hope to hit a couple games this season as well.

February
It's teaching day again, and half of the college appears to have the plague.
**Why am I complaining? Sick students means a possibility of grabbing some LUNCH.

March
We were able to sneak out while TinyTuna was at rehearsal and we saw Capote.
**It's hard to find time to get out and see grown-up movies. Capote was a great film.

April
Yes, today is the big 1-2 for TinyTuna. I would like to point out, however, that even as of now -- a little after 3:00 pm -- there was NO TinyTuna.
**Poor kid. Will I ever stop complaining about 36 hours of labor and her being three weeks late? Magic Eight Ball say "Outlook Unlikely".


May
This morning TinyTuna and I had another episode of "Good God, she's twelve, and neither one of us is going to see thirteen."
**Wow. Same song. 97th verse.

June
TinyTuna has always been a fairly savvy concert-goer. This is because she has been dragged here, there and everywhere since she was a much tinier TinyTuna.
**So where did I drag her this time? To a BAR.

July
Lately TinyTuna has been picking up on my (sometimes bad) habit of public commentary.
**It is incredibly satisfying to bust others for your bad habits.

August
This past weekend Tuna Clan joined forces with PeaceTuna, climbed into the Peacemobile (very nice) and drove to Flint, Michigan for an afternoon folk music concert.
**Carrie Newcomer. New favorite. Still love her.

September
There will be no sister kissing today.
**Does this really need any explanation? This was one of only a handful of football games the Spartunas managed to win this season.

October
Yesterday afternoon, after sitting/napping through Open Season (MPF!), Scout, TinyTuna and I returned home to catch a little TV and play a couple of games.
**In which we learn that a "premature accusation" is NOT a good thing.

November
Thursdays are long, LONG days.
**And this is news?

December
I'm having a love-hate relationship with noise.
**Sometimes life needs a giant MUTE button.