Friday's Feast

It's Friday's Feast, mid-morning edition.

Appetizer: Which language would you like to learn, and why?
Well, there was that one song in Sanskrit I had to perform a few years back...

Soup: What's the funniest thing you've heard or or read this week?
Coming home from singing our annual Christmas gig for the ladies at The Little Church that Could, I had the iPod on Christmas shuffle. A version of Auld Lang Syne came on that sounded like it was performed by Emmett Otter's Jug Band. Needless to say, it wasn't the usual drunken maudlin mess one is generally forced to endure. GramTuna and I started chuckling as we both admitted we kind of liked this new, peppy, somewhat yeeHAW version. I looked at her and said, "This must be The Titanic is Sinking! Better dance faster and grab your swimmies" version."

Salad: Which movie was so bad you couldn't watch the whole thing?
I'm much more ruthless with movies now that I watch them at home. And I cannot that these movies were necessarily bad, but they sure did nothing for me. The last two that got the early boot were Amelie and Lost in Translation.

Main Course: If there were a holiday in your honor that didn't use your actual name, what would the day be called?
National Needs More Cowbell Day.

Dessert: Name one movie which is coming out soon that you'd like to see.
Depending on what you mean by "soon" I guess maybe Eragon. Otherwise I suppose Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (summer, 2007).

Friday's Feast

It's Friday's Feast, mid-morning edition.

Appetizer: Which language would you like to learn, and why?
Well, there was that one song in Sanskrit I had to perform a few years back...

Soup: What's the funniest thing you've heard or or read this week?
Coming home from singing our annual Christmas gig for the ladies at The Little Church that Could, I had the iPod on Christmas shuffle. A version of Auld Lang Syne came on that sounded like it was performed by Emmett Otter's Jug Band. Needless to say, it wasn't the usual drunken maudlin mess one is generally forced to endure. GramTuna and I started chuckling as we both admitted we kind of liked this new, peppy, somewhat yeeHAW version. I looked at her and said, "This must be The Titanic is Sinking! Better dance faster and grab your swimmies" version."

Salad: Which movie was so bad you couldn't watch the whole thing?
I'm much more ruthless with movies now that I watch them at home. And I cannot that these movies were necessarily bad, but they sure did nothing for me. The last two that got the early boot were Amelie and Lost in Translation.

Main Course: If there were a holiday in your honor that didn't use your actual name, what would the day be called?
National Needs More Cowbell Day.

Dessert: Name one movie which is coming out soon that you'd like to see.
Depending on what you mean by "soon" I guess maybe Eragon. Otherwise I suppose Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (summer, 2007).

Connective Insanity

Here we go again with the math.

Now, first and foremost, GramTuna and I are both good at math. Or, we used to be. I think we used to be good at "old" math, which is really like old-OLD math, because it's older than "new math" which is now older than "newest math" which is now called "connective math" which is code for "ridiculous numerical gobbledegook designed to torture children and their parents."

Old-OLD math was awesome. Old-OLD math was gimme a formula, a bunch of numbers to toss in and a big mathematical crank. I could do these all day long. Monkey math rocks. It doesn't matter if it applies to life. If you can solve for X, you're good to go. Hand me a banana.

Old math -- which once upon a time was "New" math -- employed much of the same practices of Old-OLD math, except it was no longer important to actually get the right answer. You just needed to understand the principles of how one MIGHT get the right answer, if one could correctly multiply eight and seven without enlisting the fingers and toes of several of your closest friends.

New math -- which is now NEWEST math, also known as CONNECTIVE MATH -- thinks all math should be applicable to math you encounter every day of your life. In theory this sounds awesome. Afterall, it's not often when I have to call upon the powers of the quadratic equation to figure out where I'm going to get enough money to pay my electric bill. But the problem with Connective Math is that it doesn't know when practicality stops and ridiculousness takes over.

For example, TinyTuna had two related math problems. The first? Totally practical. It was something along the lines of "Twelve movie tickets cost $90. If each ticket costs the same amount of money, how much does each ticket cost?"

Fine and dandy: $7.50. Moving on.

But then connective math turns around and asks, "How much of a ticket would you get for $1?" In connective mathland, the correct answer is some ridiculous fraction of a ticket. In the real world, there is one obvious answer: Not enough to get through the door.

And I didn't even need the quadratic equation for that one.

Connective Insanity

Here we go again with the math.

Now, first and foremost, GramTuna and I are both good at math. Or, we used to be. I think we used to be good at "old" math, which is really like old-OLD math, because it's older than "new math" which is now older than "newest math" which is now called "connective math" which is code for "ridiculous numerical gobbledegook designed to torture children and their parents."

Old-OLD math was awesome. Old-OLD math was gimme a formula, a bunch of numbers to toss in and a big mathematical crank. I could do these all day long. Monkey math rocks. It doesn't matter if it applies to life. If you can solve for X, you're good to go. Hand me a banana.

Old math -- which once upon a time was "New" math -- employed much of the same practices of Old-OLD math, except it was no longer important to actually get the right answer. You just needed to understand the principles of how one MIGHT get the right answer, if one could correctly multiply eight and seven without enlisting the fingers and toes of several of your closest friends.

New math -- which is now NEWEST math, also known as CONNECTIVE MATH -- thinks all math should be applicable to math you encounter every day of your life. In theory this sounds awesome. Afterall, it's not often when I have to call upon the powers of the quadratic equation to figure out where I'm going to get enough money to pay my electric bill. But the problem with Connective Math is that it doesn't know when practicality stops and ridiculousness takes over.

For example, TinyTuna had two related math problems. The first? Totally practical. It was something along the lines of "Twelve movie tickets cost $90. If each ticket costs the same amount of money, how much does each ticket cost?"

Fine and dandy: $7.50. Moving on.

But then connective math turns around and asks, "How much of a ticket would you get for $1?" In connective mathland, the correct answer is some ridiculous fraction of a ticket. In the real world, there is one obvious answer: Not enough to get through the door.

And I didn't even need the quadratic equation for that one.

Death By Punctuation

This morning I received a work-related email. It was sent as High Priority meaning it was accompanied by a screaming red exclamation point (!). To add insult to overkill, the subject line contained no less than 4 additional exclamation points (!!!!) that, if they could, would have also been red. And blinking. With loud sirens.

Normally I'm not annoyed by high priority email, but this particular one with all its

!!! SCARY RED EXCLAMATION POINTS !!!

was reminding me (and all the other supervisory worker bees) to return standard paperwork, just like we've done every other Wednesday for the past 15 years.

I was so tempted to not do it and feign surprise. "Today? Really? An email? Why I don't know how I could have missed it!!!!!!!! If only you had included FIVE EXCLAMATION POINTS and perhaps a decorative Ampersand you might have had better luck.

Death By Punctuation

This morning I received a work-related email. It was sent as High Priority meaning it was accompanied by a screaming red exclamation point (!). To add insult to overkill, the subject line contained no less than 4 additional exclamation points (!!!!) that, if they could, would have also been red. And blinking. With loud sirens.

Normally I'm not annoyed by high priority email, but this particular one with all its

!!! SCARY RED EXCLAMATION POINTS !!!

was reminding me (and all the other supervisory worker bees) to return standard paperwork, just like we've done every other Wednesday for the past 15 years.

I was so tempted to not do it and feign surprise. "Today? Really? An email? Why I don't know how I could have missed it!!!!!!!! If only you had included FIVE EXCLAMATION POINTS and perhaps a decorative Ampersand you might have had better luck.

Merry Gigmas

Because end of semester exhaustion, joyous freaking holiday season exhaustion, and Oh God, ANOTHER CONCERT?!!? exhaustion has hit with a vengeance, my output tonight takes the form of the humble haiku.

Enjoy. Or not.
I might be too tired to notice either way.

Twelve Days of Christmas
One million gigs. "Which song, when?"
"Blah-Blah-Noel" works.

Singing monkeys know,
The manger needs bananas.
It's a long, long month."

Come On, Ye Faithful!
Gigs go much better with a
Merry Gentleman.

Despite my long day,
I still managed to get me
a bit of cowbell.

For those who just gasped,
The cow (and bell) were featured
in a Christmas Song.

Bet Baby Jesus
thought, "This manger needs one thing:
It needs more cowbell!"

Merry Gigmas

Because end of semester exhaustion, joyous freaking holiday season exhaustion, and Oh God, ANOTHER CONCERT?!!? exhaustion has hit with a vengeance, my output tonight takes the form of the humble haiku.

Enjoy. Or not.
I might be too tired to notice either way.

Twelve Days of Christmas
One million gigs. "Which song, when?"
"Blah-Blah-Noel" works.

Singing monkeys know,
The manger needs bananas.
It's a long, long month."

Come On, Ye Faithful!
Gigs go much better with a
Merry Gentleman.

Despite my long day,
I still managed to get me
a bit of cowbell.

For those who just gasped,
The cow (and bell) were featured
in a Christmas Song.

Bet Baby Jesus
thought, "This manger needs one thing:
It needs more cowbell!"

Soliloquy

The following is an actual conversation I had in the car this morning with myself, two people in the parking lot, and the driver of another car...none of which could hear me.

"OK... Where to park... Where to park... Anything? Anything? Buehler? Come on, there's got to be something...oh, wait. Dammit! It's 10:10 and classes got out. There isn't going to be anything anywhere. Come On... Come on... Somebody leave class and go home. Leeeaaaavvve! Please...

Anything up this aisle? Here after the... DAMMIT. Dumb truck hiding the little car. OK. Anything? Anything? Come On! I don't want to have to go to the pay lot. Pleeeeaassssse let there be something...

*Sigh* Alright, one more swipe and then I'll go. Anything? No. Nope. Damn. No. Maybe I'll sit here in the car for a .... wait. WAIT! Oh please! Are you leaving? Tell me you are leaving! Go for the keys. Go. For. The. Keys. That's right. Get your keys. Are you going to do it? Are you... Yes? You're slowing down? This could be it. Slowing.. slowing... SCORE! Parking spot. Signal on... this one is MINE.

Oh wait. Oh no. OH NO YOU DON'T. This spot is MINE sucker. My signal is on, and I've been in this lot for five minutes. Not yours. MINE. OK buddy, pull out in my favor. Don't go the ... no... NO, DON'T PULL OUT IN HIS FAVOR. DAMMIT! Mine! This is mine! You better not take my spot you stupid Hummer or I'll.... oh. Alright then. Good. It's mine. See? Mine. Not yours, mine. I was here first. Better luck next time, sucker.

Thank God. I hate you, pay lot.
And your little dog, too.

Soliloquy

The following is an actual conversation I had in the car this morning with myself, two people in the parking lot, and the driver of another car...none of which could hear me.

"OK... Where to park... Where to park... Anything? Anything? Buehler? Come on, there's got to be something...oh, wait. Dammit! It's 10:10 and classes got out. There isn't going to be anything anywhere. Come On... Come on... Somebody leave class and go home. Leeeaaaavvve! Please...

Anything up this aisle? Here after the... DAMMIT. Dumb truck hiding the little car. OK. Anything? Anything? Come On! I don't want to have to go to the pay lot. Pleeeeaassssse let there be something...

*Sigh* Alright, one more swipe and then I'll go. Anything? No. Nope. Damn. No. Maybe I'll sit here in the car for a .... wait. WAIT! Oh please! Are you leaving? Tell me you are leaving! Go for the keys. Go. For. The. Keys. That's right. Get your keys. Are you going to do it? Are you... Yes? You're slowing down? This could be it. Slowing.. slowing... SCORE! Parking spot. Signal on... this one is MINE.

Oh wait. Oh no. OH NO YOU DON'T. This spot is MINE sucker. My signal is on, and I've been in this lot for five minutes. Not yours. MINE. OK buddy, pull out in my favor. Don't go the ... no... NO, DON'T PULL OUT IN HIS FAVOR. DAMMIT! Mine! This is mine! You better not take my spot you stupid Hummer or I'll.... oh. Alright then. Good. It's mine. See? Mine. Not yours, mine. I was here first. Better luck next time, sucker.

Thank God. I hate you, pay lot.
And your little dog, too.

And This Shall Be A Sign Unto You

This year for the first time in an oh-so-long time, my holidays include someone outside the Estrogenpalooza of my life. And with the welcome addition of Scout, I've noticed, with some amusement, certain behavioral changes within the Tuna household. To whit:

I wash my dishes with somewhat more regularity. The olive fork, the garbage disposal spoon (you know, the one that became unintentionally serrated and now sits in the way, way back of the drawer) and the pile of sporks heisted from the local 7-11 have returned to their dusty, lonesome existence.

I am more certain that my bathroom remains fully stocked and that all porcelain entities receive regular exorcisms from His Holiness, Mr. Clean. Additionally, the quality of reading materials has been vastly upgraded to include recent publications, an essay book, a puzzle book, AND a functioning pen (complete with backup functioning pen. No pencils allowed). There is nothing worse than an unsolved crossword puzzle mocking you because the pen ran dry and you can't reach the eyebrow pencil (which really makes quite a mess).

Christmas decorations have been appearing in a timely manner. This is practically unheard of in my house, because December is the month of insanity. At last count the Tuna calendar shows rehearsals, dress rehearsals and/or concerts every single day between December 1st and December 17th. I. Kid. You. Not. This means haphazard decorating (motivated entirely by parental guilt) happens somewhere around December 23rd, and is taken down January 2nd because I can't stand it anymore. The only benefit to my holiday procrastination of yore is that you can get a pretty decent chocolate buzz when you have to open up 23 doors in one sitting on your Advent calendar.

I'm excited to share our family nuttiness and traditions of the season: We buy our tree from the "Send-a-Kid-to-Camp" place sponsored by the YMCA. The only thing necessary to make a tree stand up straight is some folded up newspapers or a paperback novel. We save stuff like 1st grade homemade ornaments and proudly display them on the tree in embarrassing tribute to those who made 'em (I can't wait to find LittleBroTuna's pretzel with an oyster cracker glued on top). And when the tree is all decorated, we turn off all the lights except the tree, sit on the couch and listen to Silent Night. We might be a little more crowded this year, but something tells me I won't mind it one bit.

And This Shall Be A Sign Unto You

This year for the first time in an oh-so-long time, my holidays include someone outside the Estrogenpalooza of my life. And with the welcome addition of Scout, I've noticed, with some amusement, certain behavioral changes within the Tuna household. To whit:

I wash my dishes with somewhat more regularity. The olive fork, the garbage disposal spoon (you know, the one that became unintentionally serrated and now sits in the way, way back of the drawer) and the pile of sporks heisted from the local 7-11 have returned to their dusty, lonesome existence.

I am more certain that my bathroom remains fully stocked and that all porcelain entities receive regular exorcisms from His Holiness, Mr. Clean. Additionally, the quality of reading materials has been vastly upgraded to include recent publications, an essay book, a puzzle book, AND a functioning pen (complete with backup functioning pen. No pencils allowed). There is nothing worse than an unsolved crossword puzzle mocking you because the pen ran dry and you can't reach the eyebrow pencil (which really makes quite a mess).

Christmas decorations have been appearing in a timely manner. This is practically unheard of in my house, because December is the month of insanity. At last count the Tuna calendar shows rehearsals, dress rehearsals and/or concerts every single day between December 1st and December 17th. I. Kid. You. Not. This means haphazard decorating (motivated entirely by parental guilt) happens somewhere around December 23rd, and is taken down January 2nd because I can't stand it anymore. The only benefit to my holiday procrastination of yore is that you can get a pretty decent chocolate buzz when you have to open up 23 doors in one sitting on your Advent calendar.

I'm excited to share our family nuttiness and traditions of the season: We buy our tree from the "Send-a-Kid-to-Camp" place sponsored by the YMCA. The only thing necessary to make a tree stand up straight is some folded up newspapers or a paperback novel. We save stuff like 1st grade homemade ornaments and proudly display them on the tree in embarrassing tribute to those who made 'em (I can't wait to find LittleBroTuna's pretzel with an oyster cracker glued on top). And when the tree is all decorated, we turn off all the lights except the tree, sit on the couch and listen to Silent Night. We might be a little more crowded this year, but something tells me I won't mind it one bit.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And You Think ::

1. Hello :: Goodbye

2. Flintstone :: Meet the Flintstones, they're the modern stone age family!

3. Corn :: On the cob

4. Interview :: With a Vampire

5. Deviant :: Me, if I'm lucky

6. Concept :: Idea

7. Bridge :: Over Troubled Waters

8. Karen :: Carpenter

9. Encounter :: Close. Of the Third Kind.

10. Biological :: Father. Or Mother.


Yep. another week of if it's not a song, a movie, or a TV show, then it's a dead pop singer. Guess I really am a deviant.

Mutter along HERE.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And You Think ::

1. Hello :: Goodbye

2. Flintstone :: Meet the Flintstones, they're the modern stone age family!

3. Corn :: On the cob

4. Interview :: With a Vampire

5. Deviant :: Me, if I'm lucky

6. Concept :: Idea

7. Bridge :: Over Troubled Waters

8. Karen :: Carpenter

9. Encounter :: Close. Of the Third Kind.

10. Biological :: Father. Or Mother.


Yep. another week of if it's not a song, a movie, or a TV show, then it's a dead pop singer. Guess I really am a deviant.

Mutter along HERE.

Caroling, Caroling Now We Go

This afternoon the Tuna clan joined The Little Church That Could in their annual Christmas Carol-a-thon for those who can't. TinyTuna looks forward to this every year, and considering she's that dicey age of twelve where one minute everything is a personal insult to her existence and the next minute she is sweetness and light, I'm very pleased this remains a favorite activity. Part of the allure has to do with the fact that she is given free reign to accompany every carol with a tambourine. And you have to ask yourself, who doesn't love a rousing "cha-cha-CHA" during The First Noel? Then there are the boxes upon boxes of pizza that await our return. (On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me, double cheese and pepperoni!) Whatever it is, The Little Church That Could dotes on her something awful, and she, in turn, charms the socks off of each and every one of them, which I believe is the classic definition of a win-win situation.

Our last caroling stop this afternoon was at an extended care facility to sing for a man severely debilitated by a number of strokes. It took a bit of doing to fit everybody (plus guitar and mighty tambourine) into his room, but we managed to do it without anybody having to stand out in the hallway or in the bathroom. Once situated, we began to sing our way through each and every carol ever written. As The First Noel gave way to O Little Town of Bethlehem, I found myself drawn to a bulletin board full of family pictures. One black and white photo in particular caught my eye. It was a picture of a man and a woman standing outside in the English Countryside. He was handsome and rugged, wearing a thick wool sweater and smiling broadly. She was small and thin, wearing a mid-length dress coat. It would have been an ordinary photo of an ordinary couple, but the camera seemed to have caught them in a moment when he put his arm around her in such a way that seemed both protective and endearing. Her answer to this small, simple touch was a shy but utterly charming smile. It was obvious she was very much in love.

We continued to sing and I glanced across the room. The man, now small and thin, was unable to speak. The woman sat next to him on the bed, and patted his arm quietly in rhythm as she sang softly in his ear. It was obvious despite the years and the illness and hardships she was very much in love. And I couldn’t help but be thankful for this simple little touch -- both protective and endearing -- which was nothing short of an enormous demonstration of love.

Tidings of comfort and joy.

Caroling, Caroling Now We Go

This afternoon the Tuna clan joined The Little Church That Could in their annual Christmas Carol-a-thon for those who can't. TinyTuna looks forward to this every year, and considering she's that dicey age of twelve where one minute everything is a personal insult to her existence and the next minute she is sweetness and light, I'm very pleased this remains a favorite activity. Part of the allure has to do with the fact that she is given free reign to accompany every carol with a tambourine. And you have to ask yourself, who doesn't love a rousing "cha-cha-CHA" during The First Noel? Then there are the boxes upon boxes of pizza that await our return. (On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me, double cheese and pepperoni!) Whatever it is, The Little Church That Could dotes on her something awful, and she, in turn, charms the socks off of each and every one of them, which I believe is the classic definition of a win-win situation.

Our last caroling stop this afternoon was at an extended care facility to sing for a man severely debilitated by a number of strokes. It took a bit of doing to fit everybody (plus guitar and mighty tambourine) into his room, but we managed to do it without anybody having to stand out in the hallway or in the bathroom. Once situated, we began to sing our way through each and every carol ever written. As The First Noel gave way to O Little Town of Bethlehem, I found myself drawn to a bulletin board full of family pictures. One black and white photo in particular caught my eye. It was a picture of a man and a woman standing outside in the English Countryside. He was handsome and rugged, wearing a thick wool sweater and smiling broadly. She was small and thin, wearing a mid-length dress coat. It would have been an ordinary photo of an ordinary couple, but the camera seemed to have caught them in a moment when he put his arm around her in such a way that seemed both protective and endearing. Her answer to this small, simple touch was a shy but utterly charming smile. It was obvious she was very much in love.

We continued to sing and I glanced across the room. The man, now small and thin, was unable to speak. The woman sat next to him on the bed, and patted his arm quietly in rhythm as she sang softly in his ear. It was obvious despite the years and the illness and hardships she was very much in love. And I couldn’t help but be thankful for this simple little touch -- both protective and endearing -- which was nothing short of an enormous demonstration of love.

Tidings of comfort and joy.

Friday's Feast

It's been ... FOREVER! What's new with Friday's Feast?

Appetizer: Have you ever flown in a helicopter?
Nope.

Soup: What color is your warmest coat or jacket?
Black. Warmest is currently questionable as there are NO buttons on the darn thing.

Salad: What is your favorite rainy day activity?
Rainy like today? Rainy like sleety slushy rainy windy umbrella bendy backwardsy no schooly for TinaTunly watching movies all day long while I go to work dammit rainy? Stay home, grab a blanket, plant myself in the living room with the best intentions of reading a book or stitching or knitting or spinning or watching a movie, and then...taking a nap.

Main Course: Describe your hands.
Two of them. Ten fingers total. Multi tasks as the perfect map of Michigan.

Dessert: If you could only eat one nut for the rest of your life, what nut would you pick?
Peanuts.

Friday's Feast

It's been ... FOREVER! What's new with Friday's Feast?

Appetizer: Have you ever flown in a helicopter?
Nope.

Soup: What color is your warmest coat or jacket?
Black. Warmest is currently questionable as there are NO buttons on the darn thing.

Salad: What is your favorite rainy day activity?
Rainy like today? Rainy like sleety slushy rainy windy umbrella bendy backwardsy no schooly for TinaTunly watching movies all day long while I go to work dammit rainy? Stay home, grab a blanket, plant myself in the living room with the best intentions of reading a book or stitching or knitting or spinning or watching a movie, and then...taking a nap.

Main Course: Describe your hands.
Two of them. Ten fingers total. Multi tasks as the perfect map of Michigan.

Dessert: If you could only eat one nut for the rest of your life, what nut would you pick?
Peanuts.

Dialing It Down

I'm having a love-hate relationship with noise.

Generally speaking, I don't go for silence. In the past, when I'd come home from work I'd have to turn something -- anything -- on. With a little TV chatter in the background, it made me feel like there was somebody there. Now, when I come home with TinyTuna, the first thing she goes for is the Disney Channel, and I've quickly become that person that DESPISES the Disney channel with every fiber of her Oh How I Hate The Suite Life of Zack and Cody being. Raven, what happened? You were so damn cute in the Cosby Show, but now you're portraying yet another loud-mouthed, annoying, smarmy, smart-assed kid that I'd either like to slap or stuff a sock in your mouth. OK, really? Both. When the Disney Channel goes on (even in the small doses that are allowed in my house) I secretly wish for a power-outage to kill the noise.

These days I often turn to my faithful iPod. I love and adore my iPod. I have gotten much use out of the Podster, and have listened to more music (legally purchased, or things I own, thank you!) in the past six months than I have for years. This is a very good thing. But then, I start looking for more. And finding more. And the iTunes store tells me I might like this and that and dammit, I do. So I add more and more. And then "This American Life" up and goes free podcasts on me, and how can I turn THAT down? Answer: I can't. So I add more and more and ever more! Now I have so much stuff on my iPod, it doesn't tell me how many hours of music I have, it tells me how many DAYS of music I have. To be truthful, if it were really efficient, it would use Presidential Administrations and be done with it. You have enough songs to last from "Checkers" until "I did not have sex with that woman." Would you like to back up your playlists now? As much as I love my Ichapod, it might be getting out of control. I can't find songs I know I have, I can't remember names of artists, and I'm getting carpal thumbal syndrome whipping the click wheel at 265rpm trying to find that one song that I heard on shuffle a week ago Tuesday. How sad is it when I have so much music, it's turning into noise?

And then there is the Kingdom of the Internets. I have not been a particularly faithful contributing subject to Ye Olde Blogosphere for awhile, and consequently, these pages have been relatively quiet. I've managed to blame this, that and the other thing, but for whatever reason, it's been one of the few places where there hasn't been a lot of noise. And wouldn't you just know it, I miss it.

Today is opening day of Holidailies, 2006 and I, like many others have solemnly sworn to post daily for an entire month. Despite the quiet over the past several months, I am looking forward to holding up my end of the bargain for the third year running. Somewhere buried beneath the insanity that has taken over, there are some things to say and some stories to tell. Hopefully it won't be noise, it will be life.

I'm ready to find that mute button and get down to business.

Dialing It Down

I'm having a love-hate relationship with noise.

Generally speaking, I don't go for silence. In the past, when I'd come home from work I'd have to turn something -- anything -- on. With a little TV chatter in the background, it made me feel like there was somebody there. Now, when I come home with TinyTuna, the first thing she goes for is the Disney Channel, and I've quickly become that person that DESPISES the Disney channel with every fiber of her Oh How I Hate The Suite Life of Zack and Cody being. Raven, what happened? You were so damn cute in the Cosby Show, but now you're portraying yet another loud-mouthed, annoying, smarmy, smart-assed kid that I'd either like to slap or stuff a sock in your mouth. OK, really? Both. When the Disney Channel goes on (even in the small doses that are allowed in my house) I secretly wish for a power-outage to kill the noise.

These days I often turn to my faithful iPod. I love and adore my iPod. I have gotten much use out of the Podster, and have listened to more music (legally purchased, or things I own, thank you!) in the past six months than I have for years. This is a very good thing. But then, I start looking for more. And finding more. And the iTunes store tells me I might like this and that and dammit, I do. So I add more and more. And then "This American Life" up and goes free podcasts on me, and how can I turn THAT down? Answer: I can't. So I add more and more and ever more! Now I have so much stuff on my iPod, it doesn't tell me how many hours of music I have, it tells me how many DAYS of music I have. To be truthful, if it were really efficient, it would use Presidential Administrations and be done with it. You have enough songs to last from "Checkers" until "I did not have sex with that woman." Would you like to back up your playlists now? As much as I love my Ichapod, it might be getting out of control. I can't find songs I know I have, I can't remember names of artists, and I'm getting carpal thumbal syndrome whipping the click wheel at 265rpm trying to find that one song that I heard on shuffle a week ago Tuesday. How sad is it when I have so much music, it's turning into noise?

And then there is the Kingdom of the Internets. I have not been a particularly faithful contributing subject to Ye Olde Blogosphere for awhile, and consequently, these pages have been relatively quiet. I've managed to blame this, that and the other thing, but for whatever reason, it's been one of the few places where there hasn't been a lot of noise. And wouldn't you just know it, I miss it.

Today is opening day of Holidailies, 2006 and I, like many others have solemnly sworn to post daily for an entire month. Despite the quiet over the past several months, I am looking forward to holding up my end of the bargain for the third year running. Somewhere buried beneath the insanity that has taken over, there are some things to say and some stories to tell. Hopefully it won't be noise, it will be life.

I'm ready to find that mute button and get down to business.