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up in the hot tub, bubbly
So there's a big party going on in Florida right now for Todd's birthday at Todd and Robyn's place. Unfortunately, I couldn't be there, but this cam shot makes me wish I was:
I'd do you all if I were there. Really. Now go do those tequila shots for me, Annessa!
*update* Here's Annessa doing that shot for me. I just did a shot of NyQuil for you! (not gratuitously - for my allergies)
Glitter: A review via Webster's
aw·ful (ôfl)
adj.
Extremely bad or unpleasant; terrible
Yet, as with Showgirls, I sat through the whole thing.
special guest
Hi! My name is David. Tonight, Aunt Michele and Uncle Justin are babysitting for me. My daddy reads this weblog every night and I want him to see what I do when he is not around.
First, we had ice cream for dinner. And oreos! And gummy bears! It was the BEST dinner I EVER had!
Then we went outside and Aunt Michele let me touch the grass and dirt and stuff! It was so cool! Daddy never lets me get dirty. You should have seen me, daddy. I was a MESS! Not only that, I had no shoes or jacket on!!
Oh, and Uncle Justin let me touch the hamsters. They did not bite me and give me a nasty disease like you said they would, daddy. See, I'm still ok!
Then they wanted to watch tv. But we didn't watch Shrek because they said that once I can act out the whole movie it's time to move on. They were going to make me watch Glitter but as soon as I saw Mariah Carey I started screaming so they put on Follow That Bird. That Big Bird sure reminds me a lot of you, daddy. Oh, wait. I mean Oscar. That's who you remind me of!
You know I love you, daddy and I'm just kidding around. Besides, Aunt Michele and Uncle Justin are making me type this. They have me tied up and they threatened to decapitate Bob The Builder if I didn't do what they said.
Ok, me and Uncle Justin are gonna have a farting contest now. And then we're gonna burp a lot. And I'm gonnna poop my pants soon, but I don't think Uncle Justin will do that, too.
And then we're gonna jump on the bed and watch anime cartoons with pretty ladies wearing really short skirts.
I'm kidding, daddy, I'm kidding! But I am going to play Streetfighter.
Bye!!
why spiderman isn't allowed to come over and play anymore
I let him hang out just once, and not only does he teach the hamsters how to climb....
...he brings an evil friend along.
I suppose tomorrow they will be making clones.
late summer sunset
i had a dream last night
I had my most vivid September 11 dream last night.
I've had quite a few of these; glancing through my dream journal I see at least twenty. They usually involve the same things - planes falling from the sky, loud noises, skies on fire. They don't always appear to be about September 11 but I know they are.
Last night, in my dreams, buildings crumbled. I felt every rumble, heard every roar, cried and despaired. It wasn't the twin towers that fell in this nightmare, but buildings that are even more familiar to me. The building where I work. The local hospital. The library, which, in the dream, was about fifty stories high instead of one.
I saw the buildings from a very low perspective, as if I were laying on the ground. They all went in the same way. First, the sidewalk would rumble. People would start screaming and running, looking for friends and family while fleeing. Then, the building would start to fall apart, piece by piece, block by block, each block crumbling into smaller pieces on its way down. From my perspective it looked like the sky was raining huge chunks of cement.
I heard hard thuds as bricks and mortar fell to the ground. I heard soft thuds as the pieces landed on a person. I heard groans and screams and panic.
The buildings went one by one. Amidst all this, I was trying to find my kids. Justin had taken them and a host of their cousins to a neary dock to fish and swim. In my panic and fear, I could not remember where the dock was. Meanwhile it was right there, right next to where the world was collapsing.
Planes came and helicopters hovered and sirens shrieked. People ran. Children cried. Large chunks of steel broke off structures and pounded into the ground.
And then it was quiet. The planes and helicopters had gone. The world stopped shaking. And we were left, a handful of us, to fend for ourselves in a city that had gone to ruin.
The weather turned from a scorching hot day to a fall freeze within seconds. My friend Barbara and I ran from empty store to empty store, gathering up food and clothes for the coming cold. We were alone in the world, just our kids and some family members and a few straggling strangers who begged to stay with us.
I remember rummaging through the remains of a shoe store, looking for boots and winter shoes for the kids. I had a pile of winter jackets in my arms and I was taking everything I could, stocking up for the cold, lonely months ahead of us.
We had assumed it was the end of the world. It wasn't.
Soon, the helicopters came back to rescue us, and the pilots explained that it was only that which was familiar to us which had been destroyed. I asked if that was true for everyone and he said yes.
Wouldn't the whole world be destroyed, then? Isn't every place familiar to at least one person?
You have no idea of the places that have gone unnoticed, he said. Even that which we see every day can still be unfamiliar to us.
The helicopter swooped down on and shifted sideways as it did.
And that's when I fell out of bed and woke up.
called out swinging
Yawn.
In other news, the Jets signed Wayne Chrebet to a 7-year deal.
Islanders training camp opens September 13.
Remember that game with the ball and the bat and the bases? That used to be fun. What was that called? I forget.
You want baseball, pure and unadulterated? This is baseball:
stick a fork in it
Just about nine hours until another baseball strike.
I'm thinking, maybe it's time for baseball to take a much needed hiatus, anyhow. I think, like any large corporation in the midst of a crisis, they need to sit back and regroup. And think about what this year has wrought.
First, there was the YES Network fiasco which, if you are not a Yankee fan, means nothing to you. But it should, because it just underscores the ruling prinicple of baseball; it's the money, stupid. Not the fans, not the game, not the love of the sport or even the entertainment value. It's the money. Sure, baseball is just a big business and dollars are the bottom line, but then the powers that be shouldn't make such a big deal out of claiming they have respect for the fans.
Then there were steroids. Who was on them, who wasn't on them, were the home runs of certain players chemically induced? Denials, accusations, admissions, more denials. Another off-field affair that overshadowed anything the players were doing on the field.
Mike Piazza with his totally unecessary "I swear I'm not gay" announcment. Bud Selig calling a halt the All-Star game.
Speaking of Piazza, I wonder if the Mets are actually hoping for a strike, putting an end to their season of misery. Maybe the Red Sox don't care about a strike either, so they don't have to watch another chance at a pennant go to hell.
The Expos, on the other hand, are staring the death of their team in the face. A strike today could mean that perhaps they have played their last game as the Montreal Expos. The same holds true for the Minnesota Twins.
Of course there will be winners and losers, even with a strike. The winners are the teams who had a rough schedule coming up this week. The winners are the teams who were just going through the motions, anyhow.
The losers, obviously, are the fans. They lose in a big way.
Witness my son, DJ, who has already cried over this. His daily schedule is set by what time the Yankees are playing. Often, we will head out to a restaurant that has the Yes Network and sit there for hours, nursing chicken fingers and buffalo wings, just so he can see part of the game. He doesn't even get out of bed in the morning until he has seen a full episode of Sportscenter. He will watch any baseball game on tv, even if it is two last place teams playing.
DJ is just one of thousands. Do you know how many kids - even adults - for whom baseball is their true joy in life? I know it's silly of me to even suggest that the players and owners should take the devotion of the fans into consideration. Or is it?
How many fans are going to stick around this time? How many of them are just going to throw their hands in the air and say the hell with it? Watch the attendance of minor league teams rise. Watch how many people do not come back when and if the season resumes. Most of us, even the insanely devoted fans, have lost their taste for what used to be a great game.
When I really think about it, I realize that I don't even enjoy baseball as much as I used to. Not like I did in the days of Bucky Dent and Thurman Munson. Not even like I did in the days of Dale Murphy and Bob Horner.
Something has tainted the game. Money, drugs, fighting, Bud Selig, selfishness, egos - they have all gone a long way towards making baseball about as appetizing as a piece of moldy bread.
I hope they do strike. And I hope that the fans are angry enough this time around to really mean it when they say they won't go back. I think fans should go to the stadiums and picket against the strikers. Not that the pampered baseball players will actually be standing out their with placards, pacing by the front office. They'll be on the golf course and on vacation, waiting for someone else to do their negotiating for them. No union rallies, no chanting strikers, no days in the hot sun carrying signs for your cause.
If you really miss baseball, watch a good baseball movie. Bad News Bears comes to mind. Play All-Star Baseball2002 for the PS2 and finish the season yourself. Gather the neighborhood kids for a pick-up game. Go to a minor league ball game.
Or you can just ignore baseball all together. Walk away. Walk away from your team, your favorite players, your pennants and banners and team jackets. Walk away and don't look back. It's not like they care about you, anyhow. I'm going to drive to Yankee Stadium, deposit all my Yankee paraphenalia in the front concourse and set them on fire.
Even if they decide not to strike, I'm walking away anyhow.
(un)fan mail
Hey kids! Let's open today's mailbag!
I have this thing about people who email me comments instead of putting them right there in the open where everyone else can see them. I'm not talking about personal asides or inside jokes. I'm talking about angry, bitter rants complete with incorrect syntax. Today's mail is brough to us by the pleasant and grammatically challenged "Keebs", in whic he references the "countdown" post below. Hi Keebs! (It should be noted that Keebs's mail was in a big pink font)
Where have you been that you think they haven't "struck at us first?" What was 9/11? What was the bombing of the Pentagon? Acts of Friendship? You are one fucked up person man. You need to watch what you say and how you say it, you're site can give ideas and opportunities to people that really don't need them. Before you TRY to comment on something or give your opinion on something you really don't know about, think. My dad was in that building when it when down, and I don't appreciate your comments or opinions as many people I know and have spoken to don't. Please have some compassion in the future before you just type, because frankly, your opinion isn't shit.
My problems with The Keebs's little letter are as follows:
First, I never heard Bush claim that he wanted to bomb Iraq in retaliation for September 11. There has never been any definitive proof that Saddam indeed had anything to do with it. You don't bomb a country based on conjecture.
If dear old Keebs really thought that was a good enough reason to bomb Iraq, perhaps our letter writer should be spending time instead writing letters to the White House, asking why they haven't bombed Afghanistan yet.
However, that is not the main problem I have with his email.
You need to watch what you say and how you say it, you're site can give ideas and opportunities to people that really don't need them.
It's not even the part where he/she thinks that I shouldn't speak my mind lest other people start thinking, too. Next thing you know, we'll all be coloring outside the lines! It will be anarchy! Also, I really don't think that my words here on this site will ever have any big impact on a social revolution.
No, no, that's not the real problem at all. The problem is you're. That would be YOUR not YOU'RE in that particular sentence. You have broken one of my cardinal rules of being my friend, dear Keebs. You wrote the wrong your.
And one last thing, when you say your opinion isn't shit, then what you mean is my opinion is something other than shit. So what is it? Did you mean to say my opinion isn't worth shit, or my opinion is shit? Please clarify.
Thank you.
On a completely different tangent, I'm watching the MTV awards and Britney looks like the missing Village Person. Kylie, on the other hand.........let's just say it must be cold in that place.
Mary Kate and Ashley? That porn video may be closer than originally thought.
me me me
I've got my first piece up over at blogcritics (it's a repeat, but go read it anyhow, or at least check out the site).
And while I'm whoring myself, The Banned Books Project has been updated today, and I am still taking submissions for anyone interested in participating or supporting.
the final countdown
ESPN had a clock running on the bottom of the screen last night, a clock counting down to the very second the start of the almost inevitable baseball strike.
Like I need another thing to count down until.
This is the time of year for marking off calendars. End of summer, end of the year, almost. Really, by the time August 31 rolls around, the year may as well be gone.
First, I had the countdown to my wedding/birthday. That page has been marked off and discarded.
There's the countdown until school starts (6 days) and the countdown until September 11 (13 days), and then we start thinking about Halloween and then Thanksgiving and then Christmas and New Year's and 2003. Super Bowl Sunday is almost here and the season hasn't even started yet!
Calendars are a great way to instill a sense of panic and make your life flash before your very eyes. It's like a cartoon, where the pages of a daily calendar tear off one by one, going faster and faster and all the pages flying away, taking off to the skies, just like in real life. Where those days go, nobody knows. But they are gone, and things lie ahead, things that will be duly marked on the proper date in Sharpies, color coded for easy reading.
There should be a countdown clock for the bombing of Iraq. Come on, you know it's going to happen. Bush says he doesn't need congress and Ashcroft says we don't need our allies, and I guess all we need are to power-crazy leaders in office to wipe out a country that hasn't struck at us first. Pre-emptive striking is interesting. What if Saddam thinks - hey, the U.S. is preparing to bomb us, so why don't we bomb them first? - and isn't that along the same lines of thinking as W. and Company? Would they be wrong?
I know there are some people counting down the days until the Bush administration is gone (795 days...maybe). And some people are counting down the days until Ann Coulter gains a bit of perspective, which could be never or until Limp Bizkit breaks up, which can't be soon enough, or until the Red Sox win a World Series, which will be......well, I'll let you guys dream on that one.
Of course, there's always this countdown, which always freaks me out because those girls do not look 16. I'm sure they are aging at twice the speed of light and it won't be long until someone makes a countdown clock for the day they join AARP.
Anyone want to count down the days until Britney appears in Playboy? Tastefully photographed, of course.
Countdown for Spider-Man 2, 615 days. Two Towers? Only 110 days! Countdown to Armageddon? Who knows? Looks like they stopped counting. Only 9,554 days left until an asteroid smashes into earth.
You can even buy your own countdown clock for any occasion you are patiently waiting for - or personally dreading.
13 hours and 25 minutes until baseball screws the fans yet again. It figures, the Yankees have trounced the Sox the last two days and they are 9 games ahead. I wish I could stop caring.
6 days and 13 hours until the start of the NFL season.
40 days, 13 hours until the start of the NHL season.
Woosh, woosh.
That was the sound of the calendar pages flying away. That was the sound of my daughter suddenly being in 7th grade and my being on the other side of the hill marked "40" and...oh,yes...
Todd being 30 years old.
Happy Birthday, Todd. Countdown until your gift is ready for shipping:
63 days, 13 hours.
Suffer with me.
wedgies
You think I bought that Captain Underpants book for DJ, didn't you. Hah.
My favorite jokes from The All New Captain Underpants Extra-Crunchy Book O' Fun 2:
Q: Why did the cookie cry?
A: Because his mom had been a wafer so long.
George: Excuse me, mister, I'd like to buy some toilet paper.
Grocery Store Clerk: What color would you like?
George: Just give me white. I'll color it myself!
Q: Why was the mushroom always invited to parties?
A: Because he was a fungi!
Q: What's green, cold and topped with whipped cream?
A: A snot-fudge sundae
Q: What's invisible and smells like bananas?
A: monkey burps!
Tommy: Mommy, can I lick the bowl?
Mommy: No, Tommy, you have to flush like everybody else!
how to spend money you don't have
Our shopping extravaganza tally for the past few days:
DVDs:
Dusk Till Dawn Collector's Edition
Pulp Fiction Collector's Edition
PI
Follow That Bird (the darkest children's movie ever)
The Rookie (for the kids)
Schoolhouse Rock
Other stuff:
Too Much Coffee Man magazine (great article about enemas)
First three copies of The Filth
Stikfas toys
Steering wheel for the Dreamcast
Exercise ball for the hamsters (by the way, DJ changed the name of his hamster from Giambi to Akuma. Akuma would never go on strike, he said)
Mr. Softee bobble head
Captain Underpants Extra Crunchy Book o' Fun 2
Not to mention the 200 dollars worth of school clothes for the kids.
After a long overdue nap today, I woke craving coffee, only to find that we were out of coffee. We did, however, have a bag of coffee beans in the freezer. But we were sans coffee grinder. Not two minutes later, the UPS man delivered a package from Christine. Inside: a coffee grinder. Thank you, Christine, for saving the day!
And now, I must go stare at my empty wallet.
A wedding tale, part 3: Hang the DJ
(when I say "DJ" in this post I am referring not to my son, but to the tacky man who played some really horrid music at my wedding)
We had gone through the trouble of making a playlist. We burned three cds. We talked to him on the phone and told him what we wanted and what we didn't want. Little did I know that in the end, it doesn't even matter.
I assume he was being condescending when he said "yes, mmhmm" to all my requests. Meanwhile he was probably doodling the lyrics to YMCA in his notebook.
I understand that we had to entertain the guests. I know what a party is. And I would have been ok with the occasional disco song and the 50's doo-wop and the 70's novelty songs.
I also understand that the guests did not like our choice of music. The over-50 crowd was none too pleased by Faith No More and Butthole Surfers. Which leads me to believe that people just fear the unknown and automatically dismiss wha they don't understand. Because those over-50 people were sure smiling and grooving in their seats when AC/DC came on. I guess it has to be popular to be entertaining.
I could have lived with all that, honestly. He did manage to get a Jay-Z song on for me, which raised a few eyebrows, and some Radiohead, which raised Chris's eyebrows. But there were moments of utter disbelief.
The Electric Slide was one of them. I specfically said no line dancing songs. But the DJ pointed out to me how much the whole crowd (read: 5 dancing aunts and some cousins) was enjoying it so much.
The Macarena was unforgivable. I noticably cringed when I heard the opening strains to the song. I almost cried when about twenty people got up on the deck and danced, proving that the DJ knew what was best for the crowd.
I started playing a little game with myself. Do a shot of tequila every time the DJ plays something I asked him not to. Do a shot of tequila every time Chris and Nancy looked at each other with that "I am so blogging this" look. Now you know why I was completely shitfaced. Blame the DJ.
At one point we were sitting at a table, enjoying pleasant conversation among our guests when we (and all the neighbors) heard blaring from the speakers:
OH.MY.GOD.BECKY, LOOK AT HER BUTT!
I was mortified. Horribly, completely mortified. This deserved a double shot. Chris and Nancy looked at Justin and then looked at me and I in turn looked at the DJ as if to say "You think this is ok, Biz Markie isn't??" So a couple of people got up on the deck and shook their butts and I said out loud that perhaps Spinal Tap's Big Bottom would be next. And there was Natalie next to me, giggling that she requested Sir-Mix-A-Lot. I chased her around for about one minute before I remembered that drinking and running don't mix.
Believe it or not, that was not the lowlight of the afternoon. Not by a longshot. The ultimate moment of despair came in the middle of the party, when the first few notes of God Bless the USA. Not even the Shania Twain or J-Lo selections could have caused me more distress than the refrain of that song did.
The drunker I got, the more I enjoyed the 80's brand of disco and rock the DJ started spinning after Justin threatened him with castration. We grooved to Kiss and The Vapors and Devo some other things that are a bit fuzzy in my mind right now. I think, and I can't be sure but I bet one of my sisters or Bonnie will be happy to tell you if I'm right - that I did dance to the YMCA. I blame the tequila, I blame the DJ, I blame Justin for making me so damn happy that I could dance to anything.
We still have our 3 burned cds - one slow, one medium and one a bit heavier. I'll post the track listings later and if anyone would like a copy of one of them as a sort of wedding favor, just let me know. My thanks for not laughing at me.
Because you're not laughing. Right?
A Wedding Tale Part 2: Bruno and Francesca spy on the locals
It's hard to be inconspicuous when you are drivng a car that advertises your recent nuptials. Courtesy of my brother-in-law, the car was painted on all sides, on all windows. I think he did a great job in refraining from writing "sucker" instead of "his" on the right side of the car.
As we drove along the Northern State Parkway, most people waved to us or honked or yelled their congratulations. It was charming at first, then it got annoying as we were conducting an experiment in whether having sex while driving is any less dangerous than talking on a cell phone. Hey, someone has to do this research.
I kid you. Really, I do.
We pulled into Danford's in Port Jefferson at 3pm. A little too early to check in. So we left our bags with them and went into super secret spy mode. Bruno and Francesca had taken over the North Shore. I spit on the North Shore! We light cigarettes and stroll along the cobbled sidewalks, always on the lookout for double secret spies or international double crossers.
Yes. So. We ate. I had a seafood bisque served in a bowl made of bread. It was quite delicious.
We walked around the quaint little village for a while, looking in all the quaint shops and watching all the quaint village folk and learning about quaint village lore. It's a very artsy little town, with plenty of shops selling portraits of sea scapes and burly looking fishermen, shops with knick knacks and home made crafts, shops with freshly made chocolates and hand made jewelry. And, of course, the requisite Starbucks. Bruno and Francesca ordered frozen frappacinos, in our horribly fake accents, and we were not at all intimidated by the Starbucks-issue tweaked, snarly girl behind the counter.
We finally were able to check in to the hotel room and the first thing we did was look for hidden cameras. The second thing we did, I will leave to your imagination.
We had a beautiful room, with a balcony overlooking the Long Island sound. Boats and a ferry and small yachts came in and out of the harbor and seagulls and pigeons darted up and down, depositing their special brand of white poo everywhere. I swore it was a game to the birds, and they laughed every time they managed to hit an unsuspecting person with their goop. Yes, seagulls do laugh. They sound like The Joker.
We did the whole romantic thing, sitting outside and watching the sunset, holding hands as the ferry horn sounded and scared the crap out of us, comparing the endless water to our endless love, and clicking our rings together, Power Twins that we are.
We went to dinner at the hotel restaurant, a fine upper class establishment with appetizers that cost more than Martha Stewart's legal fees. We indulged. Shrimp served on a bed of polenta, drowning in a spicy barbecue glaze, and jumbo shrimp served on a bed of crushed ice drowning in a spicy cocktail sauce was our first course. Succulent, I believe, is the word I'm looking for.
We then had a main course of lobster tails and filet mignon covered in a brown roquefort sauce. Again, succulent. Incredible. I love food. For dessert I had a white chocolate pecan bread pudding in Southern Comfort sauce. We stared out the window next to our table for a while, holding hands and making up stories about where all the boats were headed.
We rolled ourselves out of there about an hour later, full and tired and twenty pounds heavier. We walked down to the shoreline, intending to maybe roll around on the beach for a while and get sand down our pants, but it was too rocky and we were disuaded by the teenage gang of rebels hanging around. Francesca and Bruno chided the teenagers for being jerks. They are brave, are they not? It was, however, Michele and Justin who ran back up to the hotel room when the teenage gang started to look menacing.
It's always odd for me to be away from home. I'm a homebody. I like my own bed, my own pillows, my own little world. We flipped channels for a while, realized they were showing Spiderman, then were put off by the twelve dollar price tag for the movie. So we went to into the bedroom, did another search for hidden cameras, waved at the ceiling just in case, and enjoyed our first honeymoon night. I was asleep by ten. Getting married is exhausting work. Pretending to be bumbling spies is even more tiring.
I woke early the next morning to catch the sunrise. It was beautiful, sitting on the balcony, sipping my weak hotel room coffee and watching the hills and early morning workers appear out of the darkness. Eventually, the shoreline of Connecticut made itself known off to the north and the sun made its magic display to my right, lighting up the trees and water and boats and the lone man making a mad getaway for shores unknown.
By 8am I had enough. I wanted to go home rather than stay the extra night. I woke Justin and he was totally agreeable to going home. We checked out (not before devouring the free breakfast) and decided to hit all the stores in the area that we could before heading home.
We ended up at a Target. There we are, on our honeymoon, shopping for the kids' back-to-school clothes at a Target. While we were shopping, the kids called on the cell from their hotel room in Virginia, where they are doing an historical vacation trip with my mother. I hope they like war reenactments as much as my mom does. It was good to hear from them. I missed them. Don't shake your head like that, I really did miss them.
We stopped off at a crappy little mall on the way and found a fantastic comic book/toy store, where we spent an hour just going through the graphic novels. we spent money, too. Lots of money.
On our way home, we made one more stop at a pet store to get some treats for the hamsters. Did I mention we put the frogs down the sewer before we left? No? That's another story.
Finally, home. We fell into our own bed, with our own pillows, beyond exhausted and totally spent. But happy. Oh, so happy.
And remember, next time you are strolling around a seemingly innocent tourist town, Franesca is watching you.
Next up, the tale of the Disc Jockey who must die, and the two bloggers who got tons of laughs out of my musical distress. And that will be it. I have political things that are itching to be ranted about.
A Wedding Tale: Part 1 (pictures not scanned yet)
The day was beautiful. Sunny, warm, not a cloud in the sky.
My aunt later said to me that the greatest moment was when I walked into the backyard for the ceremony and Justin, who was already standing at the trellis/arch had the sweetest look on his face. All together now - awwww.
My judges wrote a little script that stunned me in its beauty and eloquence. I really thought they would go for the funny stuff. But they didn't, and I think many people came away from the ceremony with a better understanding of how Justin and I fit together so well.
My eyes watered and my lips trembled as we got to the "I Do" part. My hand shook as I put the ring on his finger. My legs almost gave way as he kissed me for the first time as my husband. I was completely overwhelmed at the happiness and love and warmth that enveloped me at that moment. It is still with me now.
When we finallly kissed all our relatives and sat down for the first time that day, we put our left fists together, clicking our brand new wedding bands and said "Power Twins!"
Now, the party.
I got drunk. Really drunk. Not dance-naked-on-the-table-in-front-of-your-family drunk, but pass-out-at-9pm-on-your-wedding-night drunk. Which is probably just as bad.
The tequila binge did pay off, though. I wasn't nearly coherent enough to care what the DJ did. He kind of passed over the cds we gave him, explaining that most of the people at the party were holding their hands over their ears whenever he played one of our songs.
However, he found it perfectly fine to play Baby Got Back. Which was requested by Natalie. Which I pointed out to everyone.
I forgave him for the Nelly, and the Kylie made Chris happy and the Linkin Park made DJ happy, as he did his little metal rap motions for everyone. No one seemed to mind the Biz Markie or Grandmaster Flash, but everyone did look at Bonnie and I a bit weird when we dirty danced to some early 80's disco.
Then the DJ did the unthinkable. He played the Macarena. And the Electric Slide. And YMCA. All I can say is he is very, very lucky that he didn't put on the chicken dance or he would have walked out of the party with two less balls than he came in with.
The hits of the party were clearly Nancy and Chris. Every one of my guest remarked to me how nice and sweet and funny they were. The bartender was a little more interested in Nancy than he should have been and the little girls were a lot more interested in Chris than they should have been.
The food was good, the guests were happy and we are married. And isn't that all that matters.
Oh, and it will be a long time before I drink tequila again.
I'm sure I left a lot out, but we are tired and cranky and we cut our stay at the hotel short by one night because we missed our pillows and we missed our 120 channels and we missed the hamsters. Really, I kid you not. We just felt like coming home and honeymooning in our jammies, watching American Idol and playing Streetfighter. I guess when you live together for three years before you're married, a honeymoon seems redundant.
Justin is going to write his side of the wedding tale, and I'll put that up tommorow, along with the story of how we walked around Port Jefferson pretending we were Bruno Puntz Jones and Francesca Fiori, European spies with incredibly bad accents.
sampling
I found a disc with a couple of pictures on it. There's only one of us, and it's from the back, so you'll just have to wait.
In order of appearance:
1. Chris. 2. Nancy. 3. Bouquet. 4. DJ (don't ask, I have no idea what he was doing). 5. Balloon. 6. The good stuff. 7. Haley looking for a drink. 7. The moment (DJ took that picture, so pardon the haziness)
Ok, now we are really leaving.
i deny it all
I'm a bit hungover, totally wiped out, and incredibly, deliriously happy. And married.
I left the digital camera discs at my parents' house, so you will have to wait for pictures. As a matter of fact, you're going to have to wait for the whole blogged adventure of our wedding because we need to pack up, clean up and get out the door for our stay here.
Just keep in mind that no matter what Nancy and Chris tell you, it's all lies, lies, lies.
I did not dance to Nelly.
The DJ did not play all the songs I asked him not to.
I did not drink an entire bottle of tequila.
However, I did have a blast, as did our guests. And when they were all leaving - eight hours later! - each and every one of them said to me "what a fantastic wedding, and your friends Nancy and Chris are so great!" That much is true.
My judges did a fabulous job on the ceremony - it was heartwarming and sweet and made me cry. When they pronounced Justin and I husband and wife and we kissed, it was as if the world stopped turning just for us and for that one moment, we were the only people that existed. And then we realized where we were and we resisted the urge to strip and have wild honeymoon sex right there.
The DJ did play Baby Got Back. Everyone looked duly horrified except for the people dancing to it and the caterers, who seemed to enjoy it very much.
Everything else they tell you is a lie. Remember that.
We will be back on Wednesday and I'll have details and pictures if you're interested in that sort of thing.
Just one question - do people really have sex on their wedding night? Everyone I know who ever got married have always spoken of being too drunk or tired to even find their way into their partner's pants.
Anyhow, thank you to each and every one of you who left a nice comment or sent me an email. All your good wishes and good vibes helped make the day sunny and warm and fun and just perfect.
I'll be back Wednesday with full disclosure.
killing time
What kind of person blogs on their wedding day?
I'm up from 4am. I couldn't sleep. Everything's done except for the shower/hair/makeup stuff and I'll wait til the last minute for that. I only have to walk across the street to my parents' house about fifteen minutes before the ceremony.
I have no idea what to expect. My sister planned this whole thing with very little input from me. She wants me to be surprised at how the yard is decorated and all.
I've been pacing. I don't know what to do with myself. So I did what any bride to be would do on her wedding morning - I cleaned the hamster cage.
I'm suddenly nervous. I haven't eaten a thing and I don't think I will, which is probably not a great idea.
I know everything will run smooth. Right now my biggest concern is getting someone to tape Adult Swim for me tonight. Girl's gotta have her priorities.
I think I'm going to throw up. Two hours.
I think I'll go clean the frog tank now.
If I am at all coherent and awake late tonight, I will post pictures.
The next time you hear from me I will be married to the greatest guy in the world.
i'm getting married in the morning
I am officially 40 years old. It feels great. (I just found out I share a birthday with Tim Burton!)
Image courtesy of the wonderful Robyn
closer
My sisters called me old last night because I was ready to go home and crash by 9pm.
I had two bathtub sized margaritas. This place that we frequent has a tendency to make their margaritas strong enough to kill a small animal.
I'm not a big drinker, I've never been. I have zero tolerance for alchohol. One Drink Michele is what they used to call me, and that nickname still holds.
Two margaritas and I was wobbly on my feet. And ready for bed. It has nothing to do with turning 40 tomorrow, really. It has more to do with the fact that Paxil enhances the effect of alcohol, that I took two Claritin before dinner and that I was utterly exhausted to begin with.
It always looks so bad when someone goes to greath lengths to defend themselves, no?
So, I realize that I've been doing an awful lot of navel-gazing here and that this has sort of become A Small Victory - The Wedding Blog. I was going to change course today and write something about a theory that West Nile Virus is really a plague, set in motion by bio-terrorists years ago and only coming to fruition now. Well, I dreamed about it and it sounded good in the dream. Also in my dream, Glenn Reynolds was chasing Laurence Simon around with a bloody butcher knife. And Laurence was laughing.
And I you know what popped into my head at 3am when I woke up from that dream? Work. I realized that I was supposed to set a trial date for a case. I'm going to have some pissed attorneys waiting for me when I get back. I have to figure out a way to block work from my mind for the next few days.
Anyhow, I'm getting married tomorrow (as well as turning the big 4-0) and what did you really expect me to write about today? Deranged mosquitoes? Deranged bloggers? Seriously.
I'm at the excited stage now. Most of my nervousness about the wedding and reception are gone. It may have something to do with the wedding present my parents gave me yesterday - they have decided to foot the bill for the whole shindig. Very generous of them, considering they did this once already.
I do have the greatest parents in the world, and not just because they have allowed me to breathe a sigh of relief in relation to my empty bank account, but just because they love me so unconditionallly and so fully and even though they (mom especially) can be really annoying sometimes, they have always stood by me no matter what I did, no matter which choices I made, no matter what.
My sister Jo-Anne and her husband have been the driving force behind this wedding. They have done all the planning and plotting and scheduling. Not only do I have no control over what is going on tomorrow, I don't even know the half of it. They have coordinated the decorations and entertainment and whatever else this wedding will entail, all without my input or knowledge, for which I am eternally grateful. I love my family.
Because my family is so supportive of all I do, perhaps they won't mind if we really do use these vows tommorow. You think?
Today will be spent setting up my parents' yard for the ceremony and party, and doing last minute running around. I pick up Nancy from the airport at 5, where we will have a quick dinner before I deposit her on a train (she is staying at Choire's), and then I will go home and battle insomnia. I will not be able to sleep tonight. Bill is heading down from Canada and she will hook up with Nancy and I am every so grateful to the both of them for traveling beyond the call of friendship to attend our special day. (Oh, Nancy...Bill...perhaps you both can hook up with Chris and come in from the city together).
So, as I was trying to say before all my thoughts got in the way, I am one lucky gal. Tomorrow I will marry my best friend. You have no idea how fortunate I consider myself to be marrying Justin. There's just no possible way I can put it into the right words, especiall at 6am with a slight headache. Or maybe I did put it into the right words once before.
Before I head off for the business of getting hitched (oh please, like I'm not going to blog tonight or tomorrow morning), I just want to say thank you.
Thank you for all the wonderful emails of support and good wishes, thank you for everyone who left a comment wishing us luck, thank you to Mike for this hysterical post and Robyn and Todd for this lovely post, to everyone who sent us gifts - (real thank yous are forthcoming, I'm not a social moron, really) - we both appreciate all the love and friendship and your warmth and good vibes will be with us throughout the day tomorrow.
So, go spread the love ♥
(love spreading via Jhames and Frankie)
Now, about that West Nile theory....
love fest
Kisses for Baz and Melly and Choire and Ian and Tracy and Robyn and Todd and Jill and Stacy and Jessica and Aaron and James and.....and.....so many other people who I wish could be at our wedding on Sunday.
I'm going out with the girls now for dinner and a "few" drinks. Tequila for everyone! Oh man, if I have a shot for each one of you I may never recover.
I seriously love you guys.
Oh yea, that's my wedding hair cut. My first hair cut in over a year. It hurt.
my favorite rock star
Happy Birthday, Ian.
I can't say everything I want to say to you cause people would think that I'm really weird. And they would think that you are really weird, too. And, well.....yea.
Happy birthday you vegan bastard.
photoshop was calling me
Obviously, I had better things to do than go back to bed or check off my to-do list.
huh?
Sometimes I plan the night before what I will write here in the morning. It depends what my pressing issue of the day was. Politics, religion, parenting issues, action figure meetings.
Sometimes I don't know what I'm going to write about and I cruise around the news sites and other blogs until something catches my eye or makes me angry enough to want to spew here.
And sometimes, I just write, in a journal sort of way. I just type the first sentence and the rest flows out and before I know it I've written an unplanned monologue about everything and nothing at all.
Today was one of those days where whatever I had on my mind last night disappeared in between the dreams about Vin Diesel abducting my kids and a courthouse drama where I was maintaining my innoncence in cheating on a driver's test.
An hour ago, I sat in the computer chair, fingers poised over the keyboard and waited. I may have fallen asleep. I had nothing. Well, I had a lot of things, but my thoughts were so jumbled and wreckless that they would have made sense to not a single soul, not even me. I would have had to decipher my own writing at some point.
I went outside and had a cigarette. Cigarettes taste really good at 4:30 in the morning. There's something just wrong about having a smoke that early, when the entire neighborhood is still snoring. It makes me think of the old days, when 4:30 was the same as 8:00 which was the same as midnight because when you have insomnia, time is irrelevant.
I don't know how I functioned back then, not eating, not sleeping, chain smoking and listening to Stabbing Westward on an endless repeating loop. Maybe I didn't function at all.
I seem to be not functioning today. As I sit here it is still dark out. This time just two weeks ago, daylight was already trickling in the windows. Now, with August almost at a close, the moon stares at me through the slit in the blinds and the shortness of the days makes my chest tight.
I'm frozen in a state of panic and delerium. My mind races with all the things I need to do before Sunday and the ideas and lists spin in my head like sneakers in a dryer, thumping and bumping and distracting me. I stare wild-eyed at the computer and instead of jumping up and starting in on those lists and to-dos, I stare some more. I am frozen. Non-functioning.
Sure, it's only 5:30 in the morning. I have the whole day ahead of me. But time has a way of escaping with a hiss like air leaking out of your car tire and before you know it, all my tires are flat and I'm on the couch, taking a nap because it's useless to even try to move the vehicle that is my mind without being reminded that I'm out of air. I don't even have a spare.
The solution, of course, is going back to bed. Stop staring at the clock and thinking how early it is and how I should have never gotten up at 4:30 and just go. Just crawl under the cool covers and bury my head in the pillow and sleep like normal people do at this hour. Then I will wake up refreshed and confident and ready to conquer all of life's mysteries and to do lists.
I sound like a douche commercial.
I'm going back to bed. I need to go kick Vin Diesel's ass, anyhow. I'll deal with the wedding and birthday stuff later. Maybe.
the music never stopped
We finally made a partial playlist for the wedding. The rest we will leave up to the DJ. I'll just tune him out when he plays whatever pop crap the kids request. Though some of my little cousins have already requested Ja Rule. I don't think so. Jay-Z, yes. Ja-Rule, no.
So, for interested parties, the partial playlist (in no particular order, yet):
Portishead - Glory Box
Mr. Bungle - Retrovertigo
Nick Cave - Ship Song
Radiohead - No Suprises
Lovage- Everyone Has A Summer
Bad Religion - Infected
Incubus - Anti-Gravity Love Song
Screaming Trees - I Nearly Lost You
Sade - Smooth Operator
Specials - Message To You, Rudy
Nick Cave - Lime Tree Arbor
Faith No More - Stripsearch
Beck - Soul Suckin' Jerk
Squirrel Nut Zippers - Hell
Dead Milkmen - If You Love Somebody Set Them On Fire
Smashing Pumpkins - Mayonaise
Pist*On - Grey Flap
Ultraspank - Five
Roy Orbison - Running Scared
Stroke 9 - Kick Some Ass
Linkin Park - With You
Faith No More - Evidence
War - Cisco Kid
Sublime - 40 oz To Freedom
Toadies - Tyler
Barry White - You're The First, The Last, My Everything
Jay Z - H.O.V.A.
Jay Z - Big Pimpin'
Nine Inch Nails - Terrible Lie
Pixies - Where Is My Mind
Ramones - Blitzkreig Bop
Smiths - This Charming Man
Duran Duran - Planet Earth
Marvin Gaye - Let's Get It On
Ministry - Every Day Is Halloween
Foo Fighters - Hey, Johnny Park
Prong - Snap Your Fingers, Snap Your Neck
MC 900Ft Jesus - If I Only Had A Brain
Hum - Stars
Gravity Kills - Enough
Butthole Surfers - I Had A Dream Last Night
Type O Negative - Love You To Death
Failure - Stuck on You
And that's as far as we got. That doesn't count the Sinatra and Elvis and everything the DJ has planned already. We are working on an new wave/metal list for later on in the night, when most of the easily-offended adults and children are long gone. I'm still taking suggestions, which may be easier now that you know where our musical sensibilities lie.
One more job finished. Got shoes and a new bra today. Haircut tomorrow. I feel like I can breathe. These tequila sno-cones sure are helping.
Timber!
I imagine the meeting went something like this:
Advisor #1: Now, about those forest fires...
Bush: Boy, I bet my approval rating would go sky high if I could put out all those fires.
Advisor #1: Well, it's not like you could really put the fires out. Literally, at least.
Bush proceeds to unzip his fly and laugh like a little school boy.
Advisor #2: Mr. President, you couldn't put out a match with that thing.
Advisor #1: We thought perhaps if we tackled this from an economic point of view, we could find a solution.
Bush: Looks like that Smokey fella didn't do a very good job, did he? Can we fire him? Can't we make him a scapegoat?
Advisor #2: Smokey?
Bush: Smokey the bear!!!
Advisor#1: Umm...Mr. President, Smokey the bear is just a.....
Advisor#2: (kicks advisor #1 under the table and whispers) Shhhh....he thinks Smokey is r-e-a-l.
Bush: Hey! I have a great idea!
Advisor #1 (groaning to himself): Great, Mr. President. What's your idea?
Bush: Oh, you're gonna love this! It's brilliant! See, if there were no trees, there wouldn't be any fires!!!
Advisor #2: No trees?
Bush: No trees! Remember that logger fella we met with once? He could do it. Him and all his friends!
Advisor #1 (to advisor #2) Actually, he might have a plan there.
Bush: (pumping his fists in the air) Take that, Smokey! Who can prevent forest fires? I can prevent forest fires!! I'm smarter than Smokey! Whoooo!
Action Figures Alive! Part 2
(note, there were supposed to be pictures to go along with this post, but my A drive has suddenly decided it doesn't want to be recognized. Use your imagination)
Spiderman: The general meeting of the Action Figures Coalition is now called to order. First, we would like to welcome the newest members of our Coalition, He-Man, Skeletor and Battle Cat.
All: Welcome!
He-Man: It's a pleasure to be here.
Skeletor: Yea, whatever. Where's the coffee and donuts I was promised?
Boba Fett: Ugh. I hate you guys that come here just for the refreshments. This is a serious group.
Edward Scissorhands: I have a question, Spidey.
Spiderman: Edward has the floor. Everyone, please remember the rules. Be respectful of the person that is talking. That means you, Wolverine. Keep your chatter down.
Edward: Well, I don't want to come off as accusatory, but He-Man looks as if he's been taking steroids.
He-Man: Idiot! I'm He-Man! I'm supposed to be muscular!
Luke Skywalker: Well, there's muscular and then there's freak of nature. You're the latter.
He-Man: You're just jealous because you were made to look like such a wimp!
Luke: I am not a wimp! I'm a hero!
Skeletor: Hero, my ass. Hey everyone, Luke is sleeping with Aquaman! Hahahaha!
(much laughter from crowd. Aquaman gets up and runs out the door, crying)
Spiderman: Awww, geez. Must you guys do this every time? Crow, go get him.
Edward: Anyhow, back to He-Man's steroids...
He-Man: I am NOT on steroids!
Mark McGwire: Test him! Test him!
Batman: How are you going to test him? If he's not anatomically correct, he can't exactly pee in a cup for you.
Skeletor: Cut him open! Let me do it!
He-Man: Man, I hate being the new guy. Why is everyone picking on me already?
Ash: Maybe because you look like you swallowed Arnold Schwarzenegger ?
Spiderman: Hey! Hey! Battle Cat! Get away from Leonardo!
Sandman: Oh my god. He ate him.
Iceman: That is just gross.
He-Man: Well, you said there would be refreshments....
Raphael: Shut up, you steroid freak! Your cat just ate my best friend!
Spiderman: Order! Order! Can we have some order here?
Batman: Oh, this is just ridiculous. Every time we have a meeting, someone gets eaten and Aquaman cries.
Spiderman: I still say we should separate the evil figures from the good figures. It would solve a lot of problems.
Skeletor: Oh, you want to put us in camps or something, is that it? Should we just start calling you General Ashcroft now?
Spiderman: Hey, that's not what I meant, I just mean....some of you are more inherently evil than others. You can usually tell by the eyes.
Green Goblin: Profiling! He's Profiling! Someone call the ACLU! Call the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund!
Spiderman: This is bullshit. Half of you guys just come to these meetings to argue and call names. And then you think you can get away with everything you do because of free speech. Well, I got news for you, I'm the leader of this coalition and if I want to ship you all off somewhere else for being insubordinate, I can! You damn liberal figures!
Skeletor: Hey, if you put a wig on him, he could be Ann Coulter!
Edward: All I wanted was to address the He-Man steroid thing and look what happens.
Iceman: Well there's no way we could tell if he's on steroids if he can't pee.
Edward. Oh, yes there is!
(Edward lunges at He-Man and tries to rip open He-Man's chest with his scissor hands. As he is about to cut into him, Optimus Prime, always the latecomer, walks through the door)
Optimus: Hey, everyone, I brought donuts!
Everyone crowds around Optimus, forgetting all about their fights and arguments.
Optimus: So why is Aquaman out in the hall crying again? Don't tell me Luke broke up with him?
Everyone burst out in good-natured laughter (except Luke) and they consume donuts and coffee until it's time to go back to their frozen stances on the shelves.
The end.
*note* I would like to believe that Justin is the only person who ever received He-Man actions figures as a wedding gift from his fiance.
elephant parade
I read an elephant joke tonight.
My father told me this one when I was small:
Q: How do you catch an elephant?
A: First, you dig a really big hole. Then you put peanuts all around the edge of the hole. Then, when the elephant comes over to eat one of the peanuts, you kick him in the ash hole.
Funny guy, my father.
Tell me some elephant jokes. I need to giggle.
and then they found her under the table, passed out for the night
For anyone who wants to come to my wedding but can't, fear not. Mike has blogged the whole thing before it has even happened.
Mike is one swell guy.
Oh, I just noticed the number of that blog entry.
I happened to catch "The Omen" on Bravo today.
Be afraid, be very afraid.
I've always wanted to join a sinister cabal
Please don't kick my ass. I'm just taking a short break to tell you that I am officially part of blogcritics (A sinister cabal of the web's best writers on music, books and popular culture miscellanea - updated continuously ) now, and while I have yet to post anything there, you should really go read every single story and article that is up. Really.
Wayne Robins is part of blogcritics, also. Waybe Robins, who I grew up reading and being envious of. I'm telling you, it takes so little to make me grin like an idiot.
Break over. I'm going to watch the Yankee game take care of some more wedding stuff.
how many people want to kick some ass?
Today (four days before the wedding) is the day I really get everything done.
If you see that I've made a post here any time before at least 6pm, please come over here and kick my ass. Seriously. Hard.
(Bill, G and Matt: I owe you all emails and apologies. All forthcoming)
summer of rock
Long Island, New York, 1973:
My cousin had this huge album collection. The albums lined his walls on wooden shelves that sagged under their weight. Each album was tucked in a plastic sleeve, and each sleeve was inscribed in indelible marker the artist, title and year of purchase.
1973, the summer I became interested in music beyond AM Top 40 radio, I snuck into my cousin's bedroom and went through his albums one at a time.
Led Zeppelin. Frank Zappa. New York Dolls. Genesis. Not all of the names stuck with me at that moment, but I would come across them again later, when I became a true slave to rock and roll.
One day, I'm pretty sure it was around the Fourth of July, I was in the room again, staring at the vinyl and the artwork on the covers. I wanted to listen. I wanted to hear. Something about those rock and roll records drew me towards them. I heard footsteps coming up the stairs and hurredly picked an album from the wall. Led Zeppelin 4. I ran out of the room, down the hallway and hid in the bathroom until I was sure my cousin had gone out again. When he left I went back in his room and lifted the lid to the record player.
I pulled LZ4 out of its cover and placed it gently - using just the edges of my fingers the way I was told - on the turntable. I lifted the arm, positioned it over the very first groove. I put the needle down.
Scratch. Crackle.
Hey hey mama said the way you move, gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove.
The lone, strong voice coming from the speakers made my heart skip a beat.
Then that guitar. The voice again. The guitar again. I was mesmerized.
The song ended. More scratches and crackles, those sounds of well-loved use that cds do not let you hear.
It's been a long time since I rock and rolled
Yea, yea! I've heard that song before!
I skipped over The Battle of Nevermore, skipped over Going to California, although later I would come to love that particular song for sentimental reasons. I listened to When the Levee Breaks five times before I gently lifted the vinyl from the turntable and placed it back in its sleeve. I held the album against me. My love affair had begun.
I tried Led Zeppelin 2. Oh, my. Heartbreaker. Ramble On. Living Loving Maid.
I sat in that room for hours, pulling albums off of the shelf, sampling them and putting them back, committing the names and lyrics to memory.
Black Sabbath. The Who. Alice Cooper. T Rex. David Bowie. MC5. I was in a frenzy, sampling everything that looked like it wasn't your typical AM radio fodder. Iggy Pop. The Doors. Velvet Underground.
I stopped reading teen crush magazines that summer and started reading Creem. I spent hours examining every word, every story, every feature article. When I was done with the magazine, I would cut out the pictures and hang them on the bulletin board in my room. I wrote letters to the editor, usually berating them for one thing or another. Creem pissed me off but, for a while, it was the only rock and roll magazine that mattered.
I spent most of that summer in my room with stealthily borrowed albums. Sometimes, the music would shake the walls. Sometimes, it would shake my very soul. Always, I would be creating my own American dream of becoming a rock star or at least a rock critic.
Through the years my tastes changed. Bands came and went. I did the whole punk thing, and the underground thing and the heavy metal thing. While the genres have changed, the rock and roll underlying it all has stayed constant.
Still, on hot, humid summer days when I escape to the dark of my air-conditioned bedroom to beat the heat, I can close my eyes and be back there. The scratch of the vinyl. The feel of the needle under your finger as you gently wipe dust from it. I think about that summer and how rock and roll changed my life. It took me down a different path, a different excursion than I thought I would travel. I never did become that rock critic (although I did a stint once for a local music paper, but they fired me after my first review was a scathing indictment of Mark McGrath), although I do spend a lot of time criticizing the current state of rock.
1973, my summer of rock and roll, the summer that shaped the rest of my days.
mystery maus
We received two more wedding presents in the mail today.
Thank you Robyn and Todd for the lovely gifts. I don't know why, but I just had to have that oil sprayer. And Justin loves the pepper mill. You guys are incredibly sweet.
We received another gift off of our wishlist; a copy of Maus, something I have wanted for a long time. There was a really nice note with the gift, but unfortunately, Amazon failed to print the name of the giver on the sheet. So will the person who purchased this for us please come forward to claim your thanks?
*update*
Mystery solved. Thank you, Chris for a wonderful gift. The funny thing is, I said to Justin "this seems like something Chris would send." You made my day!
stream of unconciousness
So much to do, so much to do.
So why am I sitting here in a daze, doing nothing?
I keep feeling like I'm losing my footing, as if I the world is slipping away beneath my feet and I will fall on my face any moment.
That's literally, not figuratively. I walked through the wet parking lot today in tippy toe baby steps because I had this crazy idea that I was going to trip and fall if I didn't.
On the list of things to do: Buy underthings. Shoes. Chain smoke. Haircut. Have panic attack. Pick Nancy up at airport. Shoes, damn it. DJ can't wear sneakers and he has no shoes. Shoes for me, shoes for DJ. Worry that my outfit doesn't stand up well next to Justin's $400 suit. Fuck that, I'm going to look great. And if I don't, you will all pretend I do. Cry. Chain smoke. Sacrifice a virgin to the weather gods. Drink. Drink. Smoke. Drink. Smoke. Pace. Take Excedrin. Take the Hello Kitty vibrator off the wedding registry list. Explain vibrator concept to relatives. Or not. Empty bank account. Empty wallet. Empty piggy bank. Write overdrawn checks. Execdrin, NyQuil, Marlboro Menthol Lights, Tequila. Check, check, check, check. Pick up Paxil from pharamcist. Oh christ, could you imagine if I ran out of Paxil now? Stop writing stream of concious thoughts. Vows. Write vows instead. Plan ceremony with comedian/judge. Turn 40. Get married.
And after that whole checklist is done there is this. A luxurious room with a king-sized bed and a balcony overlooking the Long Island Sound.
Until then, just keep giving me cigarettes, porn and filled shotglasses. I'll make it until Sunday somehow.
bobble rivalry
The baseball wars in my family continue.
DJ bought this Roger Clemens bobbin head for my mother (and I did have to refrain from making any obvious bobbin' Roger's head jokes to her) at McDonald's. He used five dollars of his own hard earned money to purchase this gift for his grandma.
When we went to my parent's house on Monday, it was obvious my father had taken Roger hostage. After adding the scars and necessary adornments, my father placed the doll at his computer desk, where he would take the time to punch it in the face every time he sat down. I also heard he was using it in an attempt to sabotage Clemens' performance during a game, using Bobble Head Voodoo.
Let it be known that we have purchased a McDonald's Mike Piazza Bobble Head.
Revenge shall be ours, served with a side of french fries.
misguided guidance
I was reading comments - and posting some of my own - over at Little Green Footballs yesterday in regards to the NEA's suggested curriculum for September 11th. (See here and here)
It is the plan for "Tolerance in Times of Trial" that bothered me, as well as over one hundred people who left comments on LGF.
You know if you read my site on any kind of regular basis that I am a proponent of racial and ethnic tolerance. I am not a conservative by any means and I embrace multi-culturalism as a way to make this country a sum of its parts rather than a fragmented society.
But there is a time and a place for everything, as well as a correct way to approach ideas.
September 11th should not be a day to examine blame for a tragedy that killed thousands of people.
From "Teaching Tolerance":
To explore the problems inherent in assigning blame to populations or nations of people by looking at contemporary examples of ethnic conflict, discrimination, and stereotyping at home and abroad"
The page then links to a PBS: America Responds, which is a part of the Teaching Tolerance lesson.
From that page:
8. Examine how the media portrays people of Arab descent, through an analysis of movies like The Seige, True Lies, and the upcoming Tom Clancy thriller, The Sum of All Fears
Has anyone thought of how this would make any Arab children in the classroom feel? Many of the suggested lesson plans examine stereotypes. I know in my school district, there is a pretty fair percentage of children of Middle Eastern descent; they might feel just a bit uncomfortable with the day's agenda.
It is my belief that September 11th should be a day to remember those whose lives were lost. Nothing more. Reading through both the NEA lesson plan and the PBS plan, it seems to me like they would like to turn the day into a lesson about placing blame - and part of that blame lies with America, it would seem.
This is an agenda, not a lesson plan. It does not belong in a classroom on a such somber day. This trivializes the death of thousands of innocent victims. Regardless of the hows and the whys of of the attack, regardless of accepting or placing blame, this does not belong in a classroom on this day.
The NEA certainly is not the only group of people who will be using September 11th to push their own viewpoints. Some people want to make it a day of flag-waving and patriotism. That's what the Fourth of July is for. This is not a day to celebrate our freedoms. This is a day to grieve and mourn and memorialize. It is not an appropriate time to stand on the ground where a travesty took place and read the Gettysburg Address. It is not a political rally, a lesson in ethnic profiling, a day to eschew your values and views.
I would be loathe to send my children off to school that day only to have them come home and tell me how their day was spent learning all the ways in which America brought this on themselves, or how many different stereotypes there are for terrorists.
What is wrong with a simple vigil or memorial service? What is wrong with just saying "Let's remember those who died. Does anyone have anything they want to share about how they felt that day?" And maybe my son or daughter would get up and talk about Pete Ganci, a family friend. Perhaps my daughter's classmate would get up and talk about the loss of his father. Maybe my son's teacher from last year - whose husband worked in the World Trade Center - would relate how she felt when she heard the news. They could discuss their ideas for replacing the towers. They could discuss ways to deal with all the emotions that come with anniversary of that date. They could read a little bit about some of the people who died that day. Or they could just have a moment of silence and proceed with their school day.
It's not just the schools or the NEA I'm concerned with. Anyone who turns September 11th into a day to push political or social agendas or a chance to wave their flag in a show of misplaced patriotism has got it all wrong.
book whore
