Extraordinary Popular Delusions

Friday, December 30, 2005

Much better

Thanks for tolerating my little rant a few days ago. As you may have noticed, I never promised you a rose garden. But I also didn't warn you just how dark it can get in here. I've really only had two or three episodes like that since Thanksgiving, and that was about the worst of them. BTW, and in case you're worried about me, I was much better as soon as I typed it. I didn't realize how cathartic this can be.

I have an old friend who tells the story of being in a dark funk once, and another old friend (whom I've never met, I don't think) told her she needed to put her energies into writing. Or as he phrased it, "Go. Write. Only you can drain the poison from your soul." He hit that nail square on the head.

Incidentally, she's a published sci-fi author now.

Anyway, thanks for putting up with me. As I write this, it's 5:55 on New Year's Eve Eve, and hubby's in the bunny suit getting ready to paint Fiver*. We've been taping it up all day, and I'm just spent.

*You have no idea where this name came from, do you?

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

I should have known

I don't know how much time I've got, but I'm sure it's not enough. So this is gonna ramble. Deal.

A few weeks ago, I said again what I've said numerous times in the past: that I would gladly give up a third of my life if I could just take it off of the end of every year. I even adopted an underpriveleged kid in the hopes that I wouldn't hate Christmas quite so much, but there's no use. I really, truly, deeply despise this time of year. Please, God, don't ever make me live through another Thanksgiving/Christmas/New Year's.

My company closes every year between Christmas and New Year's Day. This year that's the 23rd through the 2nd. What they don't tell you when you get hired is that you're required to use your vacation time to pay for this. So that paltry two weeks they gave you when you came to work there? Four of those ten days will be used at their discretion to cover days that they want to close even though you don't want to close and don't mind being at work. And no, you can't take the time off unpaid.

Yes, I knew I was getting into this when I went there. Yes, I resent it enough that I seriously thought about calling my old contract shop and asking if they have any contracts available for somebody like me. I left on good terms, and I'm sure they'd love to have me back. Except my employer is being sold this spring to a company whose benefits are allegedly better. I'll give them a few more months before I start looking again.

That's bitch point #1.

So I've got 11 days off and abso-fucking-lutely NOTHING to do, because EVERYBODY that I know is at work this week. I figured I would recaulk my shower and re-paste the edges of the wallpaper that is coming loose in the bathroom. And then came the honey-do list.

  • Cancel Vonage.
  • Call Verizon and ask if they have any bundles that include VOIP and DirecTV, because we saw the word "DirecTV" on their website, and since we're already a subscriber, maybe we can save some money. And maybe not have to give up our phone number.
  • Sign up with AT&T anyway*, even though it means giving up the home phone number.
  • Call AmEx and report my credit card stolen because that's the only way we've found to cancel Vonage service**.
  • Drive to the Gwinnett county tax assessor's office to find out if there's a sewer line directly behind the commercial building we own, because we'd like to add on to the back if possible. That means going from the tax assessor's office to the transportation office to permits (in a different building) to planning and development to stormwater management to public utilities central office (in another building). Yes there's a sewer line there. No, we can't build across it.

Did I say I had nothing to do?

Then last night we went to allegedly the last Christmas party of the year, for my partner's professional guild. I say allegedly, because I've been hearing for three weeks that this one tonight is the last Christmas party of the year, only to hear the same thing again the next night. Our big party? Our dinner party? The cosmo party? Our work party? Last one of the year, all of them.

And I was up a pound at my weigh-in last week, and I underestimated how much that would bug me. So when I see my partner cooking like he's feeding the Argonauts, and I keep reminding him that we're going to have tons of leftovers and we don't need three pumpkin pies, and I can tell that he's depressed too and he's doing this so that maybe he'll enjoy the season... then I shut up and help. Even if it makes me fat.

So last night I went to the "last" Christmas party of the year, and I had a light dinner before I went, because I don't need to stand near the food table and graze. And three -- THREE -- different people argued with me when I said, "thank-you-but-I-really-don't-want-any-food/wine/calories." Oh, but it's Christmas! they said.

Folks, when a person smiles and sweetly says, "no thank you," it's because they're trying not to scream I SAID NO GOD DAMMIT ARE YOU DENSE!?!?!?! Trust me on that.

Just one more thing to resent.

And, oh yeah: on the way out of the party, a very sweet lady handed me a gift for me and hubby. A plate of homemade shortbread.

So hubby tells me he's off to visit his grandmother on Wednesday. And this morning at breakfast, he asks if I want to go with him, since I don't have anything else to do.

Do I want to go? No, I don't. I really, really don't. I'm not seeing any of my family this Christmas (which is just fine with me; it's an over-rated holiday and any special visits this time of year seem forced, because visiting is what you're supposed to do). And never mind that my grandmother is in a nursing home and has been for 5 years now, and he's only been with me once to visit her. And I really don't fault him for that, because nursing homes are awful places and I wouldn't ask my dog to go with me to visit her there. (And I don't fault the workers in these places; you people are saints.) And I'm seriously, honestly glad that he went with me once. And I know that my great-grandmother spent her last years in a nursing home, and my grandmother is doing the same thing. And even though my mother says she understands and that she doesn't want us to feel burdened if we ever have to do the same thing to her... it bugs me. I don't want my grandmother there. I don't want my mother there. And I don't want to be there ever again, in the bed or out of it.

For the record, I don't get to visit my grandmother often, since I live several hours away. I do make it a point to send her a letter as often as I can, along with pictures if I have them. At least that way she knows that I'm thinking of her, and she can share any news or stories I send with her other visitors.

After several minutes of pondering all of this, hubby said I didn't have to go if I had something else to do. I asked if he would be disappointed if I didn't go... and he paused several seconds before answering. That's my answer, I guess.

So today, I'm off to visit a woman who has always been cordial to me, but isn't my family. And I'm going to support my partner, who's going (I think) because he feels like he needs to. And we're going to spend 5 hours in the car. And we're going to hear how awful it is that we didn't visit/call on Christmas. And she's going to load us down with more calories in the form of Chex mix***. And we're going to hear about all the wonderful things the rest of the family did even though the only thing they really did was not-move-away.

And oh yeah. I've learned not to ask his grandmother if she's ever going to come visit us, because I'm tired of her turning away from us and staring at the wall until one of us changes the subject. Fine. You want to pretend that the reason you're not visiting us is because of the traffic, even though you drive to Atlanta to visit cousins and siblings? Go right ahead. You don't owe me anything, and I don't expect it. And I know you think I'm the pervert who stole your grandson and made him "one of them there hom'sexuals"... even though there are far fucking bigger skeletons on the other side of the family****. You're breaking your grandson's heart, and I resent you for that. Because he loves you, and he tries. And he doesn't deserve to be treated that way.

And yeah. That's pretty much it.

So he went in to work for a little while this morning, and before he gets back, I've got to put on shoes and feed the dogs and strap on a smile and get ready for a drive up into the hills to visit his grandmother. Because that's what Christmas means to me.

*Why are we sticking with a VOIP provider? Because there's a physical problem with the land lines in our neighborhood, and you can't hear the person you're calling over the background noise on the line. Seriously, it's louder than the dial tone.
**Yeah, no I'm not kidding. We've been trying to cancel since this summer. They're significantly harder to ditch than cancer. Even harder than AOL.
***Really, I'm genuinely honored that people spend their time to make us gifts like these. Most of them are home-made, and I really appreciate the effort. But dear God, please don't make me smile and accept another gift of food.
****Shouldn'a typed that. Oh well.

Sunday, December 25, 2005

This bugs me

I got up this morning to find a car parked in front of our house by our mailbox. At first I though it was a black Saab (which a friend of mine drives), so I peered out the window to take a closer look. No, it was a car I didn't recognize, with a man that I didn't recognize sitting in the passenger seat with the door open, holding the collar of a dog I didn't recognize.

First thought: Oh great. My dogs are gonna love that when they go out to snoop around the mailbox later.

Over the next half hour, my thought progression went something like this:

I wonder what's going on. Is he having car trouble? Wow, on Christmas morning too. I wonder if I should invite him in. Mm, no. I don't know if he's got a knife or anything, and besides, hubby's still in bed. Plus, what would we do with the dog? Maybe I could offer him something: coffee? A phone? Well, he's sitting still, so it looks like he's waiting on someone. Apparently he's already called. Besides, I'd have to get dressed, and I don't really want to do that yet. So much for the spirit of the season. Yeah, I know. Jesus would invite him in and start making breakfast. And Jesus would probably make his own dogs go hungry so their visitor dog could have breakfast. Except that Jesus would be too young, so he'd ask Mary & Joseph to do it. No, I'll just leave that one alone.

I wonder if he knows I'm in here. I wonder if he's seen me? Because if I see him from 20 feet away, I'll probably be guilted into talking to him. And yet, I can't help but check to see if he's still out there. Yup, still there.

Oh good. My shepherd just barked once, apparently to alert this interloper to her presence. Wait, what's that noise?


I go back out to check the street. The car is gone, and there's an animal control truck there. I assume this guy found the dog running around and called animal control. And the dog looked healthy and well-cared-for. Obviously this is somebody's pet.

About eight years ago, I left my backyard gate open late one evening, and my dogs went roaming. I didn't realize they were gone 'til the following morning, and I was a wreck ALL. DAY. LONG. A very nice lady who lived about 2 miles away found them, fed them, and put up signs to find me, so we were separated less than 24 hours. Still, that was a very long, painful day. I can't imagine what it must feel like to lose a child.

This is an easy one to remedy: put a collar and an ID tag on your animals. Petsmart has self-service engrave-while-you-wait machines for just a few bucks. I'll let you decide how much info you want to put on the tag, but your phone number is a must. Microchip ID is fine and good, but you have to have the scanner to read it. A tag with a phone number means this guy could have called the owners directly, and the dog could already be home. Now somebody's going to spend Christmas Day heartbroken, looking for their dog. Petsmart will be open tomorrow. You can go on your lunch hour.

Merry Christmas

Well, it's 10:07 on Christmas morning, and hubby's still in bed. We cooked Christmas Eve dinner for 10 people last night, and didn't get in bed until sometime after 2:00. That's OK, though. We had a wonderful time, and I hope our friends did too.

Last weekend, we had our big "Christmas Party." That's the one that involves a caterer and a bartender* and 50 or so people. It's fun too -- but it's a lot of work, and I've bitched about it for years. I thought maybe I was becoming antisocial. (Join me later this morning for services in the church of I Hate Everybody.) This year it occurred to me: it's not that I dislike these folks. I genuinely like all of them, or they wouldn't be in my house. No, my problem is that I don't want them all in my house at the same time. Or rather, I don't want to be responsible for entertaining them all at the same time.

Years ago, our Christmas parties looked a lot like last night: sit-down dinner prepared by us for a small group of our close friends. It's a lot less formal**, but a lot more fun. At 2:00 this morning, as we were getting in to bed, hubby said that he felt like he'd done Christmas for the first time in years. Don't be surprised if the big party gets scaled back a lot in the future.

And Merry Christmas to everybody. Go open your presents. :o)

*BTW, looks like I may have to supply my own next year. Anybody know a bartender who's GOOD (extra point if he's cute; jackpot if he's gay) and works parties in the Atlanta area? I'd really like good and cute, but first and foremost he's got to be good.
**Actually, from an entertaining standpoint, it's a lot more formal. But these friends got to peer behind the curtain while we erred our way through cooking dinner. And drinking. Heavily.

Thursday, December 22, 2005

OK, this made me laugh

I'd completely forgotten this little detail. It came up in a Google image search based on a comment Jon just made. Seems Grizzly Adams had a sidekick.

Ben the Bear. Friendly grizzly bear starring on the adventure THE LIFE AND TIMES OF GRIZZLY ADAMS/NBC/1977-78. Ben (short for Benjamin Franklin) was the companion of mountain man James Capen "Grizzly" Adams (Dan Haggerty) who originally escaped to the safety of the wilderness after being falsely accused of a crime. Grizzly Adams had originally rescued Ben from the ledge of a rocky slope when the bear was a cub. Adams raised the cub and soon they became life-long friends and shared many adventures together.

My hero

So here I am, like 6 feet away from the shortbread, and so far I've been able to avoid it completely today, thanks to a few things.

1. My abject despair over acting like a starving pig yesterday.
2. My Prince Of Wales tea.
3. Fruities.

Yes, Fruities. They're a faux candy sorta chewy thingee that Weight Watchers sells, probably for a buttload of money*. They're like one point for the whole pack of twelve. I didn't think I'd like them, because I don't usually crave candy. But for days like this, when I'm trying to keep something in my mouth** so I don't bury my nose in the shortbread, they work pretty well. They're little rubbery things that taste sorta like Coolie.

Oh. My. God. Does anybody else remember those Coolie commercials, where a bunch of people dressed up in Coolie cartons go running over the hill like that last scene of The Seventh Seal, all while those kids keep singing that insipid little cutesy jingle?

Coo Coo Coolie! Orange Coolie! Lemon Coolie! Coolie Fruit Punch!
Coolie in the morning! Coolie at lunch! Natural fruit flavors: orange, lemon, punch!

*I didn't buy these. They were a free promotional thingee.)
**Oh, stop it.

Cuter than usual

The first post is the original photo. I wish I was this creative.

Merry Christmas! Pursuant to section IV, article 7, paragraph 2

I'm actually OK that my company doesn't give year-end bonuses. I mean, I've got friends who get them (and watch 58% go right back out again in taxes), but I really don't expect them. The whole nature of a bonus is that it's unexpected, at least in my mind. I don't expect it, I don't get it. No big deal.

What my company does do is hand out gift cards to a local supermarket in the amount of $20. OK, it's better than nothing, I guess. But I dislike this particular supermarket so much that it's almost worth foregoing the card: I've seriously considered whether it's worth $20 to walk into Kroger. Not that I've ever had a run-in with Kroger. Their stores just feel junky. ('Twas a dark day when Harris Teeter decided to pull out of Atlanta, though is a pretty darned good substitute. And they're almost on my way home from work.)

No, the chintzy part of this whole deal is the notice which my employer started affixing to the card last year:
Important Notice
Due to IRS guidelines, gift certificates/cards given to employees must be treated as compensation unless the gift certificate/card is restricted to the purchase of an identified item. The enclosed Kroger gift card with a value of $20.00 must be used to purchase one of the following items: a turkey, ham, roast or vegetarian substitute.
No word on whether Cheetos count as a suitable vegetarian substitute.

In which I become a fat-ass grinch

So I've been really lucky with Weight Watchers so far. At my last weigh-in, I was down by 26 lbs since we started in October. In fact, every weigh-in so far has been down, and all but one have been down by more than a pound. Down over Thanksgiving, down the first two weeks of December.

Then this week hit.
  • Weigh in Saturday morning.
  • Christmas party Saturday night.
  • Birthday party Sunday.
  • On Monday, our print vendor sent us a gift basket from Harry & David.
  • Tuesday, our admin brought in homemade cookies.
  • Yesterday, a co-worker brought in a Whitman's sampler box.
  • Dinner most of the week has been left-over food from Saturday's party.
Our editor usually makes small bags of homemade shortbread as a gift for everyone in my department. Hubby doesn't care for it, so I usually end up eating it all myself. Can't help it. It tastes like lard and flour, dusted with sugar. So while I appreciate the gesture, I was sorta dreading this year and wondering how I was gonna deal with it. This year, she didn't have time to package them, so she brought in a huge tray of shortbread along with ziploc baggies and told folks to fill up their own bags.

And nobody's done that yet. So all that food is still sitting in my admin's cube: Harry & David, cookies, chocolate, shortbread. I ate maybe a third of the shortbread that was consumed yesterday.

And this morning, I was up a full 4.5 lbs over last Saturday's weigh-in.

This morning, I brought in a box of truffles that our neighbors gave us Saturday night, and I put them in the breakroom for our floor. (It serves about 100 people, as opposed to our admin's cube, which serves a dozen people.) They were completely wiped out in 30 minutes.

It's my first step toward damage control.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Radio Free Europe

This internet thing continues to be pretty cool for learning languages. I’ve started dialing in to foreign radio channels for some time to listen to whatever-it-is-they’re-talking-about-at-the-time. Trouble is, most radio stations play music, which would be fine except that they play English-language music. Even in countries that don’t speak English. But with a little searching I’ve come up with a few talk radio stations that aren’t too bad:

(who let you view their website in one of 30 languages, so you can figure out how to listen even if you don’t read German) and . These are both pretty good NPR-style sites, balancing their airtime between classical music and Third World News.

I tuned in to Deutschlandfunk once and heard 20th-century white southern gospel music a la Buryl Red, obviously sung by Americans. Turns out they’d gotten hold of some recording of some youth cantata from some church in Tennessee. Not my most surreal moment ever*, but it was pretty cool.

But sometimes both of these sites are playing music, so I started looking for a couple of alternates. That’s when I found : a weekly gay talk show that originates in Hamburg. They usually keep about two months worth of back shows online; I’ve been right-clicking and saving them to listen to later. Their interview with Jimmy Sommerville (questions in German, answers in English) was a head-trip of the highest order.

In fact, I liked Pink Channel so much that I started looking for a similar show from France. Voila . And it’s available as a podcast. I tell ya, I’m so hip it scares me sometimes.

*That involved Weimaraners, antiques, and Ride of the Valkyries.

I gotta tell ya...

Calvin as a budding reporter for WSB.

I can't stop myself, it's a new religion

OK, it wasn't that long ago that the first day of winter really bummed me out. I mean, I'm becoming a sun bunny the older I get, and I really don't relish this idea of being cooped up in the house for the next few months. Especially since this promises to be a cold one*; we've had numerous days below freezing already this year.

But I'm starting to realize that the presence of the sun is an important thing even if there's not much heat to go along with it. And for six months now, I've watched the sun hang around less and less... so today I'm starting to understand why those pagan folks danced around Stonehenge and offered up those animal sacrifices. Or whatever they did. I mean, I was starting to look for a goat to sacrifice myself.

So, all hail the arrival of the new sun god, who was born of the goddess as knocked up by the old sun god. Which is different from the arrival of the new son of God, who was born of a saint who was impregnated by the old God. Sort of.

Whatever. Have some wassail.

*No, not .

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

In which I start taking obnoxious to a new level

OK, Molly, I'm gonna keep pushing 'til I get a response from you. Did you get a chance to check out the Strong Bad e-mail I linked to yesterday? I figured you're just warped enough to appreciate it like I do. I mean, come on. Your blog referenced a Waitresses song that came out when you were three years old. Surely you'll see the humor in this. Won't somebody validate me?

Monday, December 19, 2005

Acquired humor

I know it's lost on Saabboy and Madame Director HoneyLips, but I'm betting Molly will get it. A new got posted a few days ago. (You'll need audio.) There's a lot I could say in the way of explanation, but... well, either you get it or you don't. When you're done, click on Lord Quackingstick to see Strong Bad play the key-sword-tar.

Well that answers THAT question

We had a friend from Maryland visit us back in the summer. In an effort to be a good host, I asked what he likes to drink so I could have it waiting on him. Turns out his drink of choice is Miller Lite. In cans.

I love you, Irv, but we've gotta work on that.

Anyhow, when he left, we still had two cans out of a six-pack, and I didn't know when or where to dispose of these. Hubby and I won't drink them, and I feel bad throwing out allegedly good beer, so they've been living in the fridge for a few months.

Flash forward to this weekend. Maybe somebody will drink them at the party, so I put them in the beer cooler.

Now, we usually try to keep our dogs in the house during the party. The shepherd hates everybody so much that she usually retires to our bedroom and finds a quiet corner. (This dog and I are more alike than I realized.) The retriever, on the other hand, is 70 lbs of fur and slobber and is a natural born marketing type. He loves everybody. So early in the party, hubby suggests that I give the dog a beer.

Take a breath. We're not pushers, and our dog isn't an alkie. But he likes beer, and it makes him mellow. So I find a perfect place to dispose of a Miller Lite. I pop it open and pour about half of it into a bowl for him. He sniffs it and walks away.

Ladies and gentlemen, even my freaking dog won't drink Miller Lite. Can't be. I lead him back over to the bowl. Same thing.

I dump out the bowl and pour him about half of my Sam Adams. And he drains the bowl.

Now I ask you: how can I in clear conscience offer this stuff to my guests when even my dog won't drink it?

Scenes from a Christmas party

We had a good caterer this year. The food was quite possibly the best we've ever had from a caterer, and the server she provided was excellent. The bartender, well... he was the caterer's son. And he's a good example of why it's usually not a good idea to hire family members.

He was late. He wanted to leave early. And he opened all the wine bottles at the beginning of the party, including two identical bottles of Shiraz from the same label. And he poured from both bottles. Sunday morning I found the half-full bottle and the nearly-full bottle standing side by side on the bar.

And he wasn't even really that cute.

Congratulate me!

When you sign up with Weight Watchers and weigh in for the first time, they give you a booklet that identifies your current weight (mine was 239 lbs fully clothed) and your "10% goal" (23.9 lbs for me). When you reach your 10% goal, there's a big celebration with marching bands and confetti, and small children with sparklers run out to meet you.

OK, maybe not. But they should have. They do give you a keychain.

Regardless, hubby and I both hit our 10% goals at our weigh-in on Saturday. On top of that, we both hit our 25-lb goal. I don't see how, but we did. And after the meeting, we went home to plan for our party Saturday.

Which means we'll be up this week. And next week, we'll get to hit that 10% goal all over again. Sorta like that Cher "Farewell All Over Again" tour.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

Wha...?

OK, I'm in now. Offsite quarterly divisional waste-of-time meeting this morning, followed offsite Christmas departmental actually-kinda-fun lunch, followed by defrosting my feet and logging in at 2:00. I can handle days like this.

Nothing much going on. I finally wrapped Andrew's present and set it beside Marcus's present to ship sometime today. If anybody knows a way to ship these to England for less than the cost of a used Honda using a method that will get them there before Easter 2008, kindly speak up.

Also I used my Barnes & Noble 15% off card to pick up one of Molly's recommendations yesterday. They didn't have Les Yeux Sans Visage (which is the one I really wanted) so I got Les Diaboliques and started watching it while wrapping Andy's present. I've seen exactly one vehicle so far in the flick, and it's a Deux Chevaux delivery truck. How cool is that?

BTW, that's a 2CV hiding behind the Dusty's BBQ van in the pic below. I know it's hard to see, but I never claimed to be an artiste. At least I didn't draw a python digesting an elephant and have someone ask me why they should be scared of a hat.

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

Good help is hard to find


See that piece of furniture? It’s called a secretary. It’s got a smaller footprint than a bookcase and usually consists of a display area up top, drawers down below, and a fold-down shelf that’s used for writing letters, paying bills, and all that happy crap. I know they exist because my mom has one. Plus, here’s a photo of the creature in its natural habitat, so you know I’m not just making this up.

Hubby and I have decided we want one, and we’d sort of like to acquire it this week. So, thinking that this shouldn’t be a problem in a town like Atlanta, we set out last night in our one-horse open sleigh driving from furniture store to furniture store. Behold the sorry state of retail in metro Atlanta:

Pottery Barn and Bombay Company: no luck. That doesn’t really surprise me though. But we started there mainly because they were close to the house.

Bassett Furniture Direct: nothing in stock. They can order one, but it will take about 45 days to deliver, and we’d be buying it sight-unseen. But the saleslady agreed that they’re wonderful pieces, very useful and attractive, and she likes them as much as we do. Exactly. So why don’t you carry them?

Ethan Allen, Thomasville, Destination Home: all closed at 6:00. On a Monday evening during the Christmas season. It looks like they all pick a different night of the week to be open late, and by late I mean until 9:00.

Haverty’s: two in stock. Neither had a display case, and both looked like bedroom chests when they were closed up. One was . Un-huh. The saleslady said, “Oh, you’re probably looking for secretaries like we remember when we were kids.” Exactly. So why don’t you carry them?

Macy’s Furniture Store – used to be Rich’s in recent memory: Salesman says, “Nope, we don’t have any secretaries, unless you count Carol, but she got off at 5:00.” He says Macy’s doesn’t think anybody buys traditional furniture anymore, so they don’t carry it. (Would that explain why most of your furniture looks like it would dissolve in water?) He also says a former manager once claimed that furniture was non-regional (meaning that styles are identical no matter where you’re located) and non-promotional (meaning people don’t buy furniture on sale). Well, at least that sorta explains why you don’t carry them.

So at this point, I wish I had a punchline for you. I wish I could say we found it at Kmart or something, or that we decided to make one out of five-gallon buckets and scrap lumber. But instead we drove around WAY too long and found exactly nothing but a lot of frustrated salesfolk. Actually, the bucket-and-scrap-lumber model is starting to sound pretty good.

Monday, December 12, 2005

Oh my God, it's another one

Pretty much sums it up

Here we go. Last week in Andrew Sullivan, an e-mailer quoted "great political philosopher" Dave Barry:
The Democrats seem to be basically nicer people, but they have demonstrated time and again that they have the management skills of celery. They're the kind of people who'd stop to help you change a flat, but would somehow manage to set your car on fire. I would be reluctant to entrust them with a Cuisinart, let alone the economy. The Republicans, on the other hand, would know how to fix your tire, but they wouldn't bother to stop because they'd want to be on time for Ugly Pants Night at the country club.

For anybody who wants to know how a gay man could even consider not voting a straight Democrat ticket, there's your answer.

A ray of sunshine

Don't expect me to be my usual charming self today. I had a bad bout of insomnia last night, for the first time in a very long while. I only slept 4 or 5 hours, and I woke up a couple of times during that. I don't know why it happened. If I knew why, I could keep it from happening again. I just hope this one doesn't run for the next three nights (like it does occasionally), or I may just kill somebody.

This morning it feels like my skull has finally dried out and cracked open, and my brain is bleeding down into my throat. So consider this fair warning that the things you read here today are liable to be the things I think everyday but I'm too polite to say. You've been warned.

Friday, December 09, 2005

Eight women and me

So I went to Blockbuster last night looking for a French movie to practice my listening (the one facet of this language thing that’s sorely lacking for me), and I came home with a flick called 8 Femmes starring Catherine Deneuve. The DVD case made it sound like a quaint little murder mystery: a man is murdered in his bed, during a snowstorm, in his own home with his family present. So I pick it up, grab some sushi on the way home, and settle in to see if I can be entertained for the evening.

Dude! I was totally not prepared for the spectacle that followed. The eight women in his home (wife, two daughters, sister, sister-in-law, mother-in-law, two maids) get to play Mademoiselle Marple through two surreal hours of plot twists, back-stabbing, catty comments, and bizarrely placed torch songs. It was part Gosford Park, part Cop Rock, part Dynasty (remember Alexis and Crystal in the swimming pool?), and part What The Hell Was That?? Every character surprised me at least once, and several of the scenes made beer come out of my nose. At the end of the movie, I was like Donkey after the singing puppet kiosk: "Let’s do that again!"

My head is still spinning, but I'm going back to ride this one again.

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Gosh, St. Peter, that's a hard one...

OK, technically you’re supposed to wait for somebody to tag you with this one, but I like the idea, and I’m not waiting. I got it from She Walks Around With It, whose mommy happens to be an imaginary internet friend on my sister’s blog.

Jon? Molly? Consider yourself tagged. MDHL? Time to start your blog now, and here’s your first entry.

Update: the new profile doesn't number ordered lists, so I'm using unordered lists. Deal with it. Picking a new profile is just too much drama for me right now.

Ten random things you might not know about me:

  • In my 10th grade French class, I put my name into an international pen-pal matching service and got paired up with Andrew. He and his partner Marcus came to visit us this summer, 20 years after we started writing each other.
  • I actually transferred colleges to be closer to my partner, six months after I met him.
  • I like teaching, but I don’t think I’d ever want to be a teacher. I love making the light bulb go on over somebody’s head, no matter what subject. Sometimes that means I talk too much.
  • I much prefer European sports cars to big American luxo-barges. But my taste in cars isn’t quite as funky as Jon’s.
  • I despise talking on the telephone.
  • Around five years old, I started getting godawful headaches, and the doctor sent me for an EEG, which didn’t find anything wrong. Eventually they went away, only to come back during college. I got glasses, and they went away.
  • I miss making music with friends. Or at least with other people.
  • I want to retire to at least 50 private acres in the mountains.
  • At one time I thought I wanted to own my own business, but I’ve decided I don’t want the headaches.
  • My 16th birthday was the first time a full moon fell on a Friday the 13th in like 40 years.

Nine places I’ve visited:

  • Asheville, NC
  • San Francisco (The only place I’ve ever visited that I could’ve called home to have my furniture shipped to me.)
  • Slough (but we did make it to Oxford, Bath, and London)
  • Berlin and the eastern end of Germany
  • Manhattan
  • New Orleans (can’t wait to go back)
  • The Grand Canyon
  • Washington DC
  • Colorado Springs & Denver

Eight ways to win my heart:

  • Hug me.
  • Recognize obscure pop cultural references when I quote them, or quote them for me to recognize.
  • Make me a drink without asking.
  • Suggest a really good book for me to read. (Katie, I haven’t forgotten your suggestion, but I’m catching up on my French. Oh yeah, you’re tagged too. Get to work.)
  • Listen to me.
  • Understand when I want to be alone.
  • Smile at me.
  • Surprise me.

Seven things I want to do before I die:

  • Hike to the bottom of the Grand Canyon.
  • Own an Aston Martin.
  • Reach my goal weight.
  • Learn American Sign Language.
  • Play the guitar without embarrassing myself.
  • Hike the Appalachian Trail.
  • Take a cruise.

Six things I’m afraid of:

  • Never finishing my CD. Or never recording anything else after I finish it.
  • Growing old.
  • The day that either of my dogs dies.
  • Working through retirement because I have to.
  • Another day like September 11.
  • Losing my hearing.

Five things I don’t like:

  • Dusk. Any day, but especially on Saturdays. I’m much better after sundown.
  • Being alone in a quiet house. Especially at dusk on Saturdays. ;o)
  • Knowing that my lawn looks like hell but not having time to clean it up.
  • Guilt. If you've read this far, you are hereby absolved from all guilt -- past, present, and future.
  • Feeling like someone’s keeping a secret from me.

Four ways to turn me off:

  • Be nasty to me, my friends, or my family.
  • Assume that looks matter more than personality.
  • Make fun of southerners. Contrary to popular belief, we’re not all ignorant in-bred hicks.
  • Assume that you and I have a lot in common and that I’m enthralled by your charm when we don’t and I’m not. (You’ll know.)

Three things I do every day:

  • Spend too much time online.
  • Wish I was somewhere else. Really. (Is that a sign of malcontent or something?)
  • Try to make people like me.

Two things that make me happy:

  • All the animals in my house, human and otherwise.
  • Being with good friends.

One thing on my mind right now:

This took a lot more thought than I realized, and I’m not sure I’ll agree with everything on it tomorrow. But I think I’m glad I did it.

A shameless plug

Looking for unique Christmas gifts for friends & family? Two sites for Atlanta-area artists are and . Both of these studios do beautiful work. BTW, in addition to , Peggy also has martini glasses and champagne flutes now.

Things were much better when Carol was at the spinet

Well, it must be Christmas. I finally heard Feliz Navidad on the radio... or rather, the Muzak at Wendy's. It amazes me what passes for good music anymore. I mean, I know there's only so much Christmas music to choose from, but some of this stuff is wretched. A couple of weeks ago, Publix was playing some abomination called Christmas in Killarney. Quite literally a Christmas jig in 6/8 time.

Just pour hot soup in my ears and get it over with.

I think I'm more insulated from the musical wasteland this year because traditional, rock-n-roll*, country, classical, and lame humor. (Think There's Something Stuck up in the Chimney or I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas.**) The first four aren't bad, but I'm particularly fond of the classical channel. Ladies and gentlemen, THAT is how Christmas should be done.

And I don't even have the credentials to be a real music snob.

*Do people still call it rock-n-roll, or am I showing my age?
**I've always wanted to write a medley called There's Something Stuck Up In The Hippopotamus, but I haven't gotten around to it yet.

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Les phénomènes

So I'm working on my French over my lunch break. Oh, note to the Parisian reader who stumbled through here seven minutes after I think that little tantrum cleared my learning block. It's making some sense again. Je t'aime.

So I'm working on my French over my lunch break, and my current exercise is on irregular verb forms. Loosely translated, the exercise runs something like this:
In a conversation with Lise Dulac, Mr. and Mrs. Sauvignon discover that they have a lot in common with her. How do they respond to her statements?
  1. Lise: In summer, I open all my windows.
    The Sauvignons: Us too, in summer we open all our windows.
  2. I go on vacation in July. Us too, we also go on vacation in July.
  3. I grow flowers in my garden. Us too, we also grow flowers in our garden.
  4. I know many people in the quarter. Us too, we also know many people in the quarter.
I don't know where Lise met these people, but maybe she oughta be looking for an exit strategy and soon.

Monday, December 05, 2005

The unintended side effects of globalization

I swear I'm not gonna dedicate this page to trolling the net for videos, but this one's too good not to share.

Whoa. This is pretty cool.

Remember that volcano Peter Brady made with baking soda and vinegar and a battery? (What the hell was that battery about, anyway?) Turns out you can make a WAY COOLER asplosion .

Party at my house tonight!

Friday, December 02, 2005

This gets a big WTF???

From . Surely we haven't heard the end of this one yet.

Principal Puts Camera in Bathroom

Mack Bedor, an eighth grader at Jasper County Middle School should be with his friends at school, but instead he's making up class work at home.

“He’s got a five-day unwanted vacation. It’ll be on his permanent record that he stole school property. My opinion is that he did the right thing,” said Mack’s mother, Cindy Champion.

Mac is being punished for taking a camera out of the celing of the boys bathroom that is shared by Jasper County Middle and High School students. The high school principal admits to putting the camera there.

“There was tiles up there and it was cut out in a little circle,” Mac said. “It felt like it was the right thing to do because we were being violated in the bathroom, and I just knew I could trust my mom and she would do something about it.”

“That was the interesting part to me that surprised me -- Ms. Massengil, the middle school principal, nor the teachers were aware. No one seemed to be aware besides the principal at the high school,” Champion said. “I had told the high school principal, Mr. Fore, that he needed to come up with another solution -- that this wasn't appropriate. His response to me was he was going to continue to film.”

The Bibb County district attorney says cameras in public bathrooms are legal because schools have more leeway on privacy issues.

Yeah, THAT'S gonna fly in court.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Happy now, Jon?

You can take off the shades now.