--- Man, what a weekend.

I'd say oy vey, but hey, I'm not Jewish so that doesn't really work, does it? But the sentiment is pretty much the same. Oy vey.
I think I'm about family-ed out for a time. Don't get me wrong. I love
them all and wish I could see them more often, but whenever we get
together, there's just so many people to see and chat with that
you feel like you're on a treadmill that you just can't get off. And
then when you finally do extricate yourself, well, you wish you were
right back on it again. I miss them already. The Cake Eater Parents,
aka Bob and Peg, will celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary on the
30th of this month. Last year we started talking about doing something
to celebrate this historic milestone, but we didn't know what we should do. Let's face it: it's a pretty big deal when two people hook up and manage to stay hooked up for fifty years. It's an occasion that begs for a celebration of some sort, but of what
sort is another question entirely. Now, I have to figure a consensus
must be easier to come to in smaller familes. Fewer opinions. But there
are eight of us. And none of us are shy about stating what's on our
minds so it took more than a few mass emailings to nail down just the
bare bones and then the siblings in Omaha took over and ran with it.
And thank God for that. If they were relying upon the out of
towners---six out of the eight---to get this show on the road, we never
would have had the party. It would have stayed in the pre-production
phase, the date would have come and gone and we all would have felt
guilty about doing nothing until we died. This is much better. When my
brother gets the bill for the party, I'll sign a check and will mail it
off to him; I'll weep a little for the fact we had an open bar instead
of a cash one but I'll won't hesitate to write the check and send it
off. I'll be happy and will consider it a fulfilling experience---one
well worth the money---because it was. What made it fulfilling, Kathy?
you ask. Was it the fact you got to see all of your family? That you
got to play with nieces and nephews? That you got to dance with your
dad? Yeah, it was all of this, but what made it really satisfying was
that I got the opportunity to make my parents all weepy with love.
Heheheheheh. Mom just sent me an email telling me that she and Dad were
truly blessed with their children. She's all gooey right now and that's
to be expected. She just spent the weekend with her entire
family---which is a lot of people when you start counting---because we
don't get together all that often. The logistics of the situation is
too baffling to attempt too often. Once every few years or so works
well, but most of the time it's just a sibling here, two siblings
there---not the whole crew. Translog aside, the husband and I were the
ones that topped off the proverbial emotional sundae with the weepy
cherry and for that I'm really glad. We did a presentation for the
folks. And---somehow---we managed to make it a complete surprise for
them. They had no idea that we'd been up to something when we unveiled
it at the party. And, boy, were we really
up to something. Sheesh! You try compliling fifty years worth of
pictures and home movies, a good portion of which had to be pilfered
from their house and not have tipped them off entirely or at
the very least raised their suspicions. A tough task to manage let me
tell you. But we managed it. They were none the wiser and when one of
my brothers got up at the party and said everyone find a chair and get
comfy, we've got a movie for you to watch, they were completely
surprised. Even their friends were in on the act. It's good to have a
really juicy secret every now and again. Particularly when it's a good
secret. Which made all of the battles to get everyone to send me photos
worth it, but it was dicey there for a time. Right around the holidays,
I wanted to murder a few of my siblings. (Particularly one brother who
had just gotten around to scanning me his childhood selections last
week---when the thing was done---but he apologized, something he's not
generally prone to, so it's all good). I felt bad I had to send my
sister in Omaha on covert missions to the parents' house to troll the
archives and scan pictures. I had to twist a few arms---but fortunately
I didn't have to get to the kneecap crushing stage of coercion to get
them to get their butts in gear. Then came the movie making stage which
brought its own set of challenges to the table. Fortunately for me the
husband knew what he was doing. He'd made a little video for his folks
last summer so he knew what he was doing. This is how he learns how to
use software. He doesn't read the instructions: he piddles around with
it. Now, I'm too chicken to ever do something like that. It would take
me five hours to get the first minute of movie footage done because I
wouldn't have the balls to fiddle with it. The husband, fortunately, is
not like this. He knew what he was doing and wasn't afraid to
experiment. The only hang up---besides having to reboot all the
frigging time because the video card kept crashing---was that while he
knows my family pretty well, on the whole, he didn't have the context
of a lot of the pictures. I'm the youngest and I was born when film was
in color; the black and whites somewhat eluded him as far as the whos
and whens. But that's what I was for. I put the whole kit and caboodle
into context for him---and while that led to some momentary battles
about what works best here instead of there, we eventually figured it
out. Then came the music. Every movie needs a bit of music to make it
complete. But my father, God love him, has horrendous taste in music.
Now, honestly, Dad's taste in music is his own and he likes it and he's
allowed his preferences because it's a free country and all, but he's a
polka aficianado. Polka music, for God's sake! I can't tell you how I despise Polka music. {insert shudder here} It's fun at a wedding reception, but Dad listened to it all the frigging time when I was growing up. Yeesh! The thought of coreographing this twelve minute movie to the Beer Barrell Polka
had my hackles up. But that was the majority of what they listened to
while I was growing up. Dad may have flirted with other types of music
every now and again. He had his country phase; his jazz phase, but the
the musical touchstone for my father is Polka music. It's his rock and
roll. This led to a major dilemma: if Dad likes Polka music and Mom has
no major objections to it, well, shouldn't we use it as the background
music on the movie, because after all, it's their movie isn't it? Well,
I got over the guilt pretty quickly and vetoed that option. I'm
selfish. I admit it. Shoot me now. I fished for other options amidst
the siblings. I wanted ideas of what they might
have listened to at other points in time. Every time someone came back
at me with a non-Polka idea, I grabbed it and hung on for dear life.
Then I went to Limewire and started downloading. (Nothing quite like
giving your parents the best of the free music world---take that RIAA!)
I got Nat King Cole's Orange Colored Sky. I got tons of Frank
Sinatra (I mean, honestly, how can you not have a little Frank? It's
impossible to do otherwise.) I even got a little Linus and Lucy. And then the showstopper: Israel somethinghawaiian's version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow which also happens to have a little It's a Wonderful World mixed in. It's nice and light yet overwhelmingly sentimental. If you're looking for a reference, it's on the Finding Forrester
soundtrack and I think it used to be on the eToys ads before they went
belly up. It worked perfectly. But then came the technical
difficulties. Sheesh. Thank God for my brother Mike. I don't know what
I would have done without him on Saturday. Probably would have given
birth to a five hundred pound cow. You see, I was not
a member of the AV club in high school. I have no idea how to wire a
stereo or how to hook up a TV. All you should have to do, I generally
reason, is plug the damn thing in and it should work. But this, of
course, is never the case. There are wires that need to go in
the right place. Buttons need to be pushed. Things need to be focused.
I have no idea about any of this stuff. In this case, we had Wee
Bastard hooked up to a projector that was not cooperating. We
had sound but no video. We didn't know what the hell we were going to
do. The husband could not accompany me on the trip and this is his
department---not mine---but because it was on my laptop, I was
delegated the responsiblity of being AV Girl. This made me nervy in the
extreme. Here we had this movie, which was good and I wanted shown, but
if I couldn't figure out to project it, it's not like we were going to
huddle 75 people around my laptop and show it that way, you know? Bad
idea all around. So, Mike and I did this. We did that. We fiddled and
fudged. Then we slapped our heads in frustration. (Quickly of
course---we had a party to get ready for, so the clock was running).
Nothing worked and a backup plan was called into action: we'd made a
DVD copy for my folks to watch. We would retrieve that copy and my
sister's DVD player and we would run it from that. This would work. We
were sure of it. So, we shot off to my sister's house and then were on
our way back to the party room when the husband called my brother and
he had it figured. We just had to reroute the video feed from my
laptop. Something he had told me about when he was preparing me for
this at home, but I had completely forgotten about. SERIOUS SLAP TO THE
HEAD THAT LEFT A RED MARK! Like I said, I'm not an AV Girl. (Honestly,
how was I supposed to remember this? Everything that was on my laptop
was up on the screen, except for the video--how was I supposed to know
this would be the solution to the problem?) But, sure enough, it
worked, and we got the projector focused and I sighed seriously in
relief. Phew. Bullet dodged---for the moment. Then my brother decides
that we need cover. He wants to run a slide show from my laptop of
family pictures. This, he decides, will be the reason for the projector
being in the middle of the dance floor. He has a point. This will keep
our parents from getting wise to the movie. So, an hour and a half
before the party is supposed to start he starts trolling the Wee
Bastard's archives for family photos. Now, most of my pictures are
stored on Gandalf, because the White Wizard has more memory, but there
are a few on there. But they're not the really good ones. Most of them
were taken by my niece last Christmas. So, a lot of really goofy
pictures were running up on the screen. Mike put it together rather
speedily in retrospect, but at the time I wanted to strangle him. I had
to get the hell out of there and get ready for the party! I had to look
good. I needed time to look good and he was cutting into my precious
makeup and hair time by doing this. He's a guy---all he had to do was
throw on a suit and wait for his daughters to get cleaned up. I, on the
other hand, am a girl. I have to dig the black bra out of my duffel
bag. I have to put on high heels. I had to straighten my hair. These
things take time! I was cheesed he just didn't seem to get this. He
said he didn't care about my dilemma. Typical. My brother Mike can
drive me crazy. He has that gift. I figured we could have just left the
laptop up there and the parents would get a clue that something was up,
but that was ok. It was party time. There would be something.
But now I applaud Mike for the extra effort. They truly were clueless.
Although, I have to wonder why they didn't make some comment about
coming up with better pictures, but to their credit they said nothing.
Fortunately, Mike worked quickly. He drove like a maniac and got me
back to my sister's house where my date for the evening, Mr. H., was
already dressed up and waiting for me. I ran around, got dressed and
then we shot off to the party. We ate and drank. We chatted with old
family friends and relatives. I conspired with Tim---the master of
ceremonies for the evening---and Mike about when to unveil the movie.
Mike said he would run it, so I wouldn't have to. And then when
everyone was done noshing, we sat down and watched it. Mike had one
question for me as far as how to make all the Microsquash player
business go away---and I successfully answered it (I was so pleased
with myself---my shining moment as AV Girl) Mom and Dad were gobsmacked
and everyone was wiping tears away. Timmy got up and with a choked
voice thanked everyone for coming and offered up a toast to our folks
with sincere congratulations for fifty years of love, home and family.
Love abounded. It was a palpable sensation in the room. You could feel
it. Then Dad got up and gave a little speech and it topped it off
wonderfully. He couldn't have planned it better even if he'd known
about the movie. Then we partied. And took a million pictures. The
running gag of the evening seemed to be that everyone's memory on their
cameras was filled. Do you have any space left on yours?
We wanted it recorded because it was so wonderful. It was truly a
fulfilling experience. It's not every day you get to say that.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:07 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 2530 words, total size 14 kb.

--- Here's your question of the day: if Colonel Ghadaffi is the supreme
ruler of Libya, why is he only a colonel? Shouldn't he be higher up on
the military rank scale than just a measly colonel? --- The State of
the Union is confident and strong. I liked it. The speech was good. A
little long on time and on spending proposals, but on the whole, a very
good speech. And contrary to the opinions of Jeff Greenfield, Paula
Zahn, Wolf Blitzer and Aaron Brown, it wasn't as political as it could
have been. Think about it for a moment---he could have gone whole hog
and started blasting people left and right. But Bush didn't. Sure he
repudiated his critics, but he did that last year and the year before.
That's not really a new feature to his particular brand of
speechmaking.
I particularly enjoyed: I know that some people question if
America is really in a war at all. They view terrorism more as a crime,
a problem to be solved mainly with law enforcement and indictments.
After the World Trade Center was first attacked in 1993, some of the
guilty were indicted, tried, convicted, and sent to prison. But the
matter was not settled. The terrorists were still training and plotting
in other nations, and drawing up more ambitious plans. After the chaos
and carnage of September 11th, it is not enough to serve our enemies
with legal papers. The terrorists and their supporters declared war on
the United States and war is what they got.

And this was really good too:
Some critics have said our duties in Iraq must be internationalized.
This particular criticism is hard to explain to our partners in
Britain, Australia, Japan, South Korea, the Philippines, Thailand,
Italy, Spain, Poland, Denmark, Hungary, Bulgaria, Ukraine, Romania, the
Netherlands, Norway, El Salvador, and the 17 other countries that have
committed troops to Iraq. As we debate at home, we must never ignore
the vital contributions of our international partners, or dismiss their
sacrifices. From the beginning, America has sought international
support for operations in Afghanistan and Iraq, and we have gained much
support. There is a difference, however, between leading a coalition of
many nations, and submitting to the objections of a few. America will
never seek a permission slip to defend the security of our people.
And how!
He's keeping his eye on the ball. I appreciate that. And while he's at
it he's being a president. The Democrats, I do believe, have no idea
what it's going to take to get this man out of the White House. Anyone
they put up there is going to face the battle of their lives. And they
have absolutely no idea what they're up against.

Posted by: Kathy at 10:19 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 470 words, total size 3 kb.

--- Mom, here's your winter carnival link.
Man, I want to go over and see that palace. That looks cool!
Hopefully when it warms up this weekend, we'll be able to make the
pilgrimage over to St. Paul to see everything. Amazing what free Union
labor can build...and how quickly it gets built.

Posted by: Kathy at 09:57 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 63 words, total size 1 kb.

--- Why do you people always seem to get the shaft on Wednesdays? I
apologize for not getting around to blogging yesterday. The mother in
law is in town, adding her usual blend of fun and frivolity to the
blandness of January. She's staying with the husband's sister, across
town, but if she can tear herself away from grocery shopping and
watching the niece's dance classes, she usually works her way over here
once or twice, we feed her and then two hours later she goes back to
the safe haven of Eagan. I've mentioned before that I don't think my
mother in law likes me all that much. Well, let me revise that. I think
she likes me, she just doesn't know what to do with me. I'm the
opposite of her, and while she's mellowing with age, and while I'm
still not her favorite inlaw, I don't think I repulse her to the level
I used to. Thank God for small favors, eh? Now, I don't know why anyone
would leave the nice warm haven of Phoenix for Minnesota in January,
but my mother in law makes this pilgramage north every year because she
doesn't get to have Christmas with her grandkids. My brother in law has
made a firm rule: his family spends Christmas in their
house---not anyone else's. So, no one travels to Arizona for the
holidays. Now, this wouldn't be a problem, usually. We've been pulling
this trick successfully for years, but they have to live up to higher
expectations---they've used their reproductive systems successfully and
have produced cute grandkids. Whom the mother in law dotes on. The
father in law, an island of sanity in the midst of an ocean of
Grandma-love, further thwarts the mother in law's Christmassy ambitions
by demanding to be in his home for the holiday. And since he
authorizes all plane ticket purchases, the mother in law is frustrated
and sad that she doesn't see her grandbabies twinkling under their
Christmas tree. But only for a time. First few weeks in January,
though, she's always here. She can't wait any longer to see her babies
and my father in law has generally had enough of her pleading by this
time and just wants her to go!
The inlaws move to Phoenix has been a recent one---they've lived there
for about three years now, but they used to live in Des Moines, which
is about a four hour drive from here. They used to drive up once a
month or so to see the grandbabies, which, of course, drove my brother
in law up the wall. The sister in law is too nice to say "No. Stop
coming up here all the effing time! This is not a goddamn Holiday Inn!"
So, the move to Phoenix let them off the hook---a bit. They go down
there once a year and the mother in law comes up here three or four
times. Her next visit, if she follows patterns set in recent years,
will be in April or May. The father in law will accompany her once---in
August. And then the rest of the year will be a crapshoot. Now, they're
good people, they just don't get out much, so they're not the most
exciting people to spend time with. It's a big evening if they stay out
later than nine. And boy! Phew. They'll be dragging the next day!
Yessirree! They're the antithesis of my family. My family is loud,
obnoxious and pretty laid back. We're insane, yes, but have a beer and
you too can join in the insanity. If things don't work out for a visit
this time around, well, we don't sweat it, we'll catch you next time.
This is not how the in-laws work. Everything must be carefully
coordinated, planned, plotted and made to be the best visit ever!
I've noticed that if we can't come over to see the mother in law when
she's visiting, for whatever reason, she feels slighted. Now, I don't
know if this is just their thing or if all smaller families
work this way. It's odd. They just can't come over for a regular
weeknight dinner. It must be a carefully plotted extravanganza, with
all four food groups present, dessert, and of course, coffee. So,
yesterday I cleaned. My mother in law has only recently started to use
my bathroom on visits over here and I want her to keep
using it. This no doubt sounds very weird, but not with my mother in
law. You worry about this sort of stuff with her. The occasion seems to
demand it for some strange reason. Now, I've been married to the
husband for almost ten years, and when your mother in law never uses your bathroom, well, you start to wonder why
she doesn't want to pee in your house. Your first thought is if
something's wrong with your bathroom, so you go and take a look and
strive for objectivity. I personally think a visit to my bathroom is a
pleasant experience. I have nice, new, soft yellow hand towels (a
bathroom necessity, I hate to gloat about but I will anyway, she
doesn't even have---she pulls out the old ones whenever family's
visiting, and I mean old ones, from when when brown and orange were the
to-die-for colors in bathroom decor.) I have soap. I have hot water. I
may not chip out for Charmin, but that doesn't mean my Scot brand
toilet paper is inadequate for her usage. (On a completely unrelated
aside, why would anyone use Charmin? Yeah, it's soft and everything but
it sticks to your butt and you have to use a boatload to get anything
done. Waste of MONEY, if you ask me!) So, why didn't she use it? I know
she pees. Contrary to popular thought, she is human; she does have a
bladder. I wondered if was just because she didn't have to go, or that
she has an aversion to using others' restrooms. But, she always has to
go, and she goes at restaurants. I've seen her excuse herself and head
off to the ladies. Curious, I timed her once at her house: every two
hours, so I know the woman pees on a regular basis, so the idea of a
slight against my bathroom had a bit of proof behind it. Then I
realized I had all the proof I needed to back up my prejudice theory,
but I hadn't thought anything of it because I wasn't a coffee drinker
at the time. The mother in law is a coffeeholic. She's Methodist, now,
but was Presbyterian---protestant in other words. I think they hook the
protestants with coffee in the baptismal fount: every protestant I know
drinks loads of coffee. I think they keep Caribou and Starbucks in
business. So, I finally put two and two together and realized that in
the past she's drank at least half a pot of coffee and would then leave
the house for the half hour drive back to Eagan---and wouldn't use the
bathroom before going. It was amazing. I thought for a time she must
have a bladder of galvanized steel, but then I started drinking coffee
and I realized she didn't want to use my bathroom not from a lack of
need, but because she didn't like
to use it. I realized it ultimately came down to cleanliness, or the
perceived lack thereof. I am not a good housekeeper if you use my
mother in law's standards. No one wears shoes in her house, because you
might track dirt in. She cleans her windows---inside and out---every
Thursday. Her house is absolutely spotless. If she had great furniture
and a Jag in the garage, you'd think she chipped out for a Guatemalan
woman named Consuela. But her furniture is like the towels in her
bathroom---old but serviceable. Brown, beige and orange rule the decor
colors, and when they lived in Des Moines, it looked REALLY odd because
they had carpeting that could have been used in the Emerald City. But
the wood is perfect---not a chip or a scratch. The upholstery is worn,
but not threadbare. The mother in law takes care of her house and her
belongings, and I suspect we'll sit on the same living room furniture
when she dies a peaceful death in her sleep at age 96. But my house is
not spotless, nor do I see the reason for it to be so. My windows get
cleaned a few times a year. I don't vacuum and dust daily. I don't mind
clutter and old newspapers sitting on top of the dining room table or
on the floor. I don't make our bed every day. And she'd have a heart
attack if I ever let her in the office. I just don't see the need to
clean all the damn time. Cleaning is boring. I used to do it to pay for
school. It's not something I enjoy or take pleasure in. It's a chore.
But the mother in law is different. In her mind, the cleanliness of a
house is how you judge a person. If they're good, their house will be
clean. If they're bad, they're house is dirty. It's a pretty simple
judgment scale, on the whole, but it's what she knows so it's the
system she uses. I've heard her describe other people's houses as dirty
with her lipsticked mouth screwed up into a moue of distaste, and the
way she said it was enough to show you she didn't think very much of
them. It honestly makes you wonder if these people's houses were really
dirty and if they were really bad people. Because the way the mother in
law described them, and taking into account how freaking clean her
house was, you didn't really know. So, she didn't want to use my
bathroom because, I sussed, it wasn't as clean as she liked them to be.
Well, what the hell was I supposed to do about that? It's clean enough
for me, and while I'm not a big housekeeper, it's not like you're going
to catch toilet cooties by planting your ass on my toilet. If she
doesn't want to use my bathroom, it's not like I was going to shove her
through the damn door and scream, "PEE NOW OR I'M GOING TO BE REALLY
OFFENDED THAT YOU DON'T THINK MY BATHROOM IS GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU!" The
temptation was there, of course, but I didn't do it. But now she uses
it. I don't know what prompted her change in behavior, but she goes
into the bathroom every time she visits and tinkles. So, you might see
where I feel the need to scrub the toilet and sink and mop the floors
to keep her using the bathroom---on top of dusting and vacuuming and
more mopping in the kitchen I mean, we haven't produced any
grandkids---I have to keep her coming over here to see her son somehow, and damn, if this is what's going to do it, I'll do it.

So, there's the longwinded reason why no blog yesterday.

And now, I will leave you until next Monday with this...

HAPPY 50TH ANNIVERSARY MOM AND DAD!



Aren't they cute? See you on Monday where I will regale you with tales of drunken siblings!

Posted by: Kathy at 04:45 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 1902 words, total size 10 kb.

Post from the husband deleted. It's MY blog. You've got your own---USE IT!

What the hell is his problem? I didn't question his manhood---I questioned the fact he didn't get me up to slaughter an Ewok.

Pffft.

It was a joke.

{time to change password. didn't get it done yesterday}

Posted by: Kathy at 04:26 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 60 words, total size 1 kb.

--- Another thought on the whole Oscar/Copy Guys Debacle.
Ahem.
What exactly does it tell you about the Academy that they released this
information in a cheery, what we're doing to make this Oscars the most
important ever! press release?
Are civil rights violations a cheery thing we should be celebrating?
--- You know, I'm with Michele on this one.

Perhaps what I thought happened is what I wanted to believe; that
the people on the planes that hit the buildings never knew what was
happening. I wanted to believe that one minute they were reading or
sleeping or watching a movie and then, they were dead. There was no
fear, no panic. Just sudden, painless death.
I, too, never wanted to hear anything about what happened on the
flights. I wanted it to remain a mystery. I didn't want to know not
because I didn't want the information, but because I, too, would have
liked to think the people on those flights didn't know a damn thing
about the fact their planes had been hijacked. As a regular coach
passenger, I thought it a good possibility, too.
The logic is there, even if it's not particularly kind to airline
attendants. It's a simple fact that you, the coach flying passenger,
are virtually ignored by flight attendants. Why would this situation be
any different? Not because they thought the fact you'd paid for a more
expensive plane ticket would get you better treatment in the event of a
hijacking, but because they wouldn't want to worry the people who,
thanks to conveniently drawn curtains on really big jetliners where you
can't see biz class and first class anyway, probably had no idea of
what was going on. Get on a 767 and you'll know what I'm talking about:
they generally have boarding through separate doors for first/biz class
and coach passengers. Sort of like they had separate entrances on the
old ocean crossing steamships for first class and steerage. On a jet
that big, it's easy to separate the sections. They build them that way
for a reason---because the airlines want some reason to justify
thousands of dollars for a first class ticket. Why would it be a big
leap of the imagination to think that a coach passenger on the two
flights that were flown into the towers would be aware of what was
going on way
up front---a place on the plane they were removed from. When I'd heard
that all of the hijackers had been sitting up in first class, this was
the thought I'd had. I was comforted by the knowledge that just because
of their lack of proximity to the cockpit, the average flyer on those
two planes probably had no idea of what was going on. I know it had to
have been different for the planes that went into the Pentagon and for
Flight 93. They knew. They had an inkling and made phone calls. They
talked with loved ones about what was going on on the ground. It had to
have been a horrible, sinking feeling that passed through their guts
when they knew they were probably going to die, through no fault of
their own. But I never wanted the flight recorders to be found for the
planes that went into the towers. I didn't want to hear screams of
absolute panic as they barrelled into the towers. I didn't want to ever hear Allhu Akbar!
as the hijackers completed their mission. I thought it would be best
for everyone if they were never recovered. And as far as I can recall,
they never were. Which is still good. But it's disturbing to listen to
Betty Ong's clear, calm voice as she informs the American Airlines
reservation center that her flight had been hijacked. I could sense her
frustration as the guy on the other end fumbled while trying to figure
out what the hell he could do about the situation. I even felt a little
pity for him. He works reservations. The worst thing he probably ever
has to deal with is someone complaining about how expensive a ticket
is. A hijacking is completely out of the realm of things he was trained
to deal with. But I can understand why Betty called reservations: it
would be the line she'd have programmed into her speed dial so she
could check to see if the flights were running on time. This guy got a
situation he had no idea how to deal with because it was the only
number she would have had programmed into her cell phone. Imagine the
situation for a second, and realize that in the worst situation of your
working career---a hijacking that, at that point, Betty didn't know
would result in her death---you call for help, and you get someone who
doesn't know how to deal with the situation at hand? Someone who is
probably thinking, because he probably gets it all the time, that
you're a crank. And you're desperate to get the word out; you want help. You want to live!
The frustration must have been overwhelming, but to her credit, she
never caved to it: she knew it must have been a confusing situation for
the guy, so she tried to be clear and concise. It's a testimony to her
professionalism that she never panicked, never caved into the fear, or
even allowed herself to show frustration at the idiocy of someone in
the reservations center. Somehow, between the two of them, they managed
to get the word out. If you believe in the theory that there were other
planes that would have been hijacked that day and that the grounding of
all the airliners saved some lives---that there are unknown people out
there whose plans were thwarted---you owe Betty some gratitude. She's
the one who got the word out. She's the one who enabled law enforcement
to start looking for culprits, rather than assuming it was a mechanical
breakdown. Maybe it was a good thing that we finally were able to
listen to this recording. Not only to remind ourselves to be ever
vigilant in the war on terror, but as a touchstone on how we're
supposed to act in such a situation. We can't panic. We don't have the
luxury of that action. We're at war. It makes you wonder what,
precisely, is it going to take to make all of those people who don't
think we're at war realize this fact? Just look at the comments on
Michele's post. Serious troll action going on there. Betty, however,
knew what it was like to be on the front lines. She found herself at
the very forefront of a war she had no idea was being waged upon her
and she was a goddamn good leader in a time of crisis. Can we say that
of everyone right now? That we can count on everyone to know the stakes
and act accordingly? Can we count on everyone not to panic in such a
situation in the current climate of denial? I don't think so. I think
it's going to be exceedingly ugly if I'm proven correct. And I really
don't want to be proven correct.
--- Ok, pissed off the husband and am feeling really guilty about it. I
shushed him when I was writing this and he left the house after telling
me that I was "more than blunt," when I told him to be quiet. It's
currently seven below zero outside. I'm sorry, darling. Was just trying
to make this thing cohesive. I went over the line and I apologize. Come
back home soon...it's too damn cold outside for you to hold a grudge.

Posted by: Kathy at 03:19 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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--- We have an example of "Too Big for Your Britches" Syndrome.
Man, if I were those guys, I'd sue. For big bucks, too. Loss of
consortium even. Think about it: it's an office building and one that
the copy guys were cleared to be in. They got on the elevator and they
just got off on the wrong floor. An innocent mistake and the Academy
people go Gestapo? And for what? The Oscar Nominations, replies the Academy representative in a
hushed and reverent voice. Well, I hate to tell you this, Academy
people, but who gives a flying f#ck about the sanctity of the frigging
Oscar nominations? Are you curing cancer? No. Do you have the location
of Osama Bin Laden and you're just waiting to pass the information
along to the proper authorities? No. What you have there, folks, is a
list of people who are up for awards for movie making. This is not exactly earth shattering stuff here, folks. Learn your place in the world and stick with it. You are not legally allowed to suspend anyone's right of habeas corpus.
If you really had a problem with these guys, well, you should have
called the cops. I doubt they would have been able to make hash of the
information, like you claimed they would, if they were locked up in
L.A. County. I don't think they have that many phones in that
place. But you didn't do that: you detained these poor guys who were
just trying to do their job; you harrassed them for hours on end; you
called them "dirty," which I know is not the connotation you
have attached to that word, but what the hell, they probably didn't
know that. And for what? To keep your beloved Oscar nominations
sacrosanct? That's complete and utter bullshit. It's also ILLEGAL.

I sincerely hope these guys started contacting lawyers this morning. Knowing the way the world works, however, they
were probably flooded with calls instead. I hope Geragos was one of
those callers and that he takes the Academy for all its worth on their
behalf. Someone needs to teach them a lesson.
--- And speaking of the Oscar nominations,
no surprises there eh? (None really worth needing calling in the
Gestapo for anyway)
Actually I think the Golden Globes have the better setup, even if it
means more awards in the long run. I like the idea about having
separate awards for comedies and dramas. It makes sense. Comedy is
underrated in my book. Is it harder to make an audience laugh or cry? I
would say evoking laughter is the harder job of the two: everyone's got
something they can weep over; humor is different, however, and tougher.
More to come in following weeks about the whole race. --- The husband
emailed me this linkie with the subject line "Sure to raise your hackles."

Well, of course it's going to raise my hackles. What about the treatment of women under Islam doesn't
raise my hackles? Not much. This is a religion that thinks women are a
subspecies. These are the people who stone women for having sex out of
wedlock. These are the men who believe that women are on earth to serve
two purposes only: to have babies and to tempt men, hence they should
be kept in their houses. Then, they say, if a female needs to go out of
the house to pick up a gallon of milk, well, they should be veiled and escorted by a male member of their family to keep them from tempting all the other men in the marketplace. This
is the idiocy behind the "no driving" rule for females in Shari'a run
countries. After all, if their cars broke down, who could help them?
AAA is not exactly an option in Saudi Arabia---and if it were, well,
who would come to help them? A non-family member---who, under the law
of probabilities---would probably be male, because of course there
aren't any female mechanics. Contact with males outside of your family
is a big no no if you're an Islamic female.
So, yes, it makes me seethe at the unfairness of it all. It makes me
chafe at the absolute idiocy of these men, thinking that all women are,
in essence, the enemy, just waiting to lure them into some lurid
situation, because, you know, men don't have any self-control---nor
should they have to have any. But most of all it makes me angry. Angry
that women would put up with this crap. But honestly, what the hell can
I do about it? Are the mullahs going to listen to me---a western,
college educated woman---about how they should treat their women? No.
Would the women even listen to me---a Christian---about
how they should be treated? No. No one in the Islamic world gives a
good Goddamn about what I have to say. Fine. So be it. I wish there
were more I could do to help, but there isn't. Until the women who live
under that religion rise up out of their oppression there isn't
anything I can do to help. And that's what it's going to take to get
this crap to stop. Islamic women saying, hey assholes, we're not going
to take this shit anymore so stop. But they don't do this. They live
under the sytem. They submit to beatings. They buy the excuse that it
was their fault if something untoward happens. Islam, in other word, is
the abusive husband these women are enabling to survive and, dare I say
it, flourish, because they refuse to see how they're treated in an honest light. I
deserved to get cold-cocked because I showed a little ankle. And
honestly, he's right. I was in violation of the law. I knew it when I
went out. I just hoped no one would notice, but they did, and here I
am, with only myself to blame... What a load of hooey.
And as much as everyone would like to help these women get over the
hump, helping them to obtain driving privileges isn't going to beat the
monster back. Nothing short of outright revolution will do that. And
that just isn't going to happen. --- I just don't think this chick knows the depth of the geek pool she's jumping into.

That computer is the most horrifying thing I've ever seen. Gack!

Posted by: Kathy at 03:17 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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--- It's wifely duty day, so you people are getting the short end of
the stick, once again. The husband has come down with a bad head cold
and a fever of 101, which is incredibly odd because he hasn't had a
fever in years. Usually, he's under 98.6, not above it. He's comatose
right now, but I have to check him soon, so without further ado, here
we go.
--- Good.

This is definitely a step in the right direction.

--- See, this is what you miss when you don't watch the news all weekend long.

Heheheheheheh.

"...Let's go get married, just for the hell of it.''' We
reportedly need a constitutional amendment to protect the sacred
institution of marriage from gays and lesbians...why? Marriage isn't
under threat from gays and lesbiabs, it's under threat from dumb
heteros. Of which, Britney Spears seems to be the ringleader.
If I were that judge, I wouldn't grant the annulment. I'd make her
stick it out.
--- >"It's like I died and,
and they knew I died and they didn't
want to bring me back. They were just going to let me rot."
Baseball's all-time hit leader Pete Rose explaining to ABC why he
recently admitted to gambling on baseball in hopes the sport will
reverse its lifetime ban imposed for Rose's
gambling activities while he was manager of the Cincinnati Reds in the
late 1980s.
Well, Pete, I hate to tell you this, you not only bet on Major League
Baseball, you bet against your own team. Where do you get off saying
they shouldn't let you rot? You were a hero. An all time great who was
so freaking desperate for money that you sold everyone out. Why should
you get a pass? Particularly after all the damage you did to the sport?
And let's also face facts, Pete, the only reason you want to be
reinstated is not because you love baseball or Bud Selig, it's because
you need the money. You're poor. I'm sure your book advance went
straight to your bookie. Get off your high horse because no one's
buying it.
--- Ok, I'm off to check the husband's temperature. Let's hope it went
down!

Posted by: Kathy at 02:41 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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--- We have lots of good reading for you today. If you're a
non-wi-fi'er, hit the links, print and read them whilst sitting on the
sofa, drinking a beer or a glass of wine. If you have wi-fi, well, take
your laptop and read them whilst sitting on the sofa, drinking a beer.
They're lengthy, but well worth your time. --- I have to admit, I'm not
a big fan of Michael Crichton. Which is a trial for me, because I would
like to be. I think he comes up with interesting subject matter, tricky
plots, and is a good writer, on the whole. And he's not only got good
reviews to back him up, he also sells a shitload of books, as a quick
peek at New York Times Bestseller List will easily prove.

But it's his tone that just puts me off. His tone is like milk
that's just shot past the expiration DATE: 01/01/2004 you could drink it and you'd
probably live a long life, completely unaffected, but the milk has
separated, it's starting to smell funky and you might be risking
gastrointestinal distress by chugging some. The intelligent thing to do
is not to drink the stuff. The intelligent thing is just to go to the
store and get a new gallon. Chrichton, however, would have you drink
the milk, because he says it's good for you. That the milk is
fine; that expiration dates are abitrary, that FDA doesn't know what
the hell its talking about; that he's smarter than all the scientists
at the FDA combined and you should just take his word that the milk is
still good. And, if you choose not to take his advice, he'll shoot a
big ol' raspberry in your direction. He's arrogant about his
intelligence, in other words. He likes to show off how smart he is.
Now, I'm not going to deny the man is intelligent. He is. There's no
getting around it, but when he's arrogant about the level of his
intelligence, well, it's offputting. He's a Mensa member with attitude.
The last novel of his I read was Disclosure
and I haven't picked up a book of his since, although I've been tempted
when I read the jacket descriptions. But while his upper-level
intelligence is not under scrutiny, it's the way he shows off in his
novels that just bugs the shit out of me. In any novel of substance
(and some that haven't any) there are going to be explanations.
Explanations of situations and characters. Explanations of how things
work, etc. This is the way the author gets everyone on the same page.
Which is fine and dandy for most authors; they assume that their
audiences have a brain and that they don't have to talk down to them;
they talk to
their audience. Chrichton, however, assumes his audience is
automatically a crowd full of dolts; that everyone else is a dolt but
him, so he talks (writes?) down to his audience. Now, I don't know
about you, but I don't read novels to be lectured to. I read them for
entertainment and enjoyment. If I wanted to read a dissertation about
sexual harrassment laws, or how the Japanese are taking over, I'd read
a book about those subjects. If I happen to glean some useful
information in the meantime, well, yippy skippy, but that's not the
reason I'm reading novels in the first place. Chrichton seems to forget
this in his works of fiction, and it's offputting, for me, at least. I
realize this is a completely subjective peeve of mine. He obviously
doesn't turn everyone else off. Now before you start thinking I sound
like Otto in A Fish Called Wanda (Don't call me stupid!),
please realize that I think Chricton has a lot of worthwhile things to
say---and as such, I'm linking to two speeches he's given and posted on
his website. They're great! If he stuck to speeches, where his
arrogance isn't a liability, I'd be his biggest fan. Without further
ado, read this about the dangers of rampant speculation and this about how aliens are responsible for global warming.

They're worth your time.

Posted by: Kathy at 02:29 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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--- Foul.

And I don't use that word in some sports-related way. I mean, eeeeeew! Gross!
Almost makes you feel sorry for Britney, huh? Except for the fact she'd
probably lap it up.
On a related aside, what exactly is it about Hugh Hefner, besides his
money and the potential for fame and fortune he can offer, that makes
him attractive to women? I just don't get this one. He's a whore. A
Viagra popping whore who claims he just loves beautiful women. Gag. If
Hugh was a woman, and claimed he/she just loved beautiful men, and kept
a bevy of them on display and exploited them in his/hers magazine, we'd
call that woman what she is: a whore; an exploiter. But Hugh gets a
pass because he's just so darn charming and everyone loves him. I just
don't get it. Call a spade a spade. He's a exploitative whore. He uses
women for his own jollity, but because he's loaded, has a nice mansion,
and a magazine, well, he's off the hook. He's not called a pimp.
Haven't seen many bunnies filing sexual harrassment suits against him,
have you? It seems to me that if you pose in his magazine and aren't
attached to someone rich and famous, well, it's your job to sleep with
Hugh. Hugh seems to expect it. Why doesn't OSHA go and examine that workplace infraction, huh? What about the EEOC? Or has Clarence Thomas left them no high ground for them to work with?

Ugh. He just bugs me. Beyond repair.

--- And we have more silly Germans today.
What the hell was he thinking? Going to a salon to cut his own hair?
DUH! If you're there, have a professional do it. I'm sure if they'd
paid to have their hair done, the woman wouldn't have turned him in.
Duh. Besides, he probably could have gotten a nice color job and a
manicure while he was at it. --- I think this would be a sign ---direct from God--- that it's time to stop stealing stuff.

--- The guy Pete used as a runner to his bookie has
some interesting things to say.
Just give up Pete. Nobody's going to let you into the Hall of Fame.
Baseball can't afford to do so. Just fade into obscurity. You weren't
that good of a ballplayer anyway, you thug.
---The husband is up and down today. His fever was 102 when he woke up,
but we've battled it back down to normal---we'll just have to see if it
stays there. Tip for the day about dealing with men who are laid up
with a cold or the flu: when they stop whining, it's time to take them
seriously. If they're whiny, leave them be. But if they're really quiet
and sleeping all the time, that's the time to worry about how ill they
actually are.

Posted by: Kathy at 02:17 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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--- We've got good junk for you today. Strap yourselves in, kidlets,
it's gonna be a bumpy ride.
--- I am really starting to like hockey. Now, I didn't grow up watching
the sport. I knew only one kid when I was growing up who played the
sport. One kid. And he only played it until sixth grade, if I'm
remembering correctly. So, you can imagine I didn't have a great wealth
of knowledge about the sport. Then I moved to Minnesota. This is the
place that calls itself "The State of Hockey," and they've got a point.
Everyone
plays hockey here. Grandmas play hockey here. (there was a story in the
Strib about mom hockey leagues a week ago and I was going to link to
it, but the Strib's search engine isn't coughing up the article. Will
try later). Kids who don't look big enough to hold up all that
equipment play hockey here. It's been an interesting business to see
how nutso everyone here is about the sport. Quite frankly, I enjoy it.
No frigging time outs. The game moves. And on occasion, you get a
fight. Michele
seems to think the golden age of bench clearing brawls is over and done
with. I haven't been watching long enough to have an opinion, but it's
an interesting little post nonetheless. And just for reference: I do like it when they start pounding
on one another. Call me a barbarian if you will. And I don't even like
boxing, so I have no idea what's the matter with me. --- Funny.

Even funnier.

Courtesy of Scott Kurtz at PvPonline
Now, personally, I don't know what the problem is with sending your
resident male out to buy tampons for you. Yeah, I know they're
embarrassed to be buying that sort of stuff. Anything that comes in a
pink box and reeks of sickly sweet feminine deodorant just makes guys
turn all sorts of interesting shades of purple. They think they
shouldn't have to buy this sort of stuff. Women should have to do it;
after all, as the husband reasoned once upon a time, it's not like he
ever sent me out to buy a jock strap for him. True. I can buy that
argument, but get over it. But Mr. H. has a better argument that lends
credence to the idea that men should have no issues with this chore. We
call this theory "tampon logic." The basic gist of this theory is that
if you are an adult male of a certain age (meaning you're not buying
them for your sister or your daughter) you should be proud
that you're at the store buying tampons. Why should men be proud? you
ask. Particularly when it goes against every instinct man has about
feminine hygiene products? Because, according to Mr. H., IT MEANS YOU'RE GETTING SOME!.
Think about it for a minute. If a guy is at the store buying tampons,
it means he's cohabitating/intimate with a woman. A woman who obviously
has no issues asking him to go out and purchase the stuff for her.
There's a level of intimacy there. It generally means the woman is
sleeping with the man, because it's not like you ask a casual boyfriend
to run to the store for you for that sort of thing. Maybe you'll ask
that guy to get you some kleenex or some toilet paper, but you
certainly won't ask him to buy you tampons. Contrary to popular
opinion, women do have some sense of decorum when it comes to this sort of thing. We don't ask just anyone to run to the store to pick up a box of Playtex for us. You have to be close to us.

And if you're a man who's close enough to be asked, you should rejoice. You should shout HALLELUJAH!
from the rooftops. Because it means instead of spouting off to your
friends about how you're shacked up even when they won't care anyway,
you can go to the grocery store with a smile on your face! You can
announce your extraordinary prowess with the opposite sex in even the
most ordinary of situations. Oh, and just for the record, the husband
still does not like to purchase tampons for me. He doesn't enjoy it,
but he knows exactly
what brand and size I need. Whenever I send him out, he comes back,
waving the box at me, asking, "Did I get the right thing? I got the
right stuff, right?" I will look at the box and reply in the
affirmative. And then he breathes a deep sigh of relief, thankful he
doesn't have to go back to the store. He was really happy when we got a
membership at Costco where we can buy the Holy Roman Empire size box of
tampons---it means there's much less of a chance that he'll be asked to
perform this chore.
I'll have to take a picture of how red he turns when he reads that
little bit. {evil chuckle}
--- $30,000 a month in child support?

F%^k me. Running.

--- This is hysterical.

Who knew a parrot could live that long?

--- Funny comment from the husband while watching the State of the Union last night:

Ted Kennedy looks like he just realized he's going to have to spend another five years listening to Bush's speeches.
Ted really did look like he was sucking on a lemon last night. ---
Other thoughts on the speech. - Who on earth thought it was a good idea
that Nancy "no personality" Pelosi should give the response? I'll
believe she actually cares about working class Americans when she gives
up the $250 color jobs. It was a fabulous color job, no doubts about
it. But it cost a freaking fortune. Stop spouting about socialism,
Nancy, when it's obvious you're a capitalist at heart! No hypocrites
allowed.
- Did not like the section about feeling the need to protect marriage.
Stoopid. Stoopid. Stoopid. Tom DeLay was overjoyed. That's how I know
it's a bad idea. Bush just alienated half of the people who were toying
with the idea of voting for him. STOP PANDERING TO THE RIGHT WINGERS!
Ugh. There's no need to pander to them---they're going to vote for you anyway! It's the people in the middle whom you have to convince.
Duh. And it really wasn't a good idea to piss off the judiciary.
They're there for a reason---to declare shit unconstitutional when
Congress passes a bad law. They interpreted the law: don't call them
"activists" just because you didn't like the outcome. - Way TOO MUCH
FREAKING SPENDING! Damnit. I want less government, not more. I still
have high hopes that Bush will turn into a slash and burn president in
his next administration and will get some actual reform done---that
he's just waiting to get reelected before he does it---but man, it
doesn't look good. LESS GOVERNMENT! NOT MORE!
--- And that concludes the tour of what's on my brain for January 21,
2004. Have a good one, kids!

Posted by: Kathy at 01:59 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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--- Sigh.

I've really got to change the password on this thing. He's got his own blog.
He could have linked to my site and posted his stupid dissertation over
there, but did he? NOOOOOOOOOO. He took over my blog. He hijacked my blog.
During an Orange Alert, no less.
Where the hell is the Department of Homeland Security when you need
them, eh? I'm paying enough money for the military to roll out SAM's to
protect the Capitol building from a hijacked airplane---why the hell
can't they protect my blog from being hijacked! It's an outrage, I tell
you! AN OUTRAGE!
{insert righteous fury here}
And speaking of the Department of Homeland Security, could we please
stop with the Chicken Little stuff already? Not because we shouldn't
protect ourselves from terrorism, but because everytime there is a bump
in the threat level, you can't get away from Tom Ridge on the TV. He's
out there, telling us everything he thinks we need to know, which, duh,
also tells the terrorists everything they need to know, too. We're
adults, Tom. We can take a little silence for the good of everyone.
Don't roll out the SAM's on national television as a way of telling us
you're doing your job. You're just giving the terrorists ideas. ---
Well, I was going to post a bunch of lists on 12/31, but Blogger was
down, so I took a nap instead. They're a bit belated, I know. Pffft.
Better late than never is my motto, and away we go.
Top Ten Biggest Wastes of Time and Space

1. Two Weeks Notice. Hugh can't even save this one.
2. Maid in Manhattan.
Honestly, what the hell was Ralph Fiennes thinking? Did he go off his
meds when he signed the contract for this one? JLo, I can understand.
This is exactly her type of film, but damn, Ralph. I expect better from
you.
3. The Recruit. Al Pacino needs to do a subtle role, methinks.
4. The Lifetime Movie Channel.
No comment needed.
5. The RIAA. They are a massive waste of everyone's time and space. And
no more needs to be said lest I give myself a headache in the process.
6. The BBC. Sigh. This one saddens me a great deal.
7. Jacques Chirac. 8. Saddam Hussein
9. Amy Klobuchar, Hennepin County Attorney Extraordinaire. Bitch.
10. Light Rail. Soon to come to an eleven mile stretch not anywhere
near the majority of the Twin Cities population.
Top Ten Rentals That I Was Glad to Pay Blockbuster Money To Rent.

1. Drumline Honestly, it's a really good movie. Orlando Jones is the most underappreciated talent in Hollywood today.
2. Pirates of the Caribbean. It's fun.
3. The Core It's Kung-Fu is strong.
4. The Pianist Wow.
5. 28 Days Later I know, last minute entry, but it's good.
6. Band of Brothers
As soon as we have eighty dollars in the disposable income column of
our ledger, I'm buying it. It's something everyone should own. It's
that good.
7. My Big Fat Greek Wedding. How can you not like this movie?
8. The Italian Job. Edward Norton isn't very good here, but it's good fun nonetheless.
9. Finding Nemo. Albert Brooks in all of his neurotic goodness.
10. Amelie.
I know---it was released in 2002 and everyone's seen it. But it's fun
to rent and I love it. Someone could buy this for me and I'd be really
happy. (hint, hint).
Best Movies I Actually Saw in the TheaterOk, so the husband and
I didn't get to the theater much this year. (We had other things going
on that I will enlighten you all about when we're done with it. Wait a
month or so and then you'll understand why we didn't get out much) So,
I only saw a few movies at the theater. Five or so, if I'm adding
correctly, which is a record low for us, but out of those five, only
two stand out as truly worthy of notice.
The Matrix Reloaded and The Matrix Revolutions. Yeah,
yeah. I know. Everyone hated them. They claimed they were a big letdown
from the original. Pffft. Whatever. Those critics don't know what the
hell they're talking about. These are the people who want to be spoon
fed. Why, I'd even bet they were bottle fed and are still mad at their
mothers for not giving 'em any boob. They probably all have horrible
allergies and asthma and all of those horrible things associated with
non-breastfed people. They're whiny losers, in other words. They need
to grow up and draw their own conclusions.
But, therein lies the problem, I suspect. The whiners wanted the
Wachowski's to give up the goods. They wanted a nice neat solution to
the conundrums raised in the original. They wanted it to be the
original---trippy, but easily understood by the third viewing. And
they're mad that the brothers didn't do that and wanted them to
actually think about the films. These people know they won't get Reloaded or Revolutions by the third viewing...or ever. They may have conquered Dungeons and Dragons
but they know they're just not smart enough to get them. They don't
like to be made to seem unintelligent, and if they ventured an opinion
that---gasp---might be disagreed with, well, that would really make
them feel stupid, wouldn't it?
Never mind the fact the Wachowski's never put themselves out there or
told anyone what they should think about the movies. They were never
interviewed regarding them and I believe the reason behind that action
isn't shyness, but that they didn' t want their audience to take the
easy path and say, well, given the fact the Wachowski's said this in x interview, it's easy to see that they meant y when Trinity stole a Ducati. It would be too easy, and it's pretty simple to see that the Wachowski's like things to be hard.
Too bad their audience let them down, because I think they really
wanted to start a debate, but no one rose to the challenge. Mark my
words: these movies will be dissected for years to come in film schools
and philosophy classes. They will outlive their makers and will become
the shining example of early 21st Century filmmaking. Besides, they
kick ass.

Posted by: Kathy at 01:58 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 1061 words, total size 6 kb.

--- Well, might I suggest that perhaps you should haven't purchased a ticket from Emirates airlines
if you wanted a kosher meal?
I mean, this is the airline (according to the husband who has flown
with them) that on their flight tracker channel there is an icon that
always shows which direction Mecca lies, so Muslims know which
direction to face when they pray. They have extra roomy aisles for
everyone to get down and pray, and they announce that it's prayer time
over the loud speaker. Is it really so shocking that they would refuse
your request for a kosher meal? It's an Arab run airline, based in
Dubai---in the United Arab Emirates.
What the hell did you expect?
Scroll down to the comment section and just read some of the remarks.
They're amazing--every subject is touched upon, everything from Halael
food being offered by El-Al, to how everyone who criticizes or doesn't
bend over backward for all things Jewish is an anti-Semite. The whole
debate is ludicrous in the extreme. Emirates didn't give this guy a
kosher meal, because they weren't prepared for the request. They just assumed that a Jew wouldn't want to fly them anyway.
How, precisely, is this just one more example of Jews being downtrodden
by those awful Arabs? I'm just not seeing it, although there are plenty
of trolls on Silent Running's comment section who would have me lynched
for just such a statement. Well, let the lynching begin, I suppose. My
neck could use a good stretching, I reckon. I always wanted to look
like Audrey Hepburn---here's my chance.
I have two questions. A. Doesn't a privately run company, which
Emirates is, get to dictate what they want to do? B. How is this yet
another example of flagrant Arab anti-Semitism? Emirates,
is a privately held company. This means, in worldwide business lingo,
that they get to dictate what they want to do. In this case, they want
to fly people places. Fine by me. There's a lot of money to be made in
that area, and if you look at some of their financial reports, they're
doing very well. Much better than United or American---which are both
publicly held companies. Emirates, like any other business in the free
world, gets to run its business the way it wants to, providing its not
breaking any laws in the meanwhile. According to some of Silent
Running's commentators, Emirates did have to sign an agreement with the
New Zealand and Australian governments to do business there.
Reportedly, if this is true, Emirates is in violation of those laws
which demand a distinct non-discrimination policy. I don't know if such
a law is in effect and if Emirates is under its shadow. Haven't the
foggiest idea. But, there is always
a lag between what is legal and what is done, and anyone out there with
a grain of common sense knows this. I used to work for Caribou Coffee
Company. Caribou was started up in the early-90's by a pair of
stockbrokers who were tired of frying themselves with work. So they
started a coffee company that grew and grew and grew, and you know
what? They fried themselves all over again, so they sold the company to
an Islamic Investment Bank. Yeesh. Suddenly, there are no pork
sandwiches being sold in the stores. They just don't offer them
anymore. And this is the only concrete example of how they've changed
what is offered in the stores as a result of the ownership switch. Now,
the rumors that are swirling are somthing else, entirely. I've been
told that the women who work there don't think much about promotion
anymore. I've heard that they earn less than their male counterparts.
I've heard stories about how the uniform requirements have changed
because the owners want more modesty. I even heard some really rude
story this summer about an employee who was harrassed by one of her
supervisors but who was afraid to report it because she didn't think
she'd be taken seriously by upper management. Now while it's important
to remember that these are rumors,
none of these things would have happened when I worked there. There
wouldn't have even been a whiff of these sorts of issues. It is, for me
at least, somewhat inconceivable that the company that I used to work
for; a company that was seen as very progressive and a good place to
work is now a workplace pariah, but that's their choice. It may be
different at Caribou, but who am I to say that they're wrong? The
corporate attitude has changed, but they own the joint: they get to
dicate policy. Providing they're not breaking any laws, is it fair for
them to do these things? Yes, I would say it is. Just because it's
despicable behavior doesn't mean they're not allowed to do them. It's
called capitalism. We live in a free market economy. We're "at will"
consumers. If we don't like a product or a service some company
provides, we can go elsewhere.
Now, Tom wanted to fly Emirates. He wanted to show some goodwill toward
the Arabs, and is now surprised when they didn't return his goodwill in
the form of a kosher meal. This still surprises me---not because they
didn't give him one, but that he expected it in the first place, travel
agent promises aside. While it may be Emirates stated policy to make
all of their customers feel welcome and to provide them with everything
they could possibly desire, it doesn't seem out of the realm of
ordinary expectations that they wouldn't provide kosher meals. You
know, because not a lot of Jews would seem to fly their
airline---particularly Jews who keep kosher. It's not good business
sense on Emirates part to pay a caterer for meals for passengers who
aren't going to appear. But Tom's travel agent said she booked him a
kosher meal; it was the airline who didn't cough up said meal. I think
Tom's travel agent is trying to cover her ass. Nowhere on the booking
section of Emirates website, do they say they offer kosher meals. Look for yourself.
So, Tom doesn't really have a leg to stand on here, does he? If a
kosher meal was important to him, he should have checked to make sure
one was available---particularly since he was flying an Arab-owned
airline---and the information was easily accessed. (I mean, if I can
find it, anyone can). Rather than admit he was lazy in just assuming a
kosher meal was available, or going after his travel agent for being
lazy, he'd rather go after the Emirates for not having kosher meals in
the first place. It's anti-Semitism! I'm being discriminated against because I'm a Jew!

What we have here is a conflict between what is done and what is legally required.
I don't know if it's a legal requirement that Emirates have kosher
meals on their flights between Auckland and Melbourne. If it is, then
Emirates should do so. But if it's not, don't whine that they didn't
automatically provide something they didn't feel they should have to
because of what their corporate values, screwy though they are, dictate
they do. Now, to finally get to my second point, which is that there
are some people, Tom included, who see this as yet another example of
flagrant anti-Semitism. I suppose that's fine, if you want to see it
this way. You're allowed your point of view, just as I am allowed mine.
But man, when is this going to stop? And you know what I'm talking
about, I'm sure. Anti-Semitism has no set definition these days. It
covers everything from suicide bombings to mild criticism of Israel's
policies. Everything
that is even remotely critical of anyone and all things Jewish is
anti-Semitism. I don't want this to be true, but as I read some of
these comments, this idea has been reinforced. I'm no anti-Semite. I
don't believe Jews hold all the wealth in the world and control it. I
do not believe they are at fault for the world's ills. I believe Jews
have a right to not only exist, but that they should be allowed to
prosper and flourish without fearing for their lives at the hands of
bigots. But I'm sure someone will say that I am an anti-Semite after
reading this next bit.
Do Jews not realize that they are harming themselves by crying wolf all
the time? You remember the story about the boy who cried wolf, don't
you? The little shepherd boy who was bored with watching sheep so he
thought a good way to liven up his day was by screaming that a wolf was
killing the flock. Everyone ran to help, but there was nothing to do,
no threat to reply to. And the next time he cried wolf, and again there
was no wolf, and again everyone came to help. But when there was a
wolf, and he cried for help, no one came, because they thought he was
bluffing again. Everytime a Jew cries "anti-Semitism," over a kosher
meal that wasn't delivered when he had no reasonable right to expect
one in the first place, he is hurting his cause. It's the same when
someone criticizes Sharon, and Jews scream anti-Semitism. When did
criticizing idiotic actions---no matter the religion or ethnicity of
the idiot---become something you could be labeled for? Particularly
with an anathema of a label, like "anti-Semite." It's horrible. I can
barely comprehend how damn hard it must be to be a Jew in Israel, where
they're surrounded by people who want to kill them simply because of
who they are, or even in America, where we have our own share of
bigots. But calling me, or anyone else, an anti-Semite simply because
we choose not to agree with you---even if we don't hate Jews and don't
root for their destruction---well, that's beyond the pale, and you're
demeaning your own worth in the meanwhile. As my mother would say, if
you can dish it, you should be able to take it. And Israel and Jews in
general, dish "it" a lot. They're vocal about their rights and what
they should have. And that's fine with me but when Jews refuse to
accept criticism and then subsequently adopt an "you're with us
entirely or against us entirely," attitude, which will then get you
labeled as an anti-Semite if you're in the latter category, they're
doing themselves no favors. They're turning people against them because
they refuse to see any gradations. It's so sad. This is what happened
in the comments section of Silent Running. Start at the top and watch
it disentigrate from there on in. The travel agent goofed up, the
author decided to blame the wrong group for the goof, and
then---shocker of shockers---cried wolf. Does this help or hinder the
overall cause of making sure Jews are allowed to live the way they want
to, how they want to and where they want to? I don't think it does.
Crying wolf never helps anything.

Posted by: Kathy at 01:57 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 1863 words, total size 11 kb.

--- Took down the cartoons because they were screwing with my layout.
Follow the links if you're behind the times. --- Missed blogging
yesterday. Had stuff to write about, but never got around to it. Pffft.
I got wrapped up in fixing pictures from the 50th party the other
night. Man, there was something really funky going on with my pics. Two
possibilities. A. My flash is really obnoxious. or B. The lighting in
the room was really goofy and hence led the flash to be really
obnoxious. I don't know which it was, but I spent the majority of
yesterday afternoon fiddling with photo editing software so that I
didn't look like Cujo's ghost in the photos. It's a bad idea all around
to look like Cujo's ghost. Leads to all sorts of interesting comments I
would rather dodge, thank you very much.
--- It's laundry day around here, so if the blog seems a bit
disjointed, know that it's because I'm running up and down the stairs
to switch out loads. --- The husband is also busy doing his best saint
impersonation. I'm thinking when the Vatican canonizes him he should be
St. Michael, patron saint of the HP Pavilion at Bob and Peg's house.
They've got pull with the archdiocese---they should be able to push for
sainthood.
My Mom and Dad are pretty cool people. They're hip. When all of their
kids started talking about how cool email and the internet was, they
decided to get with the program and my sister hooked them up with one
of her old computers, and they've worked their way forward with the
technology from that point. This is pretty progressive for people their
age, I found out the other night at the party. A lot of their friends
are not online, nor do they ever intend on learning how to use a
computer. My Godmother is one such example and is pretty admant about
taking this stance. Her son even bought her a fancy computer and she
refuses to take it out of the box. She thinks it's ridiculous and why
should she, at her age, have to learn how to use a new technology.
Which is fine with me, but I keep trying to pull her into the new age
by telling her I would talk to her more if she got online. She doesn't
seem all that impressed with that incentive. But Mom and Dad are
online. They enjoy the internet. They enjoy being able to shoot
pictures off to people and to share jokes via email. Our family is very
connected via the internet, and I suspect it the level of connectedness
would be much less if it weren't for email and our family website. The
internet has done wonders for us, in other words. And the situation is
no less for our folks. But it takes a lot of work keeping them
connected, because they have no experience with what you need to do to
keep a computer up and running. This task generally falls to the
husband. The routine generally goes like this: my father calls, I
answer, I chat with him for a few moments, dad asks his computer
related question, I can't answer it, and the husband takes over. Or at
least that's how the phone calls used
to go: now Dad just skips right over the "talk with your daughter"
stage and moves directly on to the "talk to the person who knows what
they're doing" stage. There have been days when the husband and my
father have chatted many times and I have had no clue about it.

Today's computer related conquest: hooking up a cable modem and
setting up a wireless router and connection for their new laptop. The
husband and my sister have been on and off the phone since nine this
morning getting this set up for them. Now, this is a huge leap forward
technologically. This puts them ahead of us. And it's kind of
making me growly. I've wanted to go wireless forever. I want to be able
to sit in the living room or outside when the weather is cooperating
and surf to my heart's content, but noooooooo. We can't afford it. It's
only recently gotten to be a cheapo item. I think the husband said this
was costing the parents about a hundred bucks after rebates. WOW! It
was $250 the last time we looked at this option. But my parents---my parents!---are
going wireless! Dad will be able to surf on one computer while my
mother plays solitaire on the other---and they'll be able to be at
opposite ends of the house while they do this! GRRRRRRRRRRR. This is
not fair. We're supposed to set the bar---everyone else is supposed to follow us,
not my seventy-something parents! This goes contrary to everything I
know about the way technology is supposed to work: the young ones are
the ones to get stuff first, not the grandparents! Next thing you know,
my mother will be hanging out at Borders, surfing the internet on her
brand new laptop and sending me email whilst slurping a latte, while
I'm chained to my desk in the office! Where is the justice in the
world? Huh? --- Oh, my. How sad. Captain Kangaroo has passed on.
--- Ok, that puts an end to blogging today. Can't possibly keep writing
about inconsequential shit when the Captain has died. This is worse
than when Mr. Rogers died. I was much more fond of the Captain when I
was a kid than I was of Mr. Rogers. I liked Mr. Rogers, don't get me
wrong, but even back then he struck me as a little too nerdy. The
Captain, however, was just a nice guy. A little odd. But he was nice.
And he had Bill Cosby's "Picture Pages," on every day. How can you not
like a guy like that?

Posted by: Kathy at 01:54 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 998 words, total size 6 kb.

--- Ok, found a pic of Nicole.
I should have known it was a Tom Ford concoction. She looked godawful.
Like she should have been trying out for the ice capades instead of
attending an awards show. Ugh. Seriously. The last time I saw anyone
use that fleshy colored fabric was for an ice skating outfit. What were
you thinking, Nicole? I'm so disappointed in you. Usually you do so
well with your clothes. Here you have the best chance you'll ever have
to humilate that low-life you were married to---by looking SO much
better than he could have ever dreamed of and making him know what he had---and you show up looking like that? What the hell?

Red. One simple word. Red. You need color! You're too pale! Color, girl! COLOR!.
--- Funny conversation with the husband when he took a break from
slaughtering Ewoks and walked into the living room last night. Nicole
was handing out the Best Actor in a Drama award. The camera panned to a
very cheery, gum chomping, Tom Cruise and then back to Nicole.
Me: Why does he look so happy? You'd think the situation would be a bit awkward.
The Husband: Because he's thinking I hit that.
No, he didn't mean "hit" in the literal sense.
--- As for the awards themselves, well, I was pretty happy on the
whole. Now, keep in mind I haven't seen half of these films, so most of
my preferences are based upon who I like, who I don't and what goes
against conventional wisdom. Most of the time, I enjoy it when people
go against conventional wisdom. It pleases me. I like rooting for the
underdog. So, when Lost in Translation and Return of the King win
in their respective best picture categories, I'm pleased. It means well
financed, critical favorites that pander to Oscar voters, like Finding Nemo and Cold Mountain, are shut out.

I've been dying to see Lost in Translation
for quite some time. Hopefully, that will happen soon. I flat out adore
Bill Murray and it's nice to see that his award for Best Actor in a
Comedy wasn't just a bone thrown in his direction for all the good work
he's done lately---that this film was actually a worthwhile experience.
It still think he got ripped off with Rushmore (no one could
better dismantle a Jaguar with a golf club than the guy who played Carl
Spackler) but that's just another karmic injustice which will be whined
about incessantly another day. Lord of the Rings: Return of the King so deserved to
win best picture in the drama category. Woohoo. So what if it has a
happy ending? So what if it made a boatload of money? None of that
means it wasn't a good film, which it was. It was long, but was a
satisfying experience. You felt like you got your money's worth---and
how often can you say that after going to the movies? Granted, I could
have easily waited for it to come out on DVD,
but the husband couldn't wait that long and I'm glad for it. This is
not to say that I'm going to rush right out and do it again, but it was
a good one-time thing. This is a movie that really deserves to be seen
in a theater. If I can get vertigo just by watching the visuals of
Minas Firth (?) then it's definitely worth the money. On the whole, I
thought those three films to be a spectacular movie going experience.
Someone made three films for people who a. like to be told a good story
and b. like to get some value from their hard earned entertainment
dollars. Peter Jackson did a tremendous job with the trilogy. It's a
leap, but I think Tolkein himself would be proud. That in itself should
mean something to the people who vote for the Oscars. I'm pleased. I
think the people who should have been rewarded were. And that's a good
thing. Now, I don't have HBO anymore so I can't talk about Sex and the City or Angels in America,
so I don't have a whole lot of commentary about the TV awards. But I'm
pleased with the movie stuff. It goes well with my sense of justice.
That and the fact Tom Cruise got shut out. Heheheheheh. {Insert evil
chuckle here}
Not bad for a three hour investment, eh?

Posted by: Kathy at 01:51 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 750 words, total size 4 kb.

--- This kinda makes you wonder...
...if it was a drug trafficker who had sued, as opposed to the drunk
driver who actually did, would the Supreme Court have ruled in the
opposite direction? Methinks they would have. They be biased.
More on this at the end of the month when you will get some serious
screeds about this whole subject. Can't talk about it yet. --- Shocker.
He doesn't need the money. He doesn't need the kudos. I think his wife
wants him out of the house. Honestly. Isn't that why most men come back
out of retirement? They wind up driving their wives nuts? Clemens lived
in NY, and he traveled for a living. His wife and their kids lived in
Texas. They've been spending more quality time together in this past 78
days than they have during their entire marriage---and they're probably
sick of each other. That's why Clemens is coming back to baseball. Andy Pettite is his best option for pleasant company right now.

And Michele's right.
He'll probably blow his arm out in spring training. Although, I'm not
Michele---I'm not wishing it on him, I just think she's probably on the
right track with that prediction. He's a fossil. The laws of
probability demand it happen sooner rather than later.
--- Ok, read this and then read this.
Hitchens is truly one of the best writers of our time. He gets right
down to the nitty-gritty.
--- Still wondering about the bare leg/nylon conundrum. Haven't reached
a decision yet. Sigh. It's supposed to get down to 22 on Saturday
night. I suppose it's not going to kill me to not wear nylons.
I have to go wash fancy clothes now. Pray I don't ruin anything.

Posted by: Kathy at 01:41 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 300 words, total size 2 kb.

--- I may have mentioned in the past that the husband is an aficianado of Star Wars Galaxies.
The husband is a gamer, but he doesn't go in for Playstation or X-Box:
he likes using his PC instead, and plays these Massively Multiplayer
Online Games, or MMPORG, (yeah, I know---they have an adverb describing
a noun. It bugs me, too, but that's what they're called and if I
corrected their grammatical error, the husband would correct me.) like Everquest, although he never did play that one. No, he goes in for Asheron's Call and now Star Wars Galaxies.
He's been playing SWG for almost eight months now. Since we can't
afford to pay for multiple monthly subscriptions, he has to pare his
choices down to one game, and this has been the it game since
late June. Now, I hate this frigging game. I think it's stupid in the
extreme, but, honestly, who am I to judge? I do know that I hate
listening to the John Williams-composed theme when the game cues up. I
hate the blaster sounds. I hate how much frigging time he devotes to
it: hours and hours every night and weekend to the point where I feel
like I'm a SWG widow at times. The whole thing is just annoying, but
the husband likes it. He does his best to ensure that the game doesn't
bother me to the point where I, the mistress of the budget and credit
cards, do not cut him off permanently. There are good points to it: it
keeps him occupied; he's made friends, and I daresay one or two
potential business contacts. It makes him happy, in other words, to
play it. So, I'll suck up my dislike of the game and my general dislike
of George Lucas and John Williams' plagiarism (that man is one big
phony! Can you steal more music? I think not.) and will let him play on
for that reason alone. It's doesn't really bother me, unless I let it,
right? I have control over my dislike. I can decide to let it go or to
take a baseball bat to Gandalf, right? I am the Mistress of My Angst!
With this thought in mind, most times I just push the angst aside, sigh
loudly, and go about my business.
But as much as I dislike the game in general, there has been one thing
I've wanted to do ever since he told me he could travel to the moons of
Endor: I've wanted to kill an Ewok.
I hate Ewoks. Yeah, sure, you say, scoffing, take your
frustration out on the furry little beasts. Well, why the hell not? It
was the Ewoks who RUINED Return of the Jedi. It's all
their fault. George had reproduced by that time and he wanted something
fuzzy and friendly to put in the movie for his kids. He admitted as
much in the interviews he did with Leonard Maltin. He took a perfectly
good dark trilogy about rebelling against fascism in a Galaxy far, far
away and made it all fuzzy and warm! UGH!
The reason that Episodes 4, 5 and 6 are not thought of as movie making
perfection is because George put in the goddamn Ewoks! It was contrived
in the extreme. He wanted to make it "family friendly." I hate to tell
you this, George, but the movies were already "family friendly." Come
on! If the Cake Eater parents took us to see these movies, when they
had reservations about taking us to Tron,
you can't get more family friendly. George miscalculated completely and
ruined the tone he'd so meticulously set up in Episodes 4 and 5. Now,
keep in mind, I'm not really a Star Wars junkie, but I still
liked the movies; I saw all of them in the theater; they were great! I,
too, wanted to grow up and be Princess Leia! Harrison Ford's Han Solo
was my first movie character crush. These movies are as much a part of
my life as anyone else my age. Just because I don't go in for
fanaticism doesn't mean they don't mean quite a lot to me. And George
ruined the damn things by putting in those Ewoks and I can hold a
grudge if needs be.
So, with the chance to finally settle the score burned into my brain, I
told the husband that if he ever got the opportunity to blast an Ewok,
I was going to be in on it---I wanted to take one of those overgrown
rodents down! It would be satisfying in the extreme. And, according to
the husband, I wasn't the only one who wanted to do this. It's
fortunate that Jar-Jar Binks isn't in the game, otherwise he'd be
toast. Months come and go. No Ewok mass murdering opportunities arise.
Ewoks, at the beginning of the game, were a protected species. But
their status at the Endor Wildlife Conservation Department changed a
little while ago: suddenly, it was ok to slaughter Ewoks. The husband
relayed this information to me. I reminded him of his promise to let me
slaughter one. He said ok, he'd let me know the next time he got to
Endor. He got to Endor yesterday. He slaughtered an Ewok. He never told
me he was there, nor did he invite me to be in on the fun! And THEN
he had the gall to email me a screen shot of a dead Ewok. I am livid. I
wanted to kill that overgrown hamster! I wanted to riddle a little Ewok
body with blaster holes. Grrrrrrrr. His excuse for not making me aware
of the Ewok slaughter: I was napping. He knows I hate to be disturbed
while I'm napping. Damnit, this was the one time you could have woken
me up, love o' my life! I wouldn't have minded. Really. I mean that.
Phone calls, no, don't wake me. Ewok slaughtering, yes, wake me the
hell up. You'd better get your ass back to Endor, and soon, or I might
just deauthorize the SWG charges to the checking account. There. Threat
made. We'll see what sort of a reply he comes up with. (And I changed
the password on this blog. He can't hijack it anymore. He'll have to
use his own blog if he wants to reply publicly!)
---Oh, and I promised Mr. H. the end to the "tabs" vs. "tags" debate.
Forgot all about it. Whoops.
I had to renew Nellie's license tags the other day. This was not
something I was looking forward to. We're in the last ten days of the
month: this is the period of time that the State itself warns you is a
bad time to visit them. They're generally overwhelmed with people who
have put the whole business off in the effort to mentally dodge the
fact they have to pay yet another tax to the People's Republic of
Minnesota and the Province of Hennepin. It's expensive to live here. We
have to pay a lot of taxes for the privilege. No small wonder most
people avoid the Hennepin County Service Center like they would the
plague or Ebola. Anyway, I got the job done. It was a pleasant
experience, on the whole. Surprisingly, the place wasn't overflowing
with people. I got in and out within a half hour, which I think is a
record. And after handing over my $39.50, I got new tags to put on
Nellie's plates and I breathed a sigh of relief. Nellie's tags expired
at the end of November: it was past time we got this done. You know, to
avoid the usual pleading when the cops pulled me over for expired tags.
The DMV had sent me a renewal notice in October, announcing once again
I could go online and get this whole thing done that way. I've done
this in the past, but we weren't overdue at that point in time, so
while I knew I actually had to go and renew them in a physical, rather
than temporal sense, I still toyed with the idea of just not driving
the car for a few days while I renewed them online. Where does Mr. H.
come in? you ask. What's this whole debate you've got going on? Make
some sense here, woman! For the love of all that is good and holy, stop
rambling! Well, the debate comes in because Mr. H. laughed at me a
while ago when I used the word "tags" to describe the little stickers
you put on your plates to announce to the world that you're a good
taxpaying citizen. He said true Minnesotans used the word "tabs." I
told him "tabs" was the plural usage of the soda, not the little sticky
things you put on your plates. He disagreed. Hence, a debate ensued.
And I won. Go here and realize I'M FULL OF SHIT AND WILL SEE ONLY WHAT I WANT TO SEE WHEN I'M BLINDED BY SHEER COMPETITIVENESS!

Crap. I lost. I just handed my own ass to myself. How humiliating.

Posted by: Kathy at 01:21 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 1524 words, total size 8 kb.

--- Most people in my family, particularly my brothers, are
mercenaries. Everything's a deal with them. They want something in
return for services performed. When I was chatting on the phone with my
brother Mike a week before the party, he wondered if we should have a
master of ceremonies. Someone to get up and do a toast and to corral
people if it should be necessary. It was necessary, but who did we want
to do it? That was the kicker. Mike didn't really want the job. Neither
did I. I have a thing about public speaking. Ususally it involves
hyperventilating and a goodly amount of incoherence. Doesn't really
make a great impression, so I was out. We ran through some
possibilities, but we ultimately came to the conclusion that our
brother Tim was the man for the job. Tim is cool. He's laid back. He
knows the value of brevity. He filled all the qualifications for the
job, so he was volunteered. Mike and I were pleased with this and thus
ended the discussion.
The next step was to tell Tim about it. It's one thing to offer up
someone as a sacrificial lamb. It's entirely another to get them agree
to the sacrifice. I sucked up so much you could have called me
"Hoover." I was ultimately informed that he wanted a mention on the
blog in exchange for his services. I said "deal!" So, Timmy, I composed
a haiku for you. I'm not a poet. If you wanted iambic pentameter you
should have made a deal with someone else. Thanks for your
efforts---you were perfect. Tim, God of coolness
Master of public speaking
Well done, brother o' mine

And I am done counting syllables for the day. Woohoo! You see, you can find little things to make your day more interesting. This is mine for today.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:45 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 320 words, total size 2 kb.

--- It's something like good intentions pave the road to hell. Right?
That's the quote, right? I don't know anymore. I'm foggy. I feel like
I've turned into a bobblehead doll with a two hundred pound head that
just keeps bouncing all over the damn place but, amazingly, keeps
defying the law of gravity and never crashes to the ground. Yes. You
would be correct in the assumption that is running through your mind
right now: I got the husband's junk. Ugh.
I have very little wit about me right now (like I have a great deal
when I'm not
sick, but you people are very good at humoring me, I know. Thanks) so
I'm keeping it short today and am linking to junk you should probably
read, but won't. Ok, whatever. I don't have the energy to even begin
caring right now anyway.
--- These are funny.
Sarah Jessica Parker's got a hankering to play a hick without Manolo's?
Yeah. Like that's going to happen.
Also, refreshing honesty from Mandy Moore. That girl's going to go
places because she realizes there's a very small future in being like
Britney Spears. Good for her. --- They should have given it to Turner Gill.

I mean, at least he actually cares about the Nebraska Football Program.

--- And here's wishing we'd won that big ass Powerball jackpot last week because I'd love to buy one of these.
Man oh Man. Forbes reportedly has the best collection of Faberge in the
world. And they're letting a boatload of it go. Arrrgh. I really wish I
had money because I'd love to have something made by Faberge. I don't
need an egg, although those are very cool. No, I'm talking about the
cigarette cases the Romanovs gave away as party favors. The jewelry.
The trinket boxes. All of the little, ordinary things Faberge managed
to take to a whole new level of beauty with his talent.
I love what that guy came up with. Talk about creativity. He was
amazing. Now, I suppose it's easy to bejewel all sorts of ordinary
items when your patron is sucking the treasury dry to pay for your
work. The Romanovs, no matter their horrible end, weren't exactly the
best rulers of Russia. If they'd perhaps paid a little less attention
to what type of bejeweled party favors they gave out and spent more
time and energy on social reform, it's possible that Lenin wouldn't
have had them shot in Ekaterinburg. As the Merovingian would say, it's
all about causality. But the art that survived. It's glorious. And God
only knows when a sale like this will come up again. People horde stuff
like this. Malcolm Forbes was a generous man---he shared his collection
with the world. Now, this stuff is going to be bought at auction for
astronomical prices and the eggs and all of the other goodies are going
to be shoved into the vaults of the rich and famous for all eternity.
Sigh. The best possible option here would be for Putin to make a deal
with one of the oligarchs and have them buy the stuff for the Hermitage
in St. Petersburg, and then we could all see it again. But it won't
happen. Putin' doesn't have enough cash in the treasury to compete with
the other buyers at this sale, and it's not like he's going to give the
oligarchs any ground with which to strengthen their position. It's a
shame. The Hermitage is where that collection belongs. Bummer. I still
would love to have a piece of Faberge.
--- I've officially reached the end of my rope. Back to bed. Well, back
to bed as soon as the husband puts the sheets back on. Can you believe
it? He's doing the laundry today. I should get sick more often
methinks!

Posted by: Kathy at 12:21 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 649 words, total size 4 kb.

--- Fortunately for me, I didn't get the whole of the husband's
illness. I was feeling fine by yesterday. He's still having snot
problems. Thank God I'm not. I just don't have the time to be ill right
now. I'll be blogging today thru Thursday and then I'm taking Friday
off as I'm heading to the homeland for the Cake Eater Parent's 50th
wedding anniversary par-tay. The party is actually on Saturday night,
but there are so many people to see, so much liquor to drink and one
two-day weekend is not enough time to squish all of that activity into.
So, to give my liver extra recovery time, I'm heading out on Friday,
and that way I'll be able to better space out the drinking and the
resultant hangovers. Oh, the sacrifices I must make.
Now, I might have mentioned that I come from a big family. I'm the
youngest of eight children and since the other seven siblings have gone
forth and multiplied, we're a pretty large group when we can manage to
get together. I think we're almost about forty people, with spouses and
offspring, but since it takes too long to count, we'll just go with
that estimate. Now, that's a lot of people to have in an immediate
family. So, you might be able to imagine how crazy
family gatherings can be. Particularly with my family---we're insane,
to put it mildly and clinically. It's going to be three straight days
of catching up with the Cake Eater parents, siblings and their spouses;
reacquainting myself with my nieces and nephews (read: having hair
pulled, being jumped on and being shown the latest in the Barbie and
Lego lines); fighting off non-smoking siblings who will try to mooch
smokes when they start drinking; dancing; going to mass and on the
whole, having fun. It's going to be insane. Family gatherings always
are. But they're also fun, too. A whirlwind awaits at the end of the
week, in other words, and I'm gearing up. I think I've figured out what
to wear, although that might change when I get a gander at my sister's
closet. My main dilemma right now is whether to wear nylons or to not
wear nylons. It's Omaha, it will be cold. But I can't find the right
color to wear with this one skirt and I don't like wearing nylons with
open-toed sandals because that seam at the toe always bugs me and
they'll just run anyway
and it's not like they're going to add more warmth, so why bother,
right? I don't know. I'm going to be hemming and hawing over this one
for a time. Perhaps I'll have it figured out by Friday. Perhaps I
won't. I'm leaning against right now, but my legs are damn
white. I don't know if it's all that attractive of an option for me to
be going bare legged right now. Hmmm. Much thought is required. Much
toenail polish, too, but we'll save that for another day.
Anyway, here's what I've got for you today.
--- Methinks, she didn't want him to take the easy way out.

This woman, I'm sure, has plans for this guy. And it won't be pretty.

--- And we have another Silly German today!
{Insert much mirth here}
Can you do better than that? I don't think so.
{snort!}

Posted by: Kathy at 11:26 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 569 words, total size 3 kb.