Winner for Worst Mother of the Year

This week I had to travel on a small plane from DC to Cleveland. To give you an idea of the size of this plane… it was 1 seat on the left and 2 seats on the right, for probably 20 rows. It was not a big plane. It was so small that we had to go outside and enter the plane via a ladder on the tarmac. It was maybe 40 degrees when we left DC. It was snowing when we deplaned in Cleveland.

My nominee for worst mother of the year got on with her 3 tweener kids – all with skateboards – none with jackets. The one in the lead was throwing up into a barf-bag. They sent him to the back of the plane (somewhere far enough behind me that I eventually, gratefully, stopped hearing the noises) and then mom and the other kids spread out. As in, they left his poor sick miserable ass alone in the back and sat elsewhere.

Most of the hour plus ride was in horrible turbulence. It was so bad I couldn’t read and I couldn’t put my head on the headrest or against the window. As my own stomach expressed its displeasure, I thought of that poor kid and what he must be going through.

When we deplaned in Cleveland, I was behind the unit as we worked our way down the ladder, into the airport, and through the airport to ground transportation. The mother squawked at her brood that she told them they needed their jackets – they shouldn’t have packed their jackets – they would rue the day they didn’t wear their jackets – and now she was vindicated. It’s always amazing to see a mother talk to her children like she was a 14-year-old babysitter who was trying to one-up her charges. Good for you, letting your kids do whatever they wanted, even though you knew it was going to snow and you knew they would need their jackets but you let them make their own decisions and now you are going to rub their noses in it. Excuse me, either be the adult and make the decisions (you will take your jackets it is snowing at our destination) or tell them they make the decision and live with the consequences – and then leave it alone. Because if you leave it alone, the kids learn the lesson (mom was right, gee who knew that could happen/hey snow is cold, I should bring my jacket next time mom says it is snowing) but if you taunt them the lesson is “my mother is a jackass”.

But I digress…

The mother walked ahead with the healthy kids, wearing one of their skateboard helmets, and chatting them up. Never noticing that her sick kid kept falling farther and farther behind.

She didn’t even notice when her son threw up all over the floor. She didn’t notice because she was getting on the down escalator with her other kids – and two other moms pointed it out to her, and showed her how to get back around and up to her kid. She sighed and rolled her eyes.

At the bottom of the escalator a man was waiting for them. She gave him a big hug. She started chatting him up, sighed and looked over her shoulder for the missing child – who still was apparently at the top of the escalator. She looked annoyed – as did the other children. The man looked confused.

I walked past them, pushing down my temper. She forced this child onto the flight, when he was clearly, visibly ill, and then gave him no comfort. Upon arrival, she acted as if he ceased to exist, and then when his existence was pointed out to her, she became annoyed.

I know it is hard to care for a sick person. I know it because I have been a caretaker and I have been a sick person. I know it is a thankless job. But guess what lady: This. Is. Your. Child. Your kids that are healthy and fine do not need to chat you up about their skateboards or whatever else you were discussing – they don’t need you at the moment – other than to be nearby as a resource. Your sick child needs you.

To be a sick child, alone, uncomforted, is one of the worst feelings in the world. No child should have to endure it. No child should have to feel sick and rejected. No child should have to feel that his mother has chosen his siblings over him and forgotten him. Especially not in so public a setting. Who needs public humiliation added to all of that?

My first thought when they boarded the flight was about how irresponsible it was to bring a sick person onto a flight (especially such a small one) where we would all be exposed to whatever the kid had. Within moments I had forgotten all about that, and realized that this woman was irresponsible in every aspect of her children’s lives, and if she cannot think of the well being of her own children, how can she think beyond them?

Sara’s guide to surviving your tonsillectomy

Disclaimer: I am not a medical professional. This is not medical advice. This is based on personal, patient experience. Whenever you are undergoing, considering, contemplating, or anything more than daydreaming about a surgical procedure, your doctor's advice takes precedent - not a blog post you found. If you didn't already know that, you either aren't old enough or smart enough to care for yourself. Seek medical attention.

Now that the disclaimer is out of the way, here's my advice, now that I've lived through an adult tonsillectomy:

1. Prepare ahead: if you have the ability to prepare ahead of time, and with a tonsillectomy you generally should, you will want to have some items ready for when you get home. Note: you should double-check with your doctor to ensure that you are following his/her instructions


• Drinks: you will want ice cold drinks on hand in mass quantities, no hot drinks, no hot soups


• Ice cream: plain flavors, no add-in (sorry rocky-road fans)


• Jello: if you like it stock up


• Pudding: same as jello.


• Medication: see if your doctor will write the prescriptions ahead of time so you can have them at home when you get home (some may need to be ordered as they are not kept on hand).


2. Hydrate early, often, again, and again. This cannot be said enough. Drink, drink, drink, drink. The better hydrated you are, the quicker you heal. The poorer your hydration, the more pain, and the slower the healing. If you are having problems drinking you probably need a better pain medication.


3. Medicate on time: do not delay on your meds. Do not try to tough it out. If you are in pain you will have a very hard time staying hydrated. Also, watch how long your meds are really lasting – if it says take every 4 hrs, but after 90 minutes you are in pain again, get a better medication.


4. Food: accept that for a week your only foods are ice cream, pudding, and jello. I was able to eat mac without the cheese after about 4 days. It took almost 10 before I was eating truly solid food. I’m still working back towards a full menu.


5. Use a humidifier when you sleep. This will keep your throat from dehydrating while you sleep.


6. Sleep: sleep is actually counter-intuitive post-tonsillectomy. You will want to sleep, but when you sleep, you are dehydrating. So sleep in short bursts (1-2 hrs) and use a humidifier. Drink 8 oz before you sleep (if you are like me this will ensure you wake up within 2 hrs) and another 8 when you get up. You need to combat the dehydration that sleep causes.

The other major thing you need is someone who can take care of you. You need someone who can fill your prescriptions, pick up any drinks or foods you run out of, etc. You especially want someone who can drive you any place you might need to be. Trust me, if you wind up on the meds I was on (hello oxycontin) you cannot drive, I was so doped up I was handing over the keys in my dreams.

Stay hydrated. Stay medicated. You'll be fine.

Respect Ed Hochuli

Last Sunday my favorite NFL referee made a bad call. You've heard about it, everyone is making a big stink over it.

Here's a story you aren't hearing.

Ed Hochuli is, in this fan's opinion, a rare person in this industry. He's hard working, he cares about the details, he cares about getting it right. And he has courage and integrity.

Courage and integrity.

Normally, when a ref makes a questionable call the announcers bitch about it, fans at home bitch about it, it gets written up for awhile (the size of the question directly relating to the length, depth, and duration of the coverage) - but at the moment of the questionable call, the game goes on.

But not Ed Hochuli. He immediately identified the error - not just to himself - but to the whole world. He didn't try to excuse it or hide it or claim it was a solid call. He said it was a mistake, he said why it was a mistake, and then he got the game moving forward.

For those of you who haven't seen it, there is actually a great documentary about Ed Hochuli and his crew on NFL's Six Days to Sunday - how they spend each week and prep between games. He goes over every minute of film, looking at every call, reviewing it with his crew, with the review board - always trying to get better.

Why work that hard? Well remember that the rules change every year. Every year some rules change; some change a little, some change a lot. This is not an easy job. But Ed Hochuli is clearly dedicated to always being at the top of his game.

I watch football like a fiend. I have the big football package so I don't miss a game. And I can tell you that I am thrilled when I see that Ed Hochuli is refereeing a game - because I know that means that we're going to get a staff that is totally dedicated to the job, and that Ed is going to ensure that every call that needs an explanation gets one. No one at home has to wonder "why this call" or "what does that mean?" because Ed is going to explain it clearly, concisely, and you can trust that the calls are the best you can expect from someone in real time. I will take Ed Hochuli over any ref any day of the week.

I trust Ed Hochuli and so should you. Not because he is infallible, but because he has the courage and integrity to know when he has made a mistake and say so. And you can bet he won't make that same mistake twice.

Hang in there Ed. You're the best.

Sick & Tired of Being Sick & Tired

Summer is usually a time of fun. I got to have some fun at the start of the summer... first on my trip to Finland (for work, but very cool), and then on vacation to Bermuda. Then, I got sick.

It started with a bad ear infection in mid-July that never seemed to go away. I've been back to the ENT several times who keeps telling me that my ears are clear despite my protestations that I am in excruciating pain (to the point where I am taking percocet several times daily) all along the right side of my face - with the fixation point in my ear.

So on Tuesday I had a head/neck CT Scan. Today I got the results.

Apparently part of your tonsils are sub-lingual (under the tongue) and therefore cannot be seen during a normal exam. These are the part of my tonsils that have tonsillitis. It's a gnarly infection and I will be on an uber-antibiotic for 2 weeks (the warning on the pamphlet actually says "Do not take this medication unless you have a serious illness as the side effects can be fatal"). Then he'll drop a scope down my throat and see if the infection is cleared up - now that he knows what to look for - and if so I am good to go. If not, I may be undergoing a tonsillectomy. Ah, the irony that I will have ANOTHER tonsillectomy again in my lifetime is not lost on me - and I hope you find it amusing as well. That's right - for those of you who don't know, I had my tonsils out when I was 3 - apparently they left scar tissue - and apparently tonsils can and will grow back. As Mr. Holly said, "that is the worst superhero power ever!" And I heartily agree.

So tonight I begin the antibiotics, which I am told will be horrifically unpleasant for my stomach... but within a few days I shouldn't feel like an ice pick is being rammed into my ear any more.

So that's the news... still the kid with the bad ears / nose /throat wondering where in the hell I got these defective tonsils from anyway.

Mom & Dad, I would like a refund on my tonsils, my original tonsillectomy, and any other defective ENT gear I came from the factory with.

Ten things I hate about Boston

Since the start of the new year I’ve been coming out to Boston almost weekly to work with a client. They’re not in the city, per se, so it may be a bit unfair to title this “…about Boston” but since we’re in the Boston burbs, and since I fly into Logan airport, Boston must bear my ire.

Item #10: Street Signs, Part 1. The streets here suck on many, many levels. For one, they have no fucking signs. Seriously. By some grand design there are no signs to tell you what street you are on – and not all the cross streets have signs either. So if you are from here, and you know where you are and where you are going (by rote experience I imagine) then I guess it will work fine for you. For anyone else, however, this system is complete ass.

Item #9: Street Signs, Part 2. I’m not talking about names – I’m taking about the signs that tell you about conditions. The one I have noticed on this trip is: “Thickly Settled” – which a quick Google search tells me is used to indicate a highly dense population/neighborhood, and therefore speeds over 30 MPH are very bad. Why not just put the normal speeding signs with warnings for high fines? Because seriously, only someone from here is going to know wtf “Thickly Settled” means.

Item #8: Roundabouts. Let me tell you the joy of having any GPS system try to explain to you which point of the circle you are entering you need to exit. This is exacerbated when the roundabout is followed immediately by another roundabout. One of my most cringe-worthy experiences driving here is hearing the GPS say: “Proceed through the first roundabout, then take the second exit and the second roundabout, and exit the next roundabout immediately.” Were the street planners stoned when they made these streets? These people need to burn in hell. Starting now.

Item #7: Road conditions. I have lived in big and small cities across the land. I have traveled far and wide. These are easily the worst streets I have seen north of the Mexico border. Potholes you could drive a Buick through – lanes and diverge and merge without signs or warnings. No drainage for rain, snow, and other nasty sludge. There is no suspension gentle enough to make you think the roads here are good.

Item #6: The snooty.

I was talking to someone early in my travels here who was telling me how her whole family was from here, and they all went to Harvard, because it was “the local college”. As if. As if it was like some community college and they all waltzed in with no problem. Maybe they did waltz in. Maybe they bought their way in. Maybe they are old money. I don’t really give a fuck. I will tell you that many, many people try to get into Harvard, from MA and other places and don’t get in – and it has nothing to do with it being their “local school”. Put. The. Attitude. Away. Kudos on the Harvard degree sister, but don’t act like everyone just walks in.

Item #5: The accent.

No – I am not about to bash the southie accent. What bothers me is that most of the people here have no accent – as if it is some mythical thing. And then, they slip into it when they are tired or stressed. Or you meet someone who has such a thick accent that you can’t even comprehend them. Where is the charming accent everyone used in The Departed? Some of those people were from here, they used their real accents. Where are those people and their accents? They don’t exist. It’s either these thick, impenetrable accents, or people who you think aren’t even from here, until they tell you how they all went to Harvard because it was the only local school and therefore their only option.

Item #4: The weather.

When I moved to Northern VA I gave up good weather. But coming up here is like going to the god-dammed North Pole. When it is 50 degrees in DC it is 35 here. When it is 35 in DC I am a god-dammed frozen icicle here.

Item #3: The traffic.

I once stayed at a hotel that was 5 miles from the office. It took me 45 minutes to get there. Every. Fucking. Day. Not a fluke – that’s what the traffic was like. You need to find where the weird patterns are and avoid them. This time I am staying 7 miles away and it takes 20 minutes to get there.

Item #2: The cost of food.

Hotel food is insanely expensive – so I’m not even going there. But seriously, I go out for dinner because I am on the road and every item that is worth eating is expensive as hell. By that I mean, it isn’t an iceberg lettuce salad or a hamburger. You can’t eat burgers every night after you hit 30 years old – know why? It’s called your metabolism, your heart, your cholesterol, your blood pressure, your doctor’s orders, and the fact that you want to live to 40. So I go out, try to get fish (healthy), or find something light, and you’re looking at $25-30 pre-tax, tip, and drink. Seriously. $30. Insanity.

Item #1: The airport.

I cannot say this enough: Fuck Logan Airport. Fuck it. I. FUCKING. HATE. LOGAN. AIRPORT. 95% of the time I get delayed leaving Logan. But even worse than that are their asinine security lines. The security lines resemble the roads here – no clear delineations, and at one point they merge two into one – without any warning. One occasion I had this misfortune of being in a lane that was forced to merge, then diverge, then remerge. It took me almost an hour to get through security – at 7 AM! I’ve never seen such horribly organized security lanes. The guys who check your IDs are great – by the way – nice guys. Most of the folks are fine. There are two women here that fry my ass though. They walk up and down this tight little area where people are struggling to get their items into the bins to go through the x-ray machine, and they scream: “DO NOT PUT YOUR SHOES IN THE BINS! YOUR SHOES GO ON THE BELT! MAKE SURE YOU PUT YOUR LIQUIDS IN A BIN! IF YOU DO NOT PUT YOUR LIQUIDS IN A BIN AND THEY ARE SPOTTED ON THE X-RAY, THEY WILL BE CONFISCATED! DO NOT PUT YOUR SHOES IN THE BINS!” and then they will run up to specific people and scream “SIR I SAID ‘DO NOT PUT YOUR SHOES IN THE BINS!’ THESE ARE NEW BINS AND YOU ARE MAKING THEM DIRTY!” And almost every time the offender responds with – “I was just trying to move my items along the table – I didn’t put my shoes in the bins…” and then they will scream, “SIR, YOU WERE ABOUT TO PLACE YOUR SHOES IN THE BIN! DO NOT PLACE YOUR SHOES IN THE BIN!” It’s horrific to listen to when you stand in those insane lines. But as bad as I thought it was, I never realized how bad it is for the employees, until last week when the ID checker (who was very nice, jovial, and otherwise cheery) said to me, “Oh my god I wish she would just stop that. Do me a favor, roll your eyes at her and glare at her when you get up there – she hates that.” And then he laughed and shook his head and mumbled something about how many more years he had until retirement.

And really, the shoes in the bins thing is stupid – because other airports make you put them in the bins. So if you are one of the odd airports, don’t expect people to get why you are insane about your bins. No one cares that your bins are new.

And stop yelling. What, are you New Yorkers?

Most Importantly: It isn’t home.

Isn’t that really all that matters?

Who Needs Sleep?

There's so much joy in life,
so many pleasures all around
But the pleasure of insomnia
is one I've never found
With all life has to offer,
There's so much to be enjoyed
But the pleasures of insomnia
are ones I can't avoid

Lids down, I count sheep
I count heartbeatsT
he only thing that counts is
that I won't sleep
I countdown, I look around

Hala Hala Hala...

Who needs sleep?
(well you're never gonna get it)
Who needs sleep?
(tell me what's that for)
Who needs sleep?
(be happy with what you're getting
There's a guy who's been awakesince the Second World War)
--Barenaked Ladies “Who Needs Sleep”

Insomnia… my lifelong foe

I’ve had a lifelong battle with the elusive beast you call a good night’s sleep. I think in the 30+ years I have been on this planet I have never experienced a “good” night’s sleep. I don’t lay down and fall asleep, I lay awake. I don’t awake refreshed in the morning, I fight through the fog.

I toss, I turn, I sweat, I snore, I flail, I even call out, but peace is something I cannot achieve in my sleep. My teen through grad school years capitalized on my insomnia by using the wee hours of the evening for brainstorming. I was a master planner while I laid awake in my bed. The morning would find me groggy on just a few hours of patched together sleep, but in the shower I would reassemble my plans from the night before and write, do my homework, housework, what have you. My plan would push me through the fog.

Ironically, every sleep expert says that all that bedtime thinking intensifies the insomnia. So I started trying to turn it off. Instead of the plans that brought me peace that all my to do would in fact get done, I would lie awake going “don’t think…shh… relax…” I’ve come to the conclusion that telling myself to relax is tantamount to flipping a panic switch deep inside my psyche. Somewhere my skeptical brain hears “relax” and thinks “sabotage!” and all my inner alarms go off – like “Why do I need to relax? What is wrong?” and the next thing I know I’ve given myself a lovely panic-induced asthma attack. Let me tell you how that doesn’t help me relax and fall asleep.

So I changed again, I tried giving myself little daydreams. Substituting myself in for whatever great television or movie character I had recently seen or appreciated, bending the plotline to my will. Unfortunately, my favorite genres are thrillers and action movies, so inserting myself into the lead role where I have Jackie Chan skills, usually means an action sequence is playing out in my head – and that means I tend to wake up more than relax – because really, how do you fall asleep when you are kicking so much ass?

But all the experts say to do this, and do that, and set a routine, and get the right mattress and the right pillow, and the right temperature, and whatever. I’ve tried every fancy pillow. Let me tell you how much my dogs love them. Because the fancy ones eventually (sometimes almost immediately) annoy me and then the dogs claim them for makeshift doggie beds. The beagle is a big fan of tempur-pedic.

And a few years back I even read enough expert material to think I might have sleep apnea, and my doctor agreed. So off I went for a sleep study test. I was hooked up to machines from head to toe (literally) and monitored throughout the night. I don’t have apnea. I do snore. I do get up to go to the bathroom. They said I woke up 63 times from my own damn snoring. I spent 4% of the night in REM sleep (that’s the good stuff folks), and you are supposed to spend 25% in REM. Clearly, I am not getting what I need. So what do the experts tell me? Stop snoring.

So I went to an ENT (ear, nose, throat) doctor who said there was nothing wrong with my nasal passages, change the angle of my head, use snore strips, use a humidifier, and try to stop snoring. There’s a whole fucking industry devoted to stopping snoring and guess what? People still snore.

But somehow I started to work it out. Somehow I found my rhythm. I figured out the temperature I needed for the room. I figured out how to get it dark enough. I changed pillows. I got a new mattress. I got a new humidifier. And I got on a schedule. It took months, but I was on a schedule and probably getting 5-6 hrs of sleep a night. Not consecutively, mind you, I was still getting up a few times, but it was still a huge improvement.

And then something AMAZING happened. I got laid off. I had no job. So I didn’t have to get up at some artificial time. I let my body completely dictate when I went to bed and when I got up. When my body told me it was ready to fall over, I went to bed, and not before. I held out for exhaustion. And then I slept until I was ready to get up. I was probably going to bed at 2 and getting up around 9 and it was working pretty well for me. Probably the best sleep I had in my life.

Then, I had to work again. I forced myself back to my good habits, and it was back to about 5 hrs a night. Sure, I was spending 8 in the bedroom, but only about 5 of those were asleep. But I was making it work.

Last fall it all went to hell.

Last fall I started traveling for work. This has destroyed every good sleep accomplishment I have made. Every success has become undone. There are days I leave for the airport at 5 AM, which means I am up at 3:30 AM to shower, get dressed, and do any last minute packing. Then there are the hotels, with the beds of all qualities, and their pillows. Most are completely mushy, and I have to stack them – completely the opposite of my home pillow.

And of course, I am alone, in a smaller bed. I don’t fight for the covers. I don’t have dogs snuggling (or pushing as the case may be). The whole dynamic changes. Then I come home, and I have to readjust to having a person and horde of dogs in the bed and all the heat they all generate. It is madness.

I wind up throwing off my sleep schedule on a daily basis; it isn’t even fair to call it a schedule anymore. I generally want to be up at 6 for the days that I am in the office. The other day I woke up at 2 AM wide awake, ready to get to work. It took me an hour to get back to sleep. Then I woke again at 4. I finally got up at 5. AM. We weren’t leaving the house till 7:30 AM, but there I was, showered and on the computer, sending work email by 5:30 AM.

One of my clients said to me, “I get email from you at all hours of the day and night. Are you a night owl or a morning person?”

“I guess both, but not really by choice.”

“Aren’t you tired?”

“You get used to it,” I lied. You can tell your friends and family, but you can’t tell your clients that the real answer is “always – I am always tired”.

I’m afraid that insomnia is a foe I shall never vanquish.

Who needs sleep?
(well you're never gonna get it)
Who needs sleep?
(tell me what's that for)
Who needs sleep?
(be happy with what you're getting
There's a guy who's been awakesince the Second World War)

Sometimes People Surprise You in a Good Way

So I am sitting at the airport, this fine Easter morning, waiting for yet another international departure to a client site, when I witnessed something that actually reminded me that there are good people out there.

Of course, it started by reminding me that children are ignorant little shits.

I was sitting at the gate and three (pre) teens were sitting just behind me:

Boy 1: …so that bah, um barz, um

Girl: Bar Mitzvah: for boys it is a Bar Mitzvah, for girls it is a Bats Mitzvah

Boy 2: what are you guys talking about?

Girl: At our hotel, this Bar Mitzvah was going on this weekend, and the Jew was telling us about it

Boy 2: The Jew?

Girl: Yeah he told us his name but we decided that we were just going to call him “The Jew” – it really pissed him off when we did it. So we just kept calling him “The Jew” and he would go “My name is…” and we would go “you’re ‘The Jew’”

So right about now I’m about to turn around and give these twits an object lesson in being treated like objects [because seriously "The Jew?" I mean, is Ben Stiller working on a superhero skit I should know about? Is Adam Sandler writing another version of the Hanukkah song? "The Jew" - is this the Jewish version of "The Highlander" (there can be only one)?] when I see a young man walking towards them – he might be around 25 – 30 years old – and since these kids are sans chaperone, I figure he might be theirs.

Man: So hey, are you guys Jewish?

Girl: Noooooooo… we’re Christ-ian

Boy 1: yeah, Christian

Man: Oh cause I heard you talking about Bar Mitzvahs and being Jewish

Girl: No see there was this Jew…

Man: So did you guys go to the Holocaust Museum while you were in DC?

All kids: yeah

Man: what did you think of it?

Boy 1: well, this kid in my class went on and on about all the people in his family who died and he cried and stuff

Boy 2: yeah people were crying

Girl: yeah

Man: Yeah, but what did you think? How did you feel when you went through it?

Girl: It was sad. It made me sad.

Man: What did you think of [name of exhibit – didn’t hear it]

Girl: I was really upset about that. You know, a lot of them were my age.

Man: yeah, they were all ages.

Boy 1: You know, they asked us what nationality we are – our guide did – and when I said I was German they all started calling me a Nazi! And I was like “I am not a Nazi! I wouldn’t do that! It is so unfair that you guys label me just because I am German!”

Girl: Oh my god, me too! I was like “Not my fault I am German, okay, and being German doesn’t mean I am horrible.”

Man: So how did you feel, when they treated you that way, just because you are German…

All kids: it sucked

Girl: It was so unfair. It hurt my feelings. I mean I didn’t *do* anything.

And then they called for my rows to board, and I got up and watched the exchange continue, and I thought to myself, there are people out there who are pretty cool. Sure, anyone could have ripped those kids a new asshole (*cough* me) but that wouldn’t have gotten to them – this guy actually got them to think about what they were saying.

Kudos to you, good sir.
Happy Easter everyone.

The way we tour(ist)

Scott flew down to meet me here for the weekend and we decided to do the touristy things. On Saturday we went to the historic naval dockyards and on Sunday we went to the aquarium.

At the dockyards, we went into the maritime museum, I was pretty fascinated by the outside with all the cannons and the walls and such. Inside I was impressed by the award-winning renovations to the structure. Soon I asked if it was time to go see the dolphins. I just couldn’t handle being inside a museum on a beautiful sunny day in the tropics reading plaques about the history of the island. Yawn.

We sat and watched the dolphins at the ‘dolphin quest’ exhibit – same museum facility – but the dolphin quest offers the chance to swim with the dolphins. The water is really too cold at this time of year to do it, but it was great fun to watch them chase each other and play.

We had some lunch, wandered around the island, and were eager to find the Hagen Daas ice cream shop. Then we had had our fill and we took the ferry back.

On Sunday we spent our time at the aquarium admiring the fish and going through all the zoo exhibits, but we bolted through the geological museum offerings. Again it was a beautiful day outside and neither of us had any interest in reading informative plaques regarding sediment changes over the history of the island when we could watch the seals, peacocks, and wallabies throughout the zoo.

Given what information geeks we both are I found it kind of amusing. I realize that our penchant for technology has made us (me at least) too fidgety to stand inside a museum, reading all the walls upon walls of information, when there are glorious seals just out the door frolicking in their pool (or, in this case, sunning themselves and grunting, but still). It was exactly the same the day before – cannons = cool, museum = dull, dolphins =excellent!

It may be where I am in my life, or the fact that I am on a business trip taking advantage of the weekend to sight see with my husband, or maybe I just don’t get enough sunshine anymore.

But at least my partner in tourism is okay when I say, “I’m done with the history, let’s go see the dolphins!” because really, shouldn’t you do these things with someone who will enjoy what you enjoy and won’t be horribly disappointed when you tell them you need more sunshine and less time reading about sediment?

Drunk on a Plane

I’m sitting in the last row on my flight. Aisle seat.

Huge guy comes up to me and tells me he has the middle seat. I’m thinking, “Nightmare” but I smile and get up to let him in.

He tells me his brother is coming too, so he’ll take his brother’s window seat and put his brother in the middle.

The brother shows up… and he’s drunk. Really, stinky drunk.

I get up to let him in, and he tells me to go ahead and scoot in. I just started laughing, “Oh no, I paid for this seat, I like this seat, you go ahead and take your seat.” He said, “Oh no I insist.” I laughed again and said, “insist all you want, but that is your seat.” He sat and started grumbling.

So I sat and started reading my book. He’s chatting me up. I’m reading. He’s chatting. He says to me, “How’s your book?” and I reply, “I have no idea, every time I try to read this guy keeps talking to me,” “Really?” he asks – like he doesn’t realize I mean him, “Yeah, I’m not getting anything read,” “Oh okay, I’ll let you read then.”

A minute later he reaches over and starts trying to turn the page in my book, “I already read that page, turn the page.”

“No you didn’t,” I replied, “that page has words, and you don’t know how to read words," and he starts snorting. Then I said, “didn’t you bring anything to amuse yourself with?” and his brother said, “No he was hoping to have someone to snuggle with” at which point the drunk looks at me and smiles and makes his eyebrows bounce. I said, “Well then, you two go ahead and cuddle, it won’t bother me a bit.” The brother starts laughing and the drunk starts sulking.

Just then a member of the ground crew who checked us in came up. He told the drunk to come with him. The drunk was escorted off the plane. The brother inquired as to why, was told it was illegal to fly while intoxicated and that he had been removed, and so the brother exited as well.

Then a woman came and asked if she could have the window seat. I let her in. She told me a story about a drunk guy boarding the airplane next to her that was shoving people and reeked of liquor and was loud and disorderly and how she reported him to the flight attendants. I told her she was in his seat. She thought that was pretty funny.

The flight attendants asked me all kinds of questions and wanted a recap of the experience. They were kind of surprised that I hadn’t complained. I said, “It never occurred to me that I could complain about a drunk guy who talked too much and wanted to snuggle - especially since I could keep him at bay.” Of course, I was thrilled that he was removed – he was stinky and obnoxious, and who knows what would have happened once we hit full altitude – would he have become violent, puked, passed out, or just kept turning the pages in my book? But like I said, where else in the world can a woman summon someone and say “this man is drunk and is paying too much unwanted attention to me – make him go away”? Maybe next time I'll remember that I can say "hey, this guy is drunk, take him away!" but more than likely I'll just keep being me, giving better than I get and being mildly amused at everything other than the smell of it.

Road Warriors

I’m not a real road warrior – I have one international client and I get to go to a topic locale for a week or two at a time about every other month. But still I deal with planes, airports, parking, customs, hotels, dining alone, over-packing, tracking receipts and expenses, and calling home every night.

I work with some real road warriors – the ones who spend more time on the road than at home. And I met a couple while I was stranded at the airport on this trip. She was young, bubbly, and yet once she started talking about the road you could see the fatigue. She spent two years at one locale – living there full time. Then she was home for a few months. Then she was at another locale for a year. Then home for a month. She has no boyfriend/husband/significant other. She doesn’t even have a cat. How can she? She misses these things. She loves her work – she hates living out of hotel rooms and eating alone.

He was older, middle-aged or perhaps a bit older than that. His assignments weren’t long, but they were frequent. He likes his work. He hates hotels. He loves to cook but never does because he never has any food in the fridge – how can you keep food in the fridge when you are always on the road? He’s proud of his company’s rules about international and cross-country travel – always first class. Still, he has the fatigue too.

And I realized something after we parted company. I had talked to strangers. Willingly. And I enjoyed it.

Normally I hate strangers. I hate that people I don’t know start talking to me and interrupt whatever I am doing. I’m a curmudgeon. Now I’m starting the road warrior personality shift – so many nights alone for dinner, and at your hotel. It’s lonely. Strangers wanting to chat you up seems less intrusive and more welcome. The company isn’t horrible.

Maybe that’s why I didn’t complain about the obnoxious drunk guy next to me on the plane – sure he was obnoxious, but I just gave him more verbal grief than he gave me and kept putting him in his place. It was simultaneously mildly amusing and annoying. Then when they booted his drunk ass from the plane I realized I was relieved – I enjoyed having my quiet again.

And then at dinner I didn’t discourage the waiter from chatting me up excessively, even though I had a book. He was amusing. It was more enjoyable than the alternative.

I wonder how many road warriors become the ‘chat-up-a-stranger’ type and how many stay walled off. It almost seems inevitable.

Adventures in Flying

So I’m on another prolonged business trip out of the country and my start was quite an adventure in and of itself. It started with a delayed flight due to a ‘crew change’ – which required the pilot to sit and do paper work, which had to be shuttled to and from the tower before we were cleared for takeoff. This took 30 minutes. I was blown away that a commuter flight to Phili was delayed by the same amount of time it takes to get to Phili.

Then, my flight arrived so late that I had to run to my next gate, hoping I would not miss my connecting flight out of the country. You can imagine how flustered I was, since this locale only gets in like 4 flights a day, and I knew if I missed my flight I was pretty much delayed a whole day.

So I arrived to the gate huffing and puffing to find that flight was delayed 30 minutes. And I was relived. When the 30 minutes were up, however, they told us we were going to have another 3 hour delay because they needed to get us a new plane – which they had to fly in from another state.

At noon (now two hours later) they offered us all $10 meal vouchers – most folks had already wandered off and fed themselves. I had stayed behind talking with other road warriors about our destination and the places they like to eat there. We took our vouchers, got some food, got back for boarding and arrived at our destination only 3 hours late.

I can tell you that I am not looking forward to my flight home… I only hope they don’t screw that one up too. At least that is direct.

Friends don't let friends watch alone

2 movies, 20 years apart, loved by people I love...

and I can't stand 'em.

Worse, I hardly get them.

This is Spinal Tap

The problem:
Since 1984 I have been hearing about 'going to 11' and let me tell you that 20+ years of build-up for one joke will always destroy the joke when you finally hear it in context. It will never live up to the hype.

Also, it's just not funny.

(here comes the hate mail)

I know this movie is beloved by millions, and it has a cast that in comedic circles is drool-worthy - people I otherwise adore.

I fell asleep.

I woke up.

I turned on the computer.

I had it on in the background.

I was glad when it ended.

The funny thing is that if you go onto imdb.com and read the actual quotes from the movie I should have been falling over laughing.

So why wasn't I?

I was watching it by myself.

This is a movie that requires other people around so group heckling ensues. Alcohol, or other substances probably help as well.

Alone, mid-morning, between laundry, is not the time to see Spinal Tap.

Nor it is the time for your first viewing of...

Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb

And probably for some of the same reasons. Although I know other reasons that annoyed me about Strangelove... Kubrick

Kubrick and I don't get along. We're like oil and a slow acting toxin. The man's work may be considered 'genius' in some circles, but in my mind the man was a loon.

There were things about Strangelove that were damn funny, but it's Kubrick's staging and pacing that ultimately doomed the movie for me.

I spent 10 minutes retelling the funny bits to the hubby last night and had him laughing... and I said, "see - potential - but then Kubrick... and not so much"

And so I can cross these two cultural references off my netflix list, and off my list of, "oh I really should see that" and move on. Next time, I wish someone who likes a movie like this would say to me, "wait till I can watch that with you."

After all, I'd never let anyone watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail or The Rocky Horror Picture Show alone for the first time (or the latter outside of a midnight theatre showing).

Some movies can't handle a solo showing. Don't let your friends hate the movies you love.

Top 10 Ways Job Hunting is Like Dating

10. You are really eager and excited.


9. You get a hair cut, new clothes, new shoes, whatever to look your best.


8. You practice what you will say.


7. The whole time you are together you try to be a good listener but you are thinking about what you are saying, your posture, your breath, and their body language.


6. A really nice environment makes things smoother. A dump makes you want to run away.


5. All your friends and family bug you afterwards about how it went and you have to repeat the story in detail ad infinitum.


4. You always have butterflies in your stomach before and after the meeting.


3. You always think you really connected.


2. You’ll always remember something that you think sounded horrible just before you drift off to sleep – and that will keep you up all night.

And the # 1 thing…

If they call right away they are too eager and clearly a loser
If they never call they were the one you could have had real magic with...sigh... the one that got away.

My little accident

First things first: I am okay.

A not-so-funny thing happened on my way into work this morning.

My camry got into a wrestling match with a large tree, and lost. The camry is no more.

I've just gotten out of the ER, cleared after Xrays and Cat Scans and all manner of lovely poking and prodding to learn that I am severely bruised, but not broken.

What happened?

There's this beautiful windy lane-and-a-half semi-paved road that I take into work (scratch that, used to take into work) and this morning some asshole in a large F150 sized pickup comes around a tight bend barrelling like a bat out of hell, well into my lane. The only spot left for me was the gravel shoulder, and as I came around the corner, I was on all gravel on top of a hill, the car fishtailed, and I wound up across the lane making kissy face with a tree.

To my knowledge, the guy never even looked back. To be fair, by the time my car was off the road he was probably well past the S curve and beyond the ability to see my car.

But, there were good samaritans on the road, so while I was in shock and crying, a woman got out her EMT kit and started working on me, and a nice man took over my 911 call to explain to the operator where I was. The ambulance was there within minutes.

They had to cut the driver's door off, and they have to do all that crazy "strap you to a board and immobilize you" fun stuff because apparently my car was partially in a ditch and it would have been a good 3.5 ft drop for me to get out, and these guys were more stubborn than I was, and there were more of them, so I gave in. It didn't take much to persuade me.

Everyone there was fantastic - the EMTs, the hospital staff, the insurance guys who got me a rental right away.

I'm home, very sore, moderately doped up, and staying put today and tomorrow.

At least this happened after I voted and before the 50k maintenance.

United States Holocaust Memorial Museum

I met Helen Katz at the Holocaust Museum last week. She was the youngest of eight children, Hungarian, 13 years old, and known to friends and family as Potyo, “the dear little one”.

Helen was killed upon her arrival at Auschwitz on May 31, 1944.

Perhaps this seems like a macabre way to start a museum tour – handed a stranger’s ID card with a short life story, and finding out if your kindred spirit lived or died.

My mother’s ID card was for a survivor. All around us I saw people skipping to the end of their ID booklets, “did my person live or die?” So many died.

The Holocaust Memorial Museum is one of the finest museums I have ever visited – it is amazing how well done such a horrible era in history can be captured and presented to people. In most areas facts are presented and you are allowed to draw your own conclusions. In some places, there are really no alternative conclusions.

As a Jew, the Holocaust has always been a nightmare I cannot ignore or escape. My grandmother was at Auschwitz. It is something that I cannot culturally ignore, I cannot personally ignore it, I have seen more documentaries than I care to, and yet there is always more. Always some untold story. Always some new fact you wish was more nightmare than truth. There is little about the Holocaust that you can look upon without feeling disgust, nausea, anger, pain, panic, misery.

And even with all I thought I knew, I still learned more.

I learned that this chosen enemy of the Nazis was less than 1% of the population when Hitler rose to power. The pain of a nation, the economic woes, and all the things that were wrong with society were placed upon less than 1% of the population.

I learned that while most of the world’s governments did little or nothing to help their own Jews (Jews, homosexuals, Jehovah’s Witnesses, and anyone supporting free speech), Denmark did everything it could to save its Jews. It even chartered boats to Switzerland to try to get her Jews to safety.

I learned about dozens of people who risked everything to help. Among those was an Anti-Semite who hid Jews because she believed that the Holocaust was wrong. Some of these amazing people lost everything. Those that survived all said the same thing, “It was the right thing to do.”

After all the horrors I saw that day, it was the tales of Denmark and the ones who risked everything that made me cry – because they were the ones that chipped away at my cynicism about humanity. These people showed me the goodness and the kindness people are capable of.

We spent over five hours there that day. We left exhausted, emotionally and physically, but it was one of the most important experiences in my life, and I have nothing but admiration for the people who put this incredible museum together.

When you have the chance, please visit. Bring lots of Kleenex, and be prepared for a hard day. Go with someone you love, and then go somewhere and talk about everything you saw.

And then, do Helen Katz, my grandmother, and all Holocaust victims a service, and look to fight injustice in your lifetime, because you know that someone has to stand up and fight back.

Related Stuff:
Cookie's essay on the museum experience: Artistic Veritas: There but for the Grace of God go I

SaveDarfur.org has a post called "Lobby Congress" that's worth checking out...

You can help pressure Congress to do more to help the people of Darfur by meeting with your congressional representative or members of his or her staff. We are asking our activists to meet with their Representative and Senators before the upcoming November elections.

I'm not dead - I'm just on holiday

Due to my mother's pending arrival (3 hrs and counting), my brother's visit (2 days and counting), and Chris' most excellent birthday, I've declared it a holiday.

I'll be back.

While I'm gone, why not check out some of my highly recommended sites?

Ask Sarcastica: Travel Edition

I've just spent a week on a business trip and I was shocked at how many questions I faced throughout the airport, so I've compiled them for this week's column.

Q: Why can we only bring 3 ounces of lotions, gels, and other personal liquids in our carry-on items?

A: Honey, there is no bathtub on the plane, you don't need more than 3 ounces of anything except scotch, and you have to buy that on board.

Q: Is the 3 ounces thing really strict?

A: Apparently so. Strangely, these containers have their content ounces WRITTEN ON THE FRONT so the security personnel really can't overlook it. I mean, if your can of Aqua Net is 24 ounces, the can itself is going to rat you out. Yes you, sister with the 24 ounces of Aqua Net, the 12 ounces of mousse, and the economy sized lotion that all got confiscated. If you carry on your suitcase, it's still a carry-on item.

Q: First there's no bottled water allowed, now we can buy water past security. What is this, some kind of conspiracy to make us buy overpriced items in the airport?

A: Yes, and if you're really gullible, you'll also wind up with the latest gossip rag.

Q: I have such a hard time deciding whether or not to take my suitcase on the plane or check it. What should I do?

A: If your suitcase is on wheels it automatically comes with a magical sizing device that allows it to fit perfectly into the overhead compartment of any airplane, regardless of how big it was when you packed it. Similarly, it will glide perfectly through any narrow aisle, never bumping into passengers, crew, or anyone else's belongings. I say, go for it, no one will ever be annoyed - they'll think you are smart as a whip and will likely rush to help you put your bag into one of those overhead compartments, not that you need the help. Of course, you will then be subject to the tyrannical 3 ounce rule that a poor woman at SFO will likely have nightmares about for the rest of her life.

Q: What is appropriate entertainment while in flight?

A: Reading, writing, crossword puzzles, using your laptop, listening to music. Generally, these all involve not speaking. Speaking is strictly prohibited on airplanes, except by authorized personnel. Certainly, you can say please and thank you and answer direct questions, but you should never try to strike up a conversation. This is generally considered suspicious behavior, and if you do that and pee on the floor or play with your cell phone, you will be arrested.

Museum Review: Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum - Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center

So now that I am living just outside of Washington, D.C., I feel obligated, nay, privileged, to partake of the various offerings available to me.

Today we embarked on our first museum visit – the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum - Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center. There are 2 Air and Space Museums in the area, because they can’t fit everything into one place. This is the smaller one of the two.

It’s got lots of cool stuff, and you can do it in under a day.

Here’s a Pros and Cons list if you’ve got limited time and are considering this as one of your stops:

PROS:

• You can do the whole thing in half a day
• Admission is $12 per car. Nice if you’ve got a mini-van full of family and a tight budget.
• Some pretty cool displays (Concorde, Blackbird, and a SPACE SHUTTLE)
• The IMAX movie about going to Mars was pretty cool – just for the science – nothing really special in terms of IMAX

CONS:

• IMAX showings and Simulations are extra costs (and the IMAX video starts with 5 minutes of IMAX pimping)
• If you want to eat, your choices are McDonalds, and the McDonalds Café, which serves… McDonalds and Boston Market.
• The simulator was super cheesy and didn’t deliver the experience it advertised. Seriously guys – go to Vegas, go to the Star Trek Museum, check theirs out, and then hire their people.

I have to say the coolest part of the day hands down was when we went into the space area and were checking out the Enterprise shuttle. At first I couldn’t believe it was a real shuttle, because it seriously looks like a bunch of large lego blocks. The cool part, though, was that there were NASA guys there working on it. There was a sign that read:

WHAT WE’RE DOING TODAY:
Today we are reassembling part of the Enterprise shuttle that was used as part of the recreation to help determine the cause of the shuttle Columbia crash.

That’s when the whole thing seemed real. And suddenly, I wished every plane, engine, and computer part on display was actually doing something – either having someone operate it, paint it, tweak it, turn it, I don’t know, anything – with a sign that says, we’re doing something significant here – watch us do something important. Be inspired.

[Side rant: This is why I struggle with museums – they have lots of cool stuff but you can’t touch it, feel it, smell it, play with it. It has no life force. There’s no one standing next to it showing you how it was used throughout that time. I’m not talking about those super cheesy automatons in colonial garb churning butter – I’m talking about NASA guys reassembling the Enterprise shuttle because when things went bad for another shuttle, they used this one to help them learn. That is wicked cool. ]

To sum up: base cost and time spent make for a good half-day with the family. Skip the simulators.

It’s a lot of walking, which it good exercise, but may be hard on littler kids or older folks, but there are lots of seats built into the railings for each exhibit barrier, so it’s doable for all.

Next month I’m off to the most depressing museum with my mom - The Holocaust Museum.

Ask Sarcastica: The Sarcastica Interview You've All Been Waiting For!

Snarky Reporter: Sarcastica, what made you start writing an advice column?

Sarcastica: Well, you know, it really came from a desire to help people. I mean, look at the shit Dear Abby and Ann Landers tell people to do? Hell, I can do better than that - and maybe, just maybe, people will be smarter and get the hell out of my way faster.

Snarky Reporter: You are so right on. I mean, seriously, bin Laden needs to get off my planet and out of the 15 items or less line! Ha ha!

Sarcastica: Stop kissing my ass and ask me something.

Snarky Reporter: Right. So our readers really want to know: Are you really happily married? And if so, what is your secret?

Sarcastica: (laughing) Yes. It's not a secret. I met someone I am compatible with. We communicate well. We don't lie to each other. We're willing to be vulnerable and say the things we think would make us seem stupid to other people, because we know this is the one person who accepts that this is the crazy person we are married to. That's it. Talk about everything. Every hope, every fear, every frustration.

Snarky Reporter: Ok, fine, don't give me a straight answer.

Sarcastica: Whatever.

Snarky Reporter: Next question: Let's say you're at dinner with Shakespeare, Einstein, Galileo, Da Vinci, and Newton - what do you ask them?

Sarcastica: I'm assuming in your scenario these people aren't dead.

Snarky Reporter: Right, assume they are alive and you are having dinner with them, and you can talk to them about anything.

Sarcastica: Well, first of all, who got this motley crew together? I mean, first of all, there are no contemporaries, and I would certainly be interested to see Hawking dialog with his predecessors. The next problem is that, as the only woman at the table, these guys aren't listening to a word I am saying - they are all staring at my breasts, because I have an amazing rack. So this is a problem. So we need other women, attractive enough to keep focus off my chest, and intelligent enough to keep the conversation lively - and women who are smart enough to see other intelligent attractive women as interesting and not threatening. I've got some suggestions there - let's get Jane Austen, Katharine Hepburn, Florence Nightingale, and Marie Curie.

Snarky Reporter: That's, quite a list... still what will you talk about?

Sarcastica: Are you kidding? What won't we talk about? Intelligent people find fascinating things to talk about. I have no fear of a lack of conversation with that group. Quite the contrary - we may talk until we are all hoarse - about anything and everything - history, politics, math, science, literature, art, philosophy, the future - everything is fair game with a group like that.

Snarky Reporter: Ok, sounds like a bit much for me. So, let's say your doctor told you that you had 6 months to live if you made no changes to your diet, or you could give up chocolate and live for 7 months. What would you do?

Sarcastica: Seriously? 1 extra month? Just chocolate or all sweets?

Snarky Reporter: Um, all sweets, I guess.

Sarcastica: Fruit too, because fruit has natural sugar?

Snarky Reporter: Um, sure, fruit too.

Sarcastica: So what is it I can eat?

Snarky Reporter: (Sigh) Okay, you can eat only rice cakes - and you'll live an extra month.

Sarcastica: Is the month February?

Snarky Reporter: What??

Sarcastica: Well, which month is it? Because February is a short month, and, you know, I'd feel gypped.

Snarky Reporter: It isn't a specific month. It's a time frame - like 30 days.

Sarcastica: Ah. Okay. So the scenario is - live 180 days eating whatever you want or live 210 days eating only rice cakes?

Snarky Reporter: Yes.

Sarcastica: That is perhaps the stupidest scenario I have ever heard in my entire life.

Snarky Reporter: WILL YOU JUST ANSWER THE QUESTION?

Sarcastica: No.

Snarky Reporter: NO? You won't answer the question?

Sarcastica: No, the answer is no. Who the hell wants to eat nothing but rice cakes?

Snarky Reporter: I'm done here.

Sarcastica: Sweet, when can I pick up a copy of the interview? Hello? Hello?

Where Were You?

There are few life experiences that can rip you to shreds years later, just at the mere thought of them. Fewer still that involve things you were only a witness to.

My morning started out like any other, dawdling while getting ready for work. The phone rang. It is unusual for the phone to ring in my house in the morning.

It was Sally. She was hysterical.

We're under attack. DC is under attack. Hannah is in DC.

Slow down, Sally, tell me what is happening.

There was a plane crash...

Was Hannah on the plane?

No...but

Sally, take a deep breath, plane crashes are tragic but they happen.

Sara, it's all over the news.

Okay, Sally, I'm going to turn the news on and see what's happening. I'll see you at work in a bit.

I wandered out to the living room, sat down on our large cement coffee table in my shirt and panties and switched on the tv. Scott wandered out and wondered aloud what I was doing - we needed to get ready for work.

Sally is in hysterics about some plane crash. I promised to turn on the... OH MY GOD.

And there it was, tower 1 had already been hit by the time I had turned on the tv. Sitting in my living room in Tucson, dawdling before work, I stared in complete confusion at the tv - twisting my head like a dog who hears a disturbing noise. What the hell happened?

We started chattering. I said something about this happening in New York so why was Sally worried about DC and that was when I saw it. The second plane. The second tower.

It was easily the most surreal moment of my life - watching a tv camera - poised somehow almost evenly with the plane - watching it head towards the tower. Hearing my own voice choke out the words Oh my god, they have to pull up, they have to pull up they are going to crash, oh my god they are going to crash. OH MY GOD!

I was completely shocked. How could such a horrific accident occur? How could two planes be compromised in such a way that neither of them could escape crashing into buildings.

That was the moment I lost my innocence. That was the moment I realized that whatever snark I am capable of, I always believed that people would do the right thing - that people were not inherently or intentionally evil - and that these things just didn't happen because people just weren't that bad at the core.

Over the next 30 days I couldn't get enough news - every 9/11 story, human interest, lost family member, lost pet, lost hero, flag raising, search for survivors, search for terrorists, you name it - I absorbed it. It was the worst month of my life. I cried the whole month through. Every story ripped my heart apart, every crying survivor who lost anyone.

Recently two movies came out about 9/11. I didn't see either of them. I realized I'm not ready yet - it's still too raw, it's still too real.

I did watch the airing of On Native Soil - by mid-program I was wailing. I was furious at all the incompetence.

Today, I realized something, most weren't incompetent, they were unprepared - because the truth was so incomprehensible. I was unprepared for Sally's call - just as they were unprepared to scramble fighters to shoot down commercial aircraft. How could you be prepared for something like that?

I have no advice or moral of the story. I don't know what real justice would be for the people who fund, organize and commit these crimes, because I think whatever we come up with would be too kind, too naive. It is the first time in my life that I have ever actively hoped that Hell exists, just so there's a fitting place for those assholes.

Where were you on 9/11? Where are you today, 5 years later?

By the way, Hannah was, and is, just fine.

News Kills The Story

http://abcnews.go.com/Technology/wireStory?id=2400167

Summary: WASHINGTON Sep 6, 2006 (AP)— Scientists say abnormal "intersex" fish, with both male and female characteristics, have been discovered in the Potomac River and its tributaries across the Capitol Region, raising questions about how contaminants are affecting millions of people who drink tap water there.

Sara: This story is laughable. I mean, humans are so different than fish (as they even said, fish live in the water and are therefore exposed to these toxins more) and it would take thousands of years for that kind of mutation attributable to that source to happen.

Scott: Yeah

Sara: So while the fish aspect is fascinating, the humans will mutate hook is stupid.

Scott: Yeah

Sara: I'm more interested in why the scientists think the pollution is causing this type of mutation... or is there another cause? I mean, are there more female than male fish because males are more susceptible to the toxins, and therefore the fish have become multi-gendered to continue the propagation of the species? A kind of toxic Darwinism?

Scott: Yeah I was kinda wondering if it was more of a natural evolution since asexual reproduction would be more efficient than sexual reproduction.

Sara: Totally. Or is it something about fish physiology, like their gender isn't as clearly divided as humans, for example, and therefore the toxins are blending the line genetically.

The thing is - I think the news spins a human angle on it to make it newsworthy but I think that takes the interest out of it - to me the real interest is what the hell is up with the fish?

When they do that, it makes a story laughable to me, and then I do what I am doing with you - thinking about the story they should have done.

I'm thinking I am in the minority on this.

Scott: I agree on both points.

I sent this story to the hubby today because I found it laughable. But the more we talked, the more I found that it's the news itself that is laughable, not the individual stories. There are fascinating stories out there, but to be sensational these stupid spins are put on good topics that make the stories ridiculous.

Several weeks ago I read 10 stories about various end of the world plots and prophecies. As you may have noticed, none of them has yet come to pass (they all should have by now). I've gotten to the point where I see these headlines and I say, "shut up". Seriously, I've got shit to do - so either tell me that something is happening, has happened, has been prevented from happening, or... shut up. It isn't news if you are speculating about something that someone thinks may happen at some point. Those are called psychic premonitions. Psychic premonitions have no scientific basis (no, they do not, so shut up) and since they have yet to pass ARE NOT NEWS!

I think the beagle may howl when I prepare to leave the house tomorrow. Regardless of my historical data for my hypothesis, the fact that this event has yet to happen means it cannot be reported as BREAKING NEWS.

Also, if your stories are on par with the beagle story above, it's called fluff, and it doesn't qualify as news either.

General rule:

• happened, happening = news
• not yet happened = prognostication (i.e. NOT NEWS)

Ask Sarcastica

Dear Sarcastica,
I’m a socially awkward boy without any real friends. Recently, an older man befriended me and told me he wants to show me “magical things – the likes of which [I’ve] never seen before” and that I should come over to his house. It sounds intriguing, but I’m wondering if it is really kosher.
Signed,
Art

Dear Once and Future Victim,
A strange, older man shows up and wants you to come over to his house? Kosher? Not so much. If this old perv is a legitimate magician, he can perform for you in public, with lots of witnesses.

Dear Sarcastica,
My stepmother is a real witch! She makes me clean all day long and she treats me like a slave. My ugly stepsisters get to relax by the pool all day while I’m doing laundry and cleaning out fireplaces. Help!
Signed,
Good Girl

Dear Complainer,
First of all, if your stepmother was a real witch she would just say, bibbity, bobbity, boo! and the whole house would be clean – so she may be a word that rhymes with witch, but she has no real power. And since she has no real power, you can either stick it out till you are 18 and then leave, or call child protective services on her ass and watch her get thrown in jail. Your choice.

Dear Sarcastica,
I live with a great bunch of guys (7 actually) – but they are just friends, and they all really want more. I’ve told them time and time again that I am waiting for my Prince Charming, but they still hit on me. The problem is I love living with these guys – I pay no rent and I do no chores (we have outside help that takes care of everything). What can I do?
Signed,
Ms. White

P.S. I tried telling them I was a lesbian but none of them bought it.

Dear Pure as the Driven Snow,
Sounds like you’ve got a pretty cushy arrangement there. My suggestion is that you bring a beautiful woman over one night when they’ll all be home and make out with her on the couch. That’ll convince them you like chicks, and maybe convince you that you’re really looking for your Princess Charming.

Dear Sarcastica,
I’m a guy from the wrong side of the tracks and I’ve fallen head-over-heels for this beautiful lady. How can I woo her?
Signed,
Just a Tramp

Dear Little Tramp,
Well, you’re just going to have to be bold and ask her out. Make sure you take her someplace fancy where you can show her that you fit in her life. I’d find a nice, out of the way, Italian restaurant and share a nice dinner. Just remember your table manners!

A baker's half-dozen rants

Rants:

1. I'm on meds, and lately the symptoms I take the meds for have intensified. Why? Because all my meds have my symptoms as side effects. That's right, my anti-anxiety med causes anxiety. Fuck off.


2. Doing the 'right thing' for your health doesn't always make sense. So I'm trying to eat healthier and save money, so we eat home most nights. Most times I make some big meal on Sunday that we do as left overs on Mondays and Tuesdays. Then a dinner out, and then another home cooked for Thursday and Friday, and then out on Saturday. So the problem with this is that I've had to run the dishwasher every night for the last 4 days. That's right. Every. Fucking. Day. I'm single-handedly depleating the water supply for the planet.


3. Apples brown too quickly. I can't slice them at home and seal them and have them fresh by the time I get to work - let alone for my mid-morning snack. So, I take my apple corer-slicer thingy with me every day, rinse it off, and forget to put it in the dishwasher every night. Why do I need sliced apples? Because I need to put light peanut butter on them so that I have protein paired with my fruit - otherwise my stupid metabolism thinks the fruit is in fact a candy bar. Hello - if I wanted you to process food like a candy bar I would eat a fucking candy bar. And yes, sometimes I buy those pre-sliced ones at the grocery store, but they are more expensive and harder to find on a regular basis.


4. I can't get my cereal at the grocery store. Some time ago the good folks who make Cheerios started making Berry Burst Cheerios - and I love them. Truth be told, I do not eat the berries - which sounds odd - but the dehydrated berries infuse the cheerios with a mild sweetness that makes the cheerios both an excellent crunchy snack (dry) and a healthy breakfast. So what's the problem? Giant foods doesn't carry it here in VA. Neither does Safeway. Know where I found it? Target Superstores. Yep. I have to go grocery shopping at Target when I run out of Cheerios.


5. Assholes are driving on my route. Scott and I each drive a route that contains a leg that I refer to as "the crazy route". The crazy route is mostly gravel, and it passes lots of interesting houses and businesses - it's wooded, barely 2 lanes (one each way, kind of), and you feel like you are driving through a forest. It's crazy because the road conditions are sub-sub-par, but no one is on them, so I bypass all normal traffic and generally save 15 minutes each way on my commute. Lately, there have been a bunch of slow-moving assholes on the route. To make matters worse, I heard that they are going to finally pave the crazy route, which sounds good on paper, until you realize that will shut the route down for a year and then increase traffic once the work is done.


6. Mel Gibson, bin Laden, and Prussian Blue. Take your hate and get off my planet. That's right, all the haters - all you people who hate based on religion, race, or any other "they are different" reason - and all the terrorists - get the fuck off my planet.


7. Incompetent people. Why don't you join the haters. You know why? I just watched On Native Soil, and heard over and over again how some or all of the 9/11 tragedy could have been avoided that day. THAT DAY. I'm not talking about months of government screw-ups (which honestly, were many, and FBI - hello - a database is a good idea). I'm talking about the airlines operators who kept a flight attendant on the phone for 20 minutes asking her over and over again for her name, seat number, and flight number when she was reporting the first hijacking as it happened. I'm talking about the guy at the FAA who, when asked if they needed to scramble planes to intercept the hijacked planes (after the first tower was hit) said, "I don't know, everyone just left the room". I'm talking about the air traffic controllers who thought that flight 11 was in the air 15 minutes after it hit WTC 1 - and losing the other flights in the process. I'm looking at the transportation authority that took too much time to alert all in-air flight crews that multiple hijackings were occurring and to be super vigilant. This deserves an entire blog, but I'm too upset to write it.

And here are my thanks:

• Thank you, families of 9/11 victims who fought for the commission.
• Thank you, Joe Liberman and John McCain, for fighting with them. It's nice to see politicians helping people.
• Thank you, committee members who came up with real ideas to try to fight terrorist threats.
• Thank you for making On National Soil. I bawled like a baby while I watched it. I'll never be able to watch footage of that day without bursting into hysterics.
• Thank you, General Mills, for making Berry Burst Cheerios. I'm actually eating breakfast every day.
• Thank you, Super Target, for my Berry Burst Cheerios.
• Thank you, Plant-a-Plant nursery, your grounds are my favorite part of the crazy drive - your ponds and the bridge and the geese are awesome.
• Thank you, miscellaneous wildlife on the crazy route. You are awesome, you deer, llamas, alpacas, bunnies, raccoons, gophers, beavers, and donkeys - you make me smile.
  

And last but not least...Thanks for letting me rant, and thanks for coming along for the ride.

Ask Sarcastica: Head to Head

This week I'm going to go head-to-head with Dear Prudence (By Emily Yoffe) - below are the Q&A from this week's column, followed by my answer.

Dear Prudence,
I work for a small company as part of the very small accounting department. A few months ago, I accidentally uncovered evidence of my immediate boss (with whom I am friendly) embezzling what I first thought were small sums of company money. I was stunned at what I saw but thought maybe he'd obtained permission to take out loans. I guess I was hoping this. I never felt comfortable casually bringing up what I found, so I didn't do anything. Yesterday, I saw evidence of repeated and ever-increasing theft and don't really know what to do. The easy answer is to turn him in, but I would be the direct beneficiary of him being fired if I were given his job. Also, this is a small town, and the situation would ruin all job prospects for him here. I've discussed this with my father and he thinks I should stay out of it. I also have always had an aversion to ratting people out. Yet, if this ever comes out, the owner of the company will know that I at least had suspicions but never told him. What do I do?
—Losing Sleep

Dear Losing,
What if he is guilty and you don't report him? What if he's not and you do? (And what kind of accountant keeps his mouth shut in the face of possible financial crimes?) I brought your dilemma to an employment attorney, Christopher E. Ezold, who practices in Bala Cynwyd, Pa. He points out that you would be violating your duties to the company by seeing possibly fraudulent activities and saying nothing. On the other hand, you could be liable for defamation if this guy hasn't done anything wrong and you accuse him of embezzling. Ezold suggested you bring the questionable transactions to the attention of the owner. Say they raised some concerns with you and you wanted to make sure they were appropriate. I'll add that you should stop worrying about being a rat or ruining this man's job prospects. If he's an embezzler, his job prospects deserve to be ruined.
—Prudie

Dear Accountable,
Wow. You suspect fraud. Ever heard of Enron? Ever heard of accessory after the fact? Here’s what you do, keep your mouth shut, and when someone busts this guy you just tell them that you suspected it all along and but you didn’t want to be a rat.

Dear Prudie,
I have been together with my wife for five years, two of those married. No kids. I'm 38 and she's six years older. We love each other and spend most of our time together (we both work from home), support each other and feel we are a great team. The only thing that's a bit strange is that we don't have sex. We kiss and cuddle and touch but hardly ever get ourselves to perform the act. It has been a slow fade-out over the last three years, but I would say neither of us miss it too much. A friend I told about this thinks there is something deeply wrong and that we should see a therapist right away. Now I'm worried.
—Feeling A-OK

Dear A,
It sounds like you and your wife are the couple in the "Abstinence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder" T-shirts. It's hard to advise people who are happy that there's something wrong, but you are obviously concerned enough about this turn of nonevents to call it "strange" and bring it up with a friend. Ask yourself this question: Would you be content to imagine yourself celebrating your 20th anniversary with a toast to "Two wonderful decades of celibacy"? Having a sexless marriage, and at such a young age, is a drastic loss of intimacy, and I don't care how good at cuddling you are. This also might leave your marriage vulnerable to destruction the first time one of you comes across someone who reminds you of the power of sexual attraction. If you haven't had sex with each other for years, it may seem less awkward to try it with someone new than reintroduce it to your marriage. A physical as well as mental checkup might help you both revive this part of your lives. Another thing that might help is if one of you finds somewhere else to work, even for part of the week. Maybe you'll look at each other with more excitement if you're not looking at each other all the time.
—Prudie

Dear Eunuch,
You are a eunuch right? A priest? On medication that depletes your libido? Seriously, a man that is A-OK without sex, ever? In the immortal words of Ricky Ricardo, Lucy, you got some ‘splaining to do.

Oh, and your wife is having an affair. No way neither one of you has a sex drive.

Dear Prudence,
My father is 80 and was widowed eight months ago. He was very dependent on my mother, both practically and emotionally. My problem is that he is turning to me for support that I find hard to give. From as far back as I can remember until well into my 20s, I was terrified of him. He used to yell at me all the time, often out of the blue. Nothing I did pleased him, ever. In those years, I wanted mainly to avoid his attention. Nowadays (I'm 51), I can put that history aside for an afternoon every so often, but I can't forgive. He seems to want to chat with me on the phone several times a week, just to have someone to talk to. My father seems to have no idea that I harbor these feelings and consider him a wretched parent. He's got my brother (whom he abused much less) and his wife living nearby and they take a lot of the pressure off me, but he still wants me to be his friend. How can I steer clear of this without hurting his feelings?
—Middle-Aged Son

Dear Middle,
It's not easy figuring out what you owe an elderly parent who gave you a miserable childhood. In general, it's difficult to have sympathy for rotten parents. I'm not talking about flawed people who make mistakes but tried to do their best. I'm talking about those parents who, like your father, use their children as convenient emotional or physical punching bags. Your observation that he probably has no idea what kind of parent he was often seems to go along with this syndrome. You sound like you have a remarkably sane perspective on your father. You're right, as awful as he was, for the sake of your own mental health—for your psyche—you don't want to get even now that he's the vulnerable one. It's also not worth it to explain your antipathy—he just won't get it. But it is too much to ask for you to fill the emotional hole that has opened in his life. Since you can stand to have a civil conversation with him occasionally, why not say, "Dad, during the week I'm so overwhelmed with work and other obligations that's it hard for me to talk to you then. Let's try to talk regularly on Sunday."
—Prudie

Dear Dysfunctional Childhood,
Guess what – you’re not a kid anymore. You are a grown-up and it is time you start acting like one.

Own your own fucking pain. Your dad is an old fart with limited time left. Telling him at this point that he screwed up over 30 years ago just makes you a petty, pathetic sad little man. Suck it up, get over it, and be the bigger person. You don’t have to spend all your time with him, but talking or seeing him once a week won’t kill you.

Dear Prudence,
Recently, a close friend told me that she and her partner (also a woman) are planning to have a child. This announcement was not a complete surprise, since we had discussed the possibility before. They have selected a sperm donor from an online registry. I told her that I was glad they had made this decision and that I thought they would be wonderful parents. Since the insemination had not yet occurred and there is no pregnancy, I thought this response was sufficient. Evidently, it was not. I have since been informed that I am not supportive enough and also that I am not "excited" enough for them. Times have changed since I was pregnant 24 years ago. Intimate details of advanced gynecological procedures are discussed over dinner. The earliest sonograms are passed around the office. Am I just hopelessly out-of-date in believing that the time to celebrate begins when there is a confirmed and viable pregnancy?
—Medieval Lady-in-Waiting

Dear Medieval,
Should you have said, "I'm sure 467-B has very superior sperm"? I constantly hear from people who don't know how to keep nosy friends and co-workers from delving into intimate affairs. But you're being punished apparently for not initiating a discussion of motility. It's also likely your friend is looking for evidence that she is not being treated the same as a heterosexual would be—but surely if you knew a heterosexual couple using a sperm donor, you would behave with exactly the same reticence. I don't know any couple embarked on trying to have children, by whatever means, who want monthly inquiries as to whether anything has developed or discussions about how lucky their nonexistent offspring will be to have them for parents. Stay medieval and keep your excitement for when there is actual good news to celebrate.
—Prudie

Dear Lady,
Wait – I’m confused. They aren’t yet pregnant and you are supposed to be enthused? Here’s what I am thinking – they are insane. If you have even an ounce of sense you should say so long and good fucking riddance to that pair of nut jobs.

Ask Sarcastica: Head to Head

This week I'm going to go head-to-head with Miss Manners (By Judith Martin) - below are the Q&A from her various columns (go Google it if you want to find them), followed by my answer.

Dear Miss Manners: My best friend got married about a year ago, and I consider her and her husband both to be very good friends. My problem is that she calls me to vent every time she has a problem with her husband.

I understand the need for people to vent, but all of it is stuff that her husband would be humiliated or angry to know she was telling me. She repeats their fights word for word, tells me all about her husband's depression, private stuff about her husband's family (which she dislikes greatly), gossip about her husband's friends and co-workers, etc. She always says, "He would kill me if he knew I told you this, but . . . ."

I want to be there for her, but some things I am plain not interested in hearing. I was raised that private family stuff should be kept private. She wants more than just an ear -- she wants me to help her analyze what they really meant.

I don't know how to ask her, without hurting her feelings, to either tone down the level of info she gives me or maybe talk to someone else. I've tried, but if we're on the phone she'll talk over me and then end the call; if we're face-to-face, she'll get incredibly offended and try to pick a fight.

The truth is that she gets a thrill out of sharing confidential information, and has been this way for as long as I've known her. I can't just ignore her, because I baby-sit for her child. Any thoughts?

Gentle Reader: If Miss Manners were you, she would be thinking about getting a new best friend, even if it entailed finding a new baby-sitting job. Because your friend has always been like that, you might think about what she must be telling others about you.

It is not Miss Manners' job to break up friendships, however, and you have not proposed to do so. Merely to discourage these confidences, she would advise "being there" -- not for your friend, but for those who are, in fact, not there.

A few rounds of "Your poor husband is depressed -- you should go easy on him" and "Your mother-in-law has a point" and "They sound like people I would like" should dramatically dampen her desire for these discussions.

Dear Wussy,
Methinks thou doth protest too much. That's an awfully long letter just to ask what to do when someone shares inappropriate information with you. It seems like you are trying to out her, so to speak.

If someone says something you don't want to hear, either: a) change the subject, or b) stone up and say, "I feel uncomfortable with this information".

This passive-aggressive letter is bullshit – you're just hoping she reads it, recognizes herself and is ashamed.

Stone up or suck it up.

Dear Miss Manners: Does one give a gift for a grandchild for a piano recital? If so, what? I have two grandchildren, one 10 (girl) the other 8 (boy), and they are both having a piano recital on the same day, but I have no idea what is correct to do or rather what is expected.

Gentle Reader: You are expected to endure the entire recital -- not only the pieces played by your relatives, but everybody else's contributions as well -- with an expression of bliss on your face and hands that beat together at every opportunity. Afterward, you are expected to distribute compliments with abandon: to your grandchildren, to the other children, to their parents and to the teacher.

Musicians like to unwind after a performance, and so you might also consider taking them out afterward for a treat. That is optional, but replying to their post-performance questions by assuring them that any mistakes they mention went unnoticed is not. Miss Manners would consider all that generous enough. You do not want them expecting every occasion to be an opportunity to collect.

Dear Grandma,
The grandkids want your attendance and love. Gifts are nice, but not required. I think it is super sweet that you want to get them something – and I think it would be cool to go to a little trophy shop and make them plaques commemorating the event. But that's just me.

Yes, you need to go and listen and be gracious, but you were going to do that anyway.
(What, you want me to be pissy with a nice grandma? Go fuck yourself!)

Dear Miss Manners:
My wife is in her eighth month and quite self-conscious about her appearance. It doesn't help when certain people make comments about her. In particular, one lady at church, who seems well meaning enough, remarked at how big she was last time and puffed up her cheeks to demonstrate.

My father-in-law also doesn't help when he talks about people who are round (meaning fat in his eyes).

I know it's all part of pregnancy and that she will be back to normal in due time. How can she politely communicate to these folks that they are hurting her feelings and persuade them not to say things like that in the future?

Gentle Reader: As you acknowledge, your wife will, in the natural course of events, get past this. But Miss Manners wishes she would get past it now.

There will always be people who make foolish remarks, and pregnancy seems to be a source of inspiration to them. If your wife wants to rattle them out of their thoughtlessness, she can reply to observations about her size by saying innocently, "But I'm pregnant!"

Miss Manners does not guarantee that this will put an end to it. But you and your wife will soon have a more promising opportunity to teach thoughtfulness. It's called child-rearing.

Dear Worthless Husband,
Your wife is 8 months pregnant. I don't care if she's doubled her body weight – no one gets to criticize someone who is a carrying a human life. Jesus Christ on a crutch – your wife is going through something horrific – her body basically abusing her from the inside out for the best possible end result. RUN SOME FUCKING INTERFERENCE FOR GOD'S SAKE!

No one gets to criticize pregnant women unless they are knowingly risking the fetus (druggies, alcoholics, abusive asses). And if you don't have the sack to keep people from being rude to your wife, regardless of pregnancy, you are an ass.

Dear Miss Manners:
For the last several years, I have become aware of an "affliction" that saddens me during the normal day-to-day interactions among colleagues, friends and neighbors. (This list can be extended.)

How can one deal (correct word?) with nice people, saying "all the right things," without meaning any of it? It's just been driving me crazy as it seems to be occurring more and more.

Gentle Reader: This is not an affliction, Miss Manners assures you. It is a blessing.

For the last several decades, people have been saying all the wrong things that they really mean, from "I can't use this" instead of "Thank you" for a present; "Only a moron would think that" instead of "I'm afraid we disagree" in a political discussion and "You've put on a lot of weight" instead of "How nice to see you" on seeing an acquaintance.

If they are learning to say the right thing, good for them. In time, they will learn to say it more convincingly.

Dear Barbarian,
Why do you think they call it pleasantries? It's the practice that your mother should have instructed you in – that whole, say something nice or shut the hell up school of thought. You know, when a friend makes you dinner that tastes like shit you don't actually say, "Hey, did you actually cook shit in the oven and cover it in gravy?" You feign fullness graciously, lest you lose a friend, and then remember to only go out to eat with her from now on.

So, my column is obviously the exception to that rule, but I assure you that Ms. Sarcastica is always polite in public, regardless of her evil, evil thoughts.

Dear Miss Manners:
Our son and his then-fiancee announced via Web site post that they have decided to change their last name to a new name when they married. This caught many family members by surprise (as well as many wedding guests who had not necessarily read their Web site and then were confused when the new couple were announced as Mr. & Mrs. New Name).

It has been about a year since then, and although they use the new name in correspondence, e-mail and Web sites, they apparently have taken no steps to change their names legally, so at this point, I suppose, the new name has the status of an alias. Drivers' licenses, Social Security cards, checking accounts, etc., are all still in their legal names.

To what extent is the family obligated to use the new name? When we send them e-mail, cards and letters, on checks as gifts, when we introduce them to friends, when we send out intra-family address list updates?

Hard feelings were created when the new name was sprung on the family and was not immediately acclaimed to be the best idea since shoelaces. We are trying to smooth over the rough spot in the relationship, but are unsure how to proceed.

Gentle Reader: How much are you willing to annoy your son and daughter-in-law? Miss Manners assures you that refusing to use the name you know they have chosen will do a good job of that.

The invented surname is one of several solutions people have sought to the problem of representing both families when a new one is created. None of them has solved the problem, but we no longer have a standardized system of nomenclature.

It therefore behooves people to respect the individual choices that are made when these are known. Miss Manners also expects the choosers to be tolerant when honest mistakes are made by those not in a position to know, but that excuse is of no use to you. You can either use the names they announced or you can take the consequences of becoming a constant irritant to them.

Dear Alias,
Are you an officer of the law? Do you think your son is on the lam? Then what the fuck do you care if he uses one last name with friends and family and his legal last name for, oh I don’t know legal things?

Listen, changing your name is a big pain in the ass – every bank account, credit card, every piece of ID you own needs to be changed. So either your son is a moron, or he’s a lazy SOB. Either way, you need look no further than what values you raised this boy with to see why he turned out the way he did. I’m just saying.

Literary Meme

Thoughtfully tagged by Chris, my own contribution to the reading meme:

One book that changed your life:
Wow. So many books have. I would have to go with Taming of the Shrew - I read it for the first time in grade school (not in school but out of my father's collection) and that got me hooked on the Bard. By Jr. High I had already amassed quite a bawdy vocabulary that only my English teachers understood. Sure, it made me a geek in high school to have the professional actor's editions of all the plays we read when everyone else was in the Penguin's classic editions - but mine had real analysis of the characters, staging, etc. This is what got me to really understand subtext and double-entendres.

One book you've read more than once:
The Once and Future King by T.H. White. Now granted, as someone who used to teach high school and college English, there are a lot of books I've read more than once out of necessity. This is one that I relished. If you ever saw Disney's Sword in the Stone, it's taken right from the book (only sanitized for the Disney experience). The book is funny and thoughtful at the same time. So much so that my two Freshman English classes actually understood the content and enjoyed themselves.

One book you would want on a desert island:
The Sherlock Holmes collection. The entire collection, while a bit heavy to carry around, is an amazing read. I read the collection cover-to-cover when I was 13 and was homebound with mono for three weeks. I was already a prolific reader - but this turned me on to mysteries, and I have never looked back.

One book that made you laugh:
Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. Totally not my genre - but I couldn't stop laughing - a tale of mix-ups and the apocalypse. Neither author has interested me since - like I said, not my genre (fantasy) - but this is worth a read for anyone that likes to read.

One book that made you cry:
Bridge to Terabithia - I read this in 6th grade and it broke my heart. Then, when I was in grad school I met a grade school teacher who was in the middle of teaching it. I started gushing about the book, how much it meant to me, and how when I came across a place in the woods behind my apartment that felt familiar I realized that it reminded me of how I pictured the location in the book. He brought me a copy. I hugged it. I put it on a shelf and I haven't touched it since. I am too afraid to read it - either it won't live up to my memories or it will and then it will break my heart all over again.

One book you wish you had written:
Foucault's Pendulum by Umberto Eco. Easily ten times better than the Da Vinci Code and it came years ahead. Fascinating, totally sucked me in, and started my fascination with Templars and with conspiracy theories. It's bloody brilliant.

One book you wish had never been written:
The Bible and all religious texts spawned from it. I'm all for freedom of religion, but people who take the Bible literally seriously annoy me and freak me out. Also, because of its status, zealots refuse to acknowledge that it isn't always applicable to life today. Tell me a good morality tale - make it timeless - leave out the misogyny and racism in various versions and I'm good. Bring on the wrath (*ducks*)

One book you are currently reading:
The Best American Crime Writing 2005 true news stories assembled based on the compelling nature of the writing and/or story. Really fascinating to look back at the things that made news now that there is some distance beyond them.

One book you have been meaning to read:
I'll say one series - the Chronicles of Narnia. I read the first years ago, but the set remains untouched.

Tag five people:
Oy - don't hate me - I'll go with Cookie, Allison, EnvyLuv, Max, and Jake.

Anti-Stupidity Pill

So this made news yesterday:

Scientist Tests 'Anti-Stupidity' Pill
Reuters

BERLIN (Aug. 7) - A German scientist has been testing an "anti-stupidity" pill with encouraging results on mice and fruit flies, Bild newspaper reported Saturday.
It said Hans-Hilger Ropers, director at Max-Planck-Institute for Molecular Genetics in Berlin, has tested a pill thwarting hyperactivity in certain brain nerve cells, helping stabilize short-term memory and improve attentiveness.
"With mice and fruit flies we were able to eliminate the loss of short-term memory," Ropers, 62, is quoted saying in the German newspaper, which has dubbed it the "world's first anti-stupidity pill."

And it got me to thinking about the drugs we wish the pharmaceutical companies would make. Certainly they would make millions off of the following pills:

1. Anti-nagging: Someone nagging you to take the garbage out? Mow the lawn? Earn more money? Just slip this pill into a glass of water and voila, no more nagging for 24 hours. Now you can go play poker with the guys.
2. Career-enhancer: Think you'll be hit in the next layoffs? Boss on your case? Take the career-enhancer and you'll be up to your eyeballs in amazing ideas. You'll impress everyone in your office or in any office you enter. Great to take before a job interview.
3. Sober-up/Hangover-be-gone: This little friend will allow you to party all night and still safely get behind the wheel or make it into work the next day.
4. Puppy-potty: Having trouble house-training your new puppy? Give him this tasty beef-flavored treat and it will stimulate the part of his brain that associates outside with potty.
5. Dieter's-friend: This amazing pill allows you to cheat on your diet and erase the calories. Your body will never know you took in the fat and calories, but you'll have the memories.
6. Walk-on-the-Wild-Side: Need to let your inner child/slut/felon out to play? Just take this pill prior to any wild activity and your appearance will morph to match the wild direction you want to take. No one will recognize you when the pill wears off, so you can't be held accountable for your actions.
7. Love potion: Feeling lonely? Want a little companionship? Just take our amazing Love Potion pill and the people you find attractive will find you attractive. Just remember to take the pill that applies to your situation Man seeking Woman, Woman seeking Woman, Woman seeking Man, Man seeking Man, or Man seeking Sheep (not available in all areas). *Not to be used in conjunction with Walk-on-the-Wild-Side
8. Orator: Giving a big presentation, speech, or participating in a debate? Take the Orator 1 hour prior to the activity and you will give a speech that rivals the Gettysburg Address.
9. Lottery-Lucky: A rare find - but very worthwhile. Pop a Lottery-Lucky any time you are buying lottery tickets or heading to the casino and you are sure to be a winner.
10. Anti-Apocalypse: Think Armageddon is at hand? Pretty sure you're not invited to join the Rapture? Screw those who are by ingesting the Anti-Apocalypse pill and all those saints and sinners stay stuck on earth, with the rest of us.

Ask Sarcastica: Head to Head

This week I'm going to go head-to-head with Dear Abby (By Jeanne Phillips) - below are the Q&A from her various columns this week in AZ Starnet (azstarnet.com), followed by my answer.

DEAR ABBY: Please tell me if I'm going crazy. My husband of 30 years recently admitted that he enjoys wearing my undergarments! At first I was shocked, but now I am over it. We went shopping together and bought him several pairs of panties. He was in seventh heaven.

Our sex life has never been better, and we really are enjoying each other — but still I wonder.
— Mixed-Up in Florida

DEAR MIXED-UP: You are not the first wife who has helped her husband cross-dress. He is a transvestite — someone who enjoys wearing clothing that is traditionally worn by the opposite sex. Because your sex life has "never been better" and you are "really enjoying each other," my advice is to stop "wondering" and appreciate that after 30 years of marriage, your husband finally trusted you enough to show you who he really is.

Dear Panties,
I don't see the connection between his cross-dressing, your indulgence, and your sanity. I mean, everybody likes to play dress up. Ever hear of Halloween?

I'd rather hear that you think this is fun than say, take the Puritanical approach and burn him at the stake. But if you think being a supportive, indulgent wife who is enjoying her sex life is crazy, well then I don't want to be sane.

DEAR ABBY: My 6-year-old grandson, "Andy," was "Daddy's boy" before his father and my daughter divorced. Now "Andrew" (the father) refuses to see Andy or even call him by name. I asked Andy if he misses his daddy a lot, and he nodded yes. It's overwhelmingly sad.

Distance isn't the problem. It's that Andrew has remarried and has a new son. Andy was named after his father; his new brother was given the same name!

I hope Andrew will change his mind. He wants no contact with Andy or our side of the family, but I hope the rest of the family will stay in touch with the boy. My grandson needs all of his relatives even more now that his father chooses to be out of his life.

Abby, please print this so Andrew's family members will know they are wanted and needed.
— Concerned

DEAR CONCERNED: Your former son-in-law's actions illustrate how shallow his commitment was to his firstborn child. In case your former in-laws miss seeing this letter, call them and tell them exactly what you've told me.

If the paternal grandparents choose not to continue their relationship with Andy, you and your daughter should seriously consider enlisting a male relative from your side of the family to spend some time with the boy.

If that's not possible, consider Big Brothers. To contact a chapter near you, write: Big Brothers Big Sisters of America, 230 N. 13th St., Philadelphia, PA 19107; or go to www.BBBS.org online.

Dear Thank Goodness for Good Riddance,
Andy's dad sucks big time. Here's the thing - let's hope it's not genetic.

I suggest doing all the great environmental/nurture stuff that Abby recommended. It's sound advice, but I think there is more to be done. You have to ensure that Andy knows it's not his fault.

Oh, and I would send your Dear Abby letter to the father's new wife - with a little note "hope he doesn't shaft your Andy the way he shafted mine".

Why yes, I am a vindictive bitch, why do you ask?

DEAR ABBY: Last week I hit my husband. My daughter saw me do it. My parents were violent when they were drunk, and I swore I would never do that, but it happened.

Abby, can my children forget my mistakes, or are they doomed to keep repeating this violence from generation to generation?

— Sorry Mom in Canada

DEAR SORRY MOM: Your children are not "doomed." They can learn better ways to manage their anger, and so can you. Tell your daughter you were wrong to hit her father, and you regret it. Explain that you are going to see a counselor and learn more appropriate ways to deal with your anger, and that you'll share what you learn with her and your other children.

Make an appointment with a therapist as soon as possible, and locate the nearest chapter of Adult Children of Alcoholics. (They are in your phone book.) ACA is a 12-step group of people who grew up much as you did. They can help you understand your behavior and assist you in overcoming your learned reaction to problems.

If there's no listing in your telephone directory, write: Adult Children of Alcoholics World Services Organization, P.O. Box 3216, Torrance, CA 90510 for the location of the nearest chapter. You may also go to www.adultchildren.org online.

My compliments to you for acknowledging your problem and seeking assistance.

Dear Slap-happy,
You are so seriously lucky that he didn't hit you back. And don't go blaming this on your parents, you are an adult now and you are responsible for your actions. Yes, you.

What to do? Here's your checklist:

• Get THERAPY
• OWN YOUR OWN BEHAVIOR
• STOP BLAMING YOUR PARENTS
• And you might possibly need some kind of meds if you are really that violent.

Oh also, your kid needs therapy now. Nice going.


DEAR ABBY: Honesty pays. I received a call today from a gentleman who had picked up a large cardboard box that I had left at the recycling center.

When he removed the Styrofoam "peanuts" to pack his merchandise, he discovered a large summer sausage. Instead of enjoying the sausage himself, he took the trouble to look at our address on the packing label and find our telephone number.

How fortunate for him that he was so ethical! The sausage had been a Christmas gift from 2004, which we had overlooked when we unpacked the box. It sat in a storage area, unrefrigerated, for a year. Had he munched on that morsel, he would surely have gotten his "just desserts."

Instead, he received a nice chocolate fudge cake from us.

— Recycler in New Mexico

DEAR RECYCLER: Thank you for relating a morality tale we should all digest.

Dear Poisoner,
So the moral of the story is that if you find something that has clearly been discarded you should track down the harpies who dropped it off in case they are trying to kill strangers via tainted food?

It seems to me the person who should be learning an ethics lesson is you. Not everyone has the time to track down people who recycle their boxes. Sure, he got lucky, but so did you. He could have sued your ass or claimed you were like that whack-job who tampered with Tylenol years ago.

No madam, you are the one with the problem - you recycled your boxes without checking them first. What valuable items or, god forbid, other lethal things are floating around poor unsuspecting people trying to use recycled boxes? You should be ashamed of yourself - not only for endangering others, but also for your presumption that other people should be considerate when you are clearly indifferent at best. For shame, madam, for shame!

Next week - I take on Miss Manners

Customer service doesn’t end at the sale

Why is it that salespeople will promise you the moon and the stars, but after you sign the papers no one will take your calls?

I mean, sure I get the whole, nyah, nyah, we’ve got your money thing – but there’s the whole opportunity for repeat business or referrals – do people forget about that?

Don’t promise things you can’t deliver – it just means that I will definitely be disappointed and share that disappointment.

Take, for example, a recent experience that I had, and one that Scott had.

Sara’s Pain: Scotts Lawn Service

So we have this beautiful front yard – it’s not a big yard, but it has all this foliage that I haven’t a clue how to care for. My grandmother is an amazing gardener. I, however, kill plants just by admiring them.

Knowing my inability to deal with one unknown plant, let alone a yard full of various unknown flora, I hit the internet to find a service.

Scotts Lawn Service came out, gave me an estimate, I liked it, so I called back and set it up.

“Someone will be out in the next 5 days to start the service”

Here’s what I asked for: take care of the front lawn. We’ve got lots of plants (ground cover) out there, and now due to my procrastination we have lots of weeds – I’d like the weeds removed immediately.

Here’s what happened:
Last Saturday some yahoo pulls up in the official Scotts van, never knocks and after 10 minutes drives off.

What I didn’t know is that he walked into the back yard, determined that the lawn needed to be mowed (which it did, but irrelevant) and left.

That’s right – he left.

He never rang the bell – never called the house – never made contact with us. Of course, if he had, I could have clarified for him that I only wanted him to work on the front yard.

So I called Scotts on Tuesday to gripe about the delay in service. That’s when I was informed about the backyard. That’s when I re-explained the service required. I made her say it back to me. Front yard. Remove the weeds.

She said he was coming that day, so imagine my shock when I pulled up to see all of the weeds still there, but an invoice attached to the door stating that he was there, had done the work, and I needed to pay.

Since I felt like the local office was full of incompetent freaks I called the national customer service number. This is where it was explained to me that contrary to what I "believed", Scotts did chemicals only.

“Well, I believed they would remove the weeds because when I said I wanted the weeds gone today they said someone would be out to take care of it”

“Yes, he came out and treated the lawn, the weeds will be dead within 14 days”

“Okay, so my current out-of-control, white-trash-looking weed-infested yard, that I explained needed immediate fixing will continue to look trashy for 2 more weeks. And no one felt they should ensure that they were clear in saying that ‘we’ll take care of the weeds’ simply meant ‘we’ll spray them today and you can watch them die a slow death for 2 weeks’?”

“That’s right. 2 weeks. We only do chemicals. The next time we do the treatment it won’t take as long because the weeds will already be dead, so this one will be preventative.”

“Oh, you believe that there will be a next time. There won’t. I’m canceling this service – because it isn’t what I wanted, and your people are unclear and misleading.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

That’s it. You guys will get my $39.95 for this one treatment and then not a penny more. The funny thing is that the original estimate was so prompt and reasonable that I already recommended them to someone – who I immediately contacted and said, “it’s chemicals only – just in case you actually wanted someone to, you know, do some physical gardening.”

Scott’s Pain: Our new frivolous purchase

Scott likes a shiny new toy as much as the next person, sometimes more. Sometimes, we’re both a little over-indulgent in our shiny new things, and this is one of them – but we knew it was an indulgence, and we admitted to ourselves that this wasn’t a must have – it was pure, unadulterated want.

It’s a 56 inch DLP HD tv.

I won’t even pretend that we were being conservative by not getting the 73 inch or even the 60 inch models. This was pure indulgence.

At the time of purchase Scott was promised that they could deliver between 8 – 10 AM – thereby allowing Scott to get to work at a reasonable time. Only the day before they called to say it would be 11-3. Now I don’t know about your job, but I can’t start my day at 3:30. Nor can I end it at 10:30. Which means you lose the whole day. Or, Scott calls and reschedules.

The only problem is they are a 9-5 company. So Scott leaves a message and calls back in the morning and asks for a supervisor and explains the problem. He’s told that while the message will be passed on, there is nothing the supe can do to guarantee delivery times.

But there is.

This is no small purchase – so there’s no reason to blow us off. Because in that moment, if not before that, Scott decided that he would be accommodated, or we would be refunded our money and we would take our business elsewhere.

Then, the driver showed up at the house at 11 – while we were both at work. Not his fault – no one relayed the message to him that no one would be there.

The next day the supervisor called Scott. Unlike her staff, she understood immediately that this was a deal-breaker. Turns out the warehouse is in Baltimore, MD, so there’s no way they are making it to us by 8-10 AM. So they are set up to do 3-5 PM today.

We’ll just have to wait and see if they come through. Hopefully by the time I get home tonight we’ll have a sweet TV with all the TiVo, DVD, X-box and other accessories fully set up. Of course, we have nowhere to sit yet, since the furniture isn’t getting delivered until the 12th. Strangely, that won’t stop us.

The moral of the story is that if you are shifty in getting the sale, you risk not only this customer but every customer this person talks to. Conversely, if you create a good experience you’ll get referrals.

Let me put it this way:

I highly recommend against Scotts Lawn service – not for the service, but for the customer service, or lack thereof.

I will highly recommend the TV store (to be named after delivery) if all goes well this afternoon. If not, guess what I’ll do instead?

Now you’re getting it.

UPDATE: I highly recommend Tweeter in Manassas, VA!

Advice for a Friendly Office Wager?

We've got three football fans on my team (myself being one of them) and we're trying to come up with friendly (i.e. no money) wager on games.

Da Bears play GB twice.
Da Bears play the Giants once.

GB and the Giants do not play each other.

So again, it's me against them.

Here's the preliminary thoughts:

• Send an email extolling the virtue of the winning team
• Send an email shamefully bashing the losing team
• Wear the winning team's jersey
• Place a team bobble head where everyone can see it in your cubicle

Thoughts?

Ask Sarcastica

Dear Sarcastica,
You seemed really pissy last week. Are you okay?
Signed,
Concerned Reader

Dear Polly Prissy Pants,
Aaaaand your point would be?

Dear Sarcastica,
They are sending my job overseas! The anti-American bastards! What should I do to get even?
Signed,
Patriotic and Pissed Off

Dear It's Better to be Pissed Off,
You could spend all your free time picketing the White House. Or, you know, you could look for another job - cause one of these things will feed, clothe, and house you, and the other will do so at the taxpayers' expense.

Dear Sarcastica,
I'm sick of all this PC bullshit. I want to act like Dr. House! Are you with me?
Signed,
Mad as Hell

Dear PinC,
Um, listen, few people are cute enough to get away with acting like a first-rate asshole. It also helps to be clever.

Since you are neither, I suggest you leave the blatant snarking to me and Greg.

Dear Sarcastica,
My husband never helps out around the house. Do you have any advice?
Signed,
Knee Deep in Dirt

Dear Cinderella,
This is an easy one. You either a) bribe him with sex (or whatever he wants) or b) you hire a cleaning service.

Or, you could adopt a handful of children who are old enough to be potty trained, yet young enough that they don't know how to drive (limit the escape options). I mean, how great would it be to have an entire cleaning staff that you pay with Mac-N-Cheese?

Dear Sarcastica,
There are all these stories in the news about pit bulls killing people and towns like Denver outlawing the breed. Do you think we should get rid of pit bulls?
Signed,
Scared of Dogs

Dear Dumbass,
People are responsible. People train their dogs to sit, stay, and some assholes train them to kill. The dog is just doing what it has learned to do.

I say anyone that trains a household dog (i.e. not police or military) to use deadly force against other dogs or humans should be stripped, covered in peanut butter and honey, and dropped in the wilderness between a bee farm and a wild bear sanctuary. Let's see how those assholes like getting ripped to shreds.

Challenge My Way of Thinking

I'm not one to shy away from conflict or uncomfortable feelings - quite the contrary, I love a good battle of wills. I like people to challenge my thought process - make me see things from another perspective.

That is why I went to a diversity presentation yesterday. Challenge me. Show me something that I was unaware of. Hence, my interest in the topic of covering: "the phenomenon of 'covering,' a term used for the coerced hiding of crucial aspects of one's self." This is from the book: Covering: The Hidden Assault on Our Civil Rights by Kenji Yoshino, a law professor at Yale.

The basic premise is that we all hide things about ourselves to assimilate - things we may not even be aware of. Things like the mother who never talks about her kids so that people never assume she puts her job as her lowest priority; or the gay man who has no pictures of his partner on his desk, because it is okay to be gay, but not to flaunt it.

Or me.

The half-Jew who never questioned her own behavior or her feelings about both sides of her heritage.

It never occurred to me, prior to reading the description of the book, that I cover my religion-born-culture. This made me realize that when I am in a group of non-Jews and a "very Jewish" person is in the midst I find them annoying. The behavior seems cartoonish, exaggerated, even gratuitous.

In a group of Jews this never bothers me.

What am I afraid of?

Sure, my grandmother was in a concentration camp, so maybe there is some deep-seeded fear that some day the horrors of the holocaust could revisit the Jews. Would anyone care that my father's family isn't Jewish? Would that count?

Or maybe I am afraid of just being the 'other'. The one who stands out. The one who calls undue or unnecessary attention.

Or maybe it's just annoying. I mean, if you are with a group of subdued people and someone is jumping up and down, cracking jokes, or basically dancing around like a full-blown animated stereotype that is anything but subdued, then maybe that is just annoying.

I don't know. There's no easy answer. But this is the kind of thing that sparked my interest in going, because I was ready for someone to really challenge me.

Unfortunately, the presentation was very light. It was filled with personal anecdotes, that were touching, and I respect Mr. Yoshino for sharing himself so openly, but the whole thing seemed more like a primer to reading the book. Not exactly a sales pitch. But certainly more superficial than deep - I had no new epiphanies during the presentation. I just sat hoping that I would win the raffle for the free copy of the book - because I wanted to start reading it and push myself further.

One good point that Mr. Yoshino made (that I had already realized when I signed up for the presentation) is that most covering comes from within. It's our own baggage that makes us feel and behave this way. Sure, there are some people out there saying, "behave like this" - but usually it's us thinking, "I just want to blend in". Of course, I never realized that I wanted to blend in. I needed someone to show me that I could be doing that in some way. That blew my mind.

During the Q & A Mr. Yoshino said that he would not recommend approaching someone you think is covering and address it with them. Rather, he would suggest looking to see who may be putting that pressure on the person and address it with that person.

I'm sure there are many people that this works for. I'm more of a Socratic method girl myself. I like it better when someone poses a a situation or a question to me, like, "I'm worried about Sheila, she seems to be really reserved when we go out with her coworkers." Then, I think about Sheila, what I know of her, what I know of her situation, etc. and I do the whole personal extrapolation thing, "Well, I am not forthright with my coworkers..." and I think about why. Then, in the process of trying to help someone else, I realize things about myself. Maybe it isn't the most direct route, but sometimes I find it the most meaningful, because there is nothing judgmental or accusatory about it - it's me coming to a realization about myself.

I do this when I read, or watch tv or a movie, or even when I just have some random experience or thought. I like it. Sure, some times it makes me seem a melancholy (and sometimes I don't just seem it) - but when I am done I feel like I've done something significant.

As far as I am concerned, I don't want you to go to someone and say, "I think you are putting pressure on Sara..." don't shy away from these things with me - come to me. I like a challenge.

In the meantime, I'm hoping I win the raffle. The book sounds like it could really challenge the way I think.

Ask Sarcastica

Dear Sarcastica,
My mom insists that I go to a family function next weekend. The problem is that I hate my extended family. How can I get out of this?
Signed,
Orphan wanna-be

Dear Teen,
I'm just going to channel my mother's essence on this one: family is the most important thing.

In other words, go, pretend to have a good time, and try to figure out which 6-toed sloth is actually the mailman's baby.

Dear Sarcastica,
How can I better manage my money?
Signed,
Broke

Dear Broken,
Again, thanks for the reams of data on this one. Here's the thing: FIND SOMEONE WHO KNOWS MATH AND ASK THEM TO HELP YOU.

Dear Sarcastica,
Do you have any good book recommendations?
Signed,
Literary

Dear Barely Literate,
Yes.

Dear Sarcastica,
I hear you have a killer homemade cheesecake recipe, will you share it?
Signed,
Hungry

Dear Eat-it,
No.

Dear Sarcastica,
Seriously, I hear it is wicked good.
Signed,
Hungrier

Dear I said Eat-it,
See, the thing is that I don't even know you, and this recipe is too good to fall into the wrong hands. And by wrong hands, I mean anyone that'll screw up the recipe and then say, 'well I just followed the directions'.


Dear Sarcastica,
Can you help with a grammar question? I am having trouble dealing with my tenses.
Signed,
Struggling

Dear Errata,
Yes, and so am I.

Dear Sarcastica,
There's a heat-wave sweeping the nation. Why do they say it is sweeping?
Signed,
Just wondering

Dear Metaphor,
Please hook up with Errata and Barely Literate and check out your local Community College offerings and leave me be.

Dear Sarcastica,
I don't have a boyfriend or any friends and I am really lonely. Should I get a dog? Signed,
Lonely Lass

Dear L,
Yes, as many as you can fit into your house. The stench will draw the attention of your neighbors and the authorities, so you'll meet lots of new people.

Dear Sarcastica,
The judge says I need anger-management therapy and I have to go to a 12-step program to stay out of jail. I think those both suck. How do I get away with not going?
Signed,
Rebel

Dear Without a Clue,
First, you tell that snotty judge that he's not the boss of you and he should shove it. Damn the man. Then, if you still have to go, find a group, go, sign the attendance form, eat some donuts and tell everyone what you think of those programs. That should take care of it.

How do you Jump the Shark in Space?

So we're watching the season premier of Stargate SG-1 Friday night, and I said, "This reminds me of a storyline they did on this episode of Star Trek TNG."

Scott's reply? "Isn't this a sign they've Jumped the Shark?"

I'm not sure. I think that Stargate does crappy season premiers - mostly because they build this catastrophic, enormous season finales that are hard to resolve when the new season begins. I remember at the beginning of last season thinking that this was it. The show was finally done. But the season turned out okay - maybe not their finest season, but certainly no worse than the year of Jonas Quinn.

But.

As this season approaches its 200th episode - I have to ask - how much more is there to do in this show?

First, the whole stargate thing, while a continuation of the movie plotline, was in fact, clever and original.

The original baddies are gross, scary, and mean.

Then came the replicators. And if you have ever seen a little-known Tom Selleck flick called Runaway, you know what these creepy things are and that you don't want them around. Again, the idea was already out there.

Now we've got these supernatural religious zealots and their offspring ala Deanna Troi's alien-baby. Again, been there and done that.

Usually, it's easy to overlook or to accept because they spin it in a way that is true to the show.

And Stargate has been a phenomenal success, which is in no small part due to their creativity and innovation. It's a show I generally enjoy watching. But more and more I find myself saying, That was fair. That was okay. That was a waste of an hour.

I wonder too, when the show finally does go off the air if they will find a creative out or go some cheesy cartoon route of having all the bad guys band together to battle the good guys over the fate of the universe.

So I sit here, apprehensively awaiting this week's episode and thinking to myself, if we see one sign of Henry Winkler or water-skis, I'm out.

Ask Sarcastica

Want your question answered? Just post a question and I will add it to next week's column!

Dear Sarcastica,
I am looking for a career change. Any advice?
Signed,
Job Hopper

Dear Slacker,
Given the copious amounts of information you provided about your likes, dislikes, and job history, I know exactly what you should be…UNEMPLOYED

Dear Sarcastica,
I want to be a poet. How can I get started?
Signed,
Poetic License

Dear Frosty,
Poetry is Easy
Just Write a Rhyme or Two
But What Will You Do
When you want to eat food?

Dear Sarcastica,
I want to get one of those cute little dogs I can carry around in my purse. What kind are they?
Signed,
Cutie Pie

Dear Cruelty to Animals,
Those are called RATS.

Dear Sarcastica,
Do you think it is okay for a 55-year-old to find love in the online dating world?
Signed,
Looking for Love

Dear Lonely Heart,
Those boards are generally filled with uggos and psychos. It's better to meet someone doing something you enjoy. I mean, if you're a lush, go to a bar. If you're a brainiac, go to the library. If you are computer-savvy enough to find the dating site, but not enough to avoid it, you are in the right place.

Dear Sarcastica,
My son never writes and he only calls when he knows I won’t be home.
Signed,
Boy’s Mama


Mom, is that you?


Dear Sarcastica,
My son has been living with me rent free for 9 months. I told him it was time for him to go, but he is still here. Help!
Signed,
Good Mother


Dear Pushover,
Who, may I ask, is the parent in your household? Lay down the law! Say to your belligerent child, "THIS IS THE LAW" and kick his ass out. And change the locks. And then watch him cry from the driveway.

Heh. I love to watch them cry.

Dear Sarcastica,
My husband wears size 52 jeans, but he gets mad that I wear extra-large instead of extra-small. Would he love me more if I were less of a woman?
Signed,
Extra Large

Dear Tiny,
Size 52? For the love of all that is holy do not, I repeat, do not let this person sit on you ever, in any context, in any position, for any reason.

Who cares if he loves you less? I mean, jesus christ on a crutch, he can't even reach you.

If I were you I'd hold a pint of ice cream just out of arms reach and taunt him.

Screw the fat bastard (not literally, see previous note)

Dear Sarcastica,
Katie Holmes said she eats lots of mac and cheese and her fridge is packed with food. Can I eat like that and be as thin as her?
Signed,
Hungry

Dear Calorie Challenged,

This is the same woman who allegedly let Tom Cruise impregnate her, alienate her from her family, force her to be a Scientologist, and give up medication and South Park. If you want to be like her, go join a cult.

Signs Your Spouse Would Murder You

Good Morning America posted this helpful list on ABC news to give us some insight into whether or not our spouses are homicidal maniacs.

I've constructed my own list of signs that your death at the hands of a loved one is imminent:

1. He spends a great deal of time sharpening his new axe and calling it "my precious".
2. He holds flower arrangement pictures near your head and says, "this will nicely match the coffin".
3. Your insurance agent calls to verify the increase in your policy payout amount, and the addition of a number of unusual 'accidental death' clauses.
4. While reading the newspaper you stumble across your own obituary.
5. All the sugar and sugar substitute in your house smells like almonds.
6. He has rented a series of movies about 'the perfect murder' and is taking copious notes.
7. You receive a ticking package with a note on top that you should only open when alone.
8. He books a trip and neglects to make your ticket round-trip.
9. He's doing his best Elmer Fudd impersonation all day long, but his 'wabbit' sounds an awful lot like 'wife'.
10. He puts a note in your lunch that says, "I'm sure gonna miss you!"

Ask Sarcastica

Dear Sarcastica,
People come in to my work place and say, "Nobody's here?" What can I do to get people to notice me?
Invisible

Dear Casper,
You have an exciting opportunity - haunting people without dying! When someone comes into your office and says "Nobody's here?" you should say loudly while looking away from this jackass, "Did you hear that? I swear I heard someone" then turn back to your computer and continue working.

I guarantee that people will notice you once they realize that they need to.

Dear Sarcastica,
What do you recommend for a cold?
Signed,
Sniffly

Dear Infector,
First, homemade chicken soup is the best - so have someone make you some. Drink lots of tea, stay warm, and most importantly DO NOT COME INTO THE OFFICE! I hate when sick people come to work and get me sick, and if you come into my office and get me sick your cold will be the least of your worries because I will KICK YOUR ASS!

Dear Sarcastica,
Is it okay to lie on your resume?
Signed,
Looking for a new job

Dear Liar Liar,
DIDN'T YOUR MOTHER EVER TEACH YOU THAT LYING IS WRONG? WRONG! Very very bad! Horrible! Evil! Wrong! You are driving your mother to an early grave mister!

Okay, now let's talk resumes, the thing is there is lying and there is good writing. Lying is something like: Sold $1MM when the company sold 1MM and you sold $25. Good writing goes something like this: Helped company achieve the 1MM sales goal.

Dear Sarcastica,
Last week you called me an STD and said my boyfriend is cheating on me. Well I asked him and he said you are totally wrong.

Dear Gullible,
Listen sweetie, he is and you are. That's it. Did you expect him to say, "Yes, it's true, and you should see a doctor?" Because seriously, if he is dishonest enough to cheat he is dishonest enough to lie too.

Dear Sarcastica,
Is pot addictive?
Signed,
Experimental

Dear Stoner,
I've seen reports go either way on this. The best thing is for you to assess your own reaction and frequency of use. Also, if you gain a significant amount of weight you should probably cut back on the pot. I'm just saying.

Dear Sarcastica,
What's your sign?
Signed,
Star-eyed

Dear Hippie,
It's my middle finger extended upwards.

Dear Sarcastica,
What should I major in when I go to college in the fall?
Signed,
Undecided

Dear Future Frat Boy,
It all depends. Do you come from money? If so, do whatever the heck you want. If not, you need something that makes money but won't totally kill you. Try finance.

Writing Project Chapter: What's a Token Half-Jew?

[Chapter excerpt]

By religious standards I am fully Jewish. My mother is Jewish. End of story. But, my dad isn’t Jewish, and because of that I have this whole other influence on who I am.

Spiritually, I’m Jewish. When people ask, I say I am Jewish (although depending on the audience I may call myself a mutt or half-breed just to see the responses).

The token part is where I get into trouble. A token is expected to somehow represent a group, and be able to espouse knowledge of it. Sure, I’m spiritually Jewish, but I know as much about my religion from Jewish comedians as I do from my religious upbringing.

But try explaining that to the people who rely on me to be their source of all things Jewish.

One of my favorite questions came from my mother-in-law, bless her heart. It went something like this:

“Sara, someone in our complex died.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“She was…” she lowers her voice to a whisper, “Jewish”

“Oh”

“What do we do?”

“Do you mean her dead body is still there?”

“Um, no”

“Okay, I’m confused. What’s the question?”

“Well, we want to have a little get-together service here for the residents who won’t be able to attend the funeral.”

“Okaaaaay”

“Do we need a Rabbi?”

“To do what?”

“I don’t know. I thought we might need one. Do you know where I can find a Rabbi?”

“Did she belong to a temple?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, let’s start with this idea: if she was Christian, would you bring in a priest for the get-together?”

“No.”

“So why do you need a Rabbi?”

“I don’t know, I thought it was a rule.”

Where do people come up with these rules, and why do they ask me about them?

My Writing Project

Flexing this muscle has either reinvigorated my creative spirit or turned me into a masochistic unrealistic fool. Either way, I am going to embark on a very public experiment, and you can judge for yourself.

I’m writing a book of essays. There, I said it.

Each week I will publish an excerpt of a chapter I am working on (I’ll put something in the title to designate it as part of the book project). It’ll probably be a few paragraphs to give you a sense of the topic and to test out the material. Constructive criticism is welcome. For those of you who don’t know what constructive means, in short it means helpful, actionable feedback. If you can’t say anything useful, we’ll rake you over the coals.

Nice isn’t necessary. I mean, I’m not that hypocritical.

Oh, and just so you know the overall topic the essays will address, I’m calling my work in progress: Token Half-Jew.

Kate Bosworth is NOT Lois Lane

We saw Superman tonight and I had a great many fears - would this new Superman be able to fill the mighty legacy left by Christopher Reeve? Would Kevin Spacey play Lex Luthor as too campy - someone we couldn't take seriously as a villain?

Brandon Routh is superb. He embodied everything Reeve did. He could be Reeve's clone. He looked the part, he captured the part, he was amazing and adorable.

Kevin Spacey - I am sorry I doubted you. When I first saw you in The Usual Suspects I thought you were a brilliant actor. I thought Luthor was all wrong for you. How wrong I was. Bravo. Bravo for taking the risk and bravo for a job well done.

Ms. Bosworth - you are no Lois Lane. Not now. Not ever.

Back in the day, when Ms. Kidder was Lois Lane we all got why Superman loved her - she was the yin to his yang, the fire to his serenity, the only one that had the gumption to take him on, and the vulnerability to melt for him. We loved him more because he loved her. For all her neuroses (Lane, not Kidder, although we know now what we didn't know then), she was an amazing woman, and it was easy to want them together.

Not so with this Lane-less endeavor. She of the obviously poorly dyed hair. She of the wishy-washy persona. She who delivers all her lines like whiny angst-ridden questions. This is not our Lois Lane.

For the first time I found myself wanting Lane to die. For Superman to let her fall off this mortal coil - to cease, perchance to die.

If there is a sequel, Brandon and Kevin will be eagerly welcomed back.

Ms. Bosworth, on the other hand, would be wise to have a conflict of interest. Go back to being blonde, go back to your surfboard, go back to trading barbs with the likes of Topher Grace (no offense, Topher), but whatever you do, just go away and leave Superman alone.

The Best Job I've Ever Had

I'm not talking about the 9-to-6 kind, I'm talking about the roles we play in our lives that, in reality, are as much work if not more than the office kind.

I'm talking about being a spouse.

It is work, y'all. Don't kid yourselves. There are days it feels like work, and there are days it feels like a dream come true.

Even with my feminist leanings I still find myself entrenched in the gender-specific role of wife. There are things I do that Scott does not do. There are things Scott does that I do not do.

Right now, for instance, Scott is on his second tech support call of the day. The first was to Comcast because our phone is being... odd. The second, which he has been on for 90 minutes, is with the TiVo folks to make the TiVo work.

These are things that are best left to Scott. Not because I am not technical, but because I am not patient. I am not willing to redo all of my initial troubleshooting with someone over the phone, and I am particularly unwilling to have someone talk to me as if I were a child simply because I am a woman, or because I am not an engineer.

But there are things I do that just seem to fall to me. Sure, there are the typical cooking duties, but there are also the neurotic issues such as worrying about everything that can be worried about. I get that one, not because I am a woman, but because I have a chemical anxiety issue and Scott could sleep peacefully through the apocalypse and when he woke up would not be worried about the charred remains around him, but would rather think that's odd.

So while Scott is on the phone I found myself in front of the mirror primping. New haircut, new make-up. Making myself pretty. Putting on my face. I'm not a girly-girl, so it amuses me that I do this. I do it for me. I do it for Scott. I don't know if Scott even notices when I put on make-up, but he always looks at me like I am pretty, and that somehow makes it more important that I make the effort.

And I start thinking how silly this is. He's fixing a problem, I am playing with make-up and it seems like a fair distribution of work. He doesn't want to primp any more than I want to talk to tech support. At this moment, I know we each feel like we got the better task. And yet I ask myself, is there any part of being married, sharing a home, sharing finances, that feels unbalanced? Is the distribution of work skewed?

Sure, I worry, he sleeps. I do the daily dishes, he scrubs the ones that can't go in the dishwasher. I notice how dirty the house is and perform the basic straightening up, he takes out the trash.

Mostly, I provide the timetable and the distribution of work. He does all the heavy-lifting (and the man even vacuums). I do the rest.

Sure, there are days it seems like he's got the better deal, and there are days where it seems like I got the better deal. Over time I think it works out pretty well.

But there isn't a job I have ever found more enjoyable, because at the end of the day we share it all, our hopes, our fears, our dreams, and yes, even our chores. It's the best feeling in the world to know that we're in this together, come hell or recent East coast flood waters.

Humor is subjective

I know this is obvious, but I look at the people around me - the ones who get me and the ones that don't. I always wonder about the ones that don't. Do they not get the joke, or do they want me to just go away?

My boss is one I wonder about. When she is in a good mood she responds well to my humor. When she is in a sketchy mood or a bad mood, I try to avoid humor, as it only results in her making the "who farted?" face at me.

I used to get in trouble a lot over my sense of humor. Mostly at work, and pretty exclusively with those who worked for me. And while I could literally write a book about that experience (which I won't do because it'll just make me cranky) the thing that really bugged me is how much self-effacing humor I used. I tried using humor to lighten the mood, or to try to make the best out of bad situation. My humor was rarely directed at other people in front of them (sure, behind their backs, but only with people I trusted. I never said I was a saint. No, I didn't. Just because you read my blog doesn't mean that you can put ideas in my head - and I never said that! Get. Out. Of. My. Head!).

It never worked. Oh sure, some people got it, and got me, and I like those people and I stay in contact with them - because to me they are good people. No, they aren't good people because they like me, they are good people in general, and in addition to that, they understand my humor, and often appreciate it. The rest of them? I swear if Big Foot came stumbling out of the woods, grabbed a mic, and told them a universally funny joke they would make the "who farted?" face. At which point Mr. Foot would be completely within his rights to feed them to the Loch Ness Monster, thank you very much.

I hear over and over that I am too sarcastic. Really, how much sarcasm is too much sarcasm? Can you measure it? Is that metric or US units? How many cups are in a quart?

See, some of you just laughed and said, "that crazy Sara" and some of you made the face and said, "Sarcasm is an intangible, not a solid or liquid and therefore cannot be measured in that way. I thought you were smarter than that."

I am. It was funny. F-u-n-n-y.

Even worse than that are the ones who went, "See, there she goes again, saying these things that are clearly insulting to us. She is insulting us!"

Shut your hole. Seriously. Go somewhere, stick your head in the sand and shut the hell up. You suck.

See, the thing is that I didn't start out to insult you, but now that you've shown what amazing schmucks you are I can't help myself.

You suck hard.

That's not sarcasm, by the way.

The humor I appreciate is very much like my own humor. I assume we all do. Of course, I have no idea what the schmucks find funny. Maybe nothing. How sad for them. I guess it would explain a helluva lot.

As you contemplate the humorful and the humorless of the world, think about where you actually fit in. Are you one of us or one of them?

When next we meet, just remember one of my favorite quotes:

If you can't say anything good about someone, sit right here by me.
--Alice Roosevelt Longworth

And decide carefully whether or not you can properly fill that seat next to me.

Ask Sarcastica

In light of the holiday weekend, I'm posting the Dear Sarcastica a day early. Happy 4th!

Dear Sarcastica,
My parents want me to go to college, but I want to be an artist. What should I do?
Signed,
Andy W.

Dear Dime-a-dozen,
First, listen to your parents. You will have more fun in college than you ever dreamed possible.

Second, I can tell that you have absolutely no talent, so art is not really for you.

Dear Sarcastica,
What do you recommend to deal with PMS?
Signed,
Bloated and Cranky

Dear Hormonal,
Chocolate, ice cream, something salty, and a 12-gauge. The first three will make you less cranky and the fourth will keep people from bothering you.

Dear Sarcastica,
How much wood would a wood-chuck chuck if a wood-chuck could chuck wood?
Signed,
Curious

Dear Crackhead,
Get a job and stop getting high.

Dear Sarcastica,
I think you are really mean! You should be ashamed of yourself!
Signed,
Nice person

Dear Nancy-boy,
Seriously, it's called a spine. You should look into that.


Dear Sarcastica,
I'm planning on hiking through the Mohave. Any advice?
Signed,
Avid Hiker

Dear Rabid,
Yeah. Don't.

Dear Sarcastica,
My boyfriend wants me to 'give him head' - what does that mean?
Signed,
Confused Teen

Dear Innocent,
Go to a voodoo shop and get him a shrunken head in a jar. When you give it to him, ask him if there are any other body parts he would like. I suspect he will not make this request again.

Dear Sarcastica,
What should I be when I grow up?
Signed,
Almost there

Dear Peter Pan,
If at all possible, don't. It's better to spend all day at recess than going to work.

Dear Sarcastica,
I want to marry someone rich and famous. How can I meet eligible stars?
Signed,
Ultimate Fan

Dear Fanwanker,
I hear stalking works really well. Also, if you don't meet your match, you get free room and board in a lovely minimum security facility.

Why you aren't getting Warren Buffett's Money

We all have get-rich-quick dreams and schemes. For some it is the lottery, for others it is pulling an Anna Nicole, or an invention, or the long-lost-unknown-relative who leaves you everything.

You are dreaming.

My dad has been buying lottery tickets faithfully for years - no serious winnings yet. I had a great idea (I thought) for a business, then some friends went into business and they seemed miserable. I decided to let someone else pay me and handle the payroll taxes.

Anna Nicole? Yuck. Please don't. If you do, please don't tell anyone.

If you don't know the relative? He doesn't know you. No inheritance for you!

But now that Mr. Buffett has announced his plans to give away the bulk of his 44 Billion (yes, BILLION, with a B - imagine how many zeros that is) dollar estate to charity, I bet you all had one thought: that guy who sings Margaritaville is giving away money?

No.

Warren Edward Buffett is an American investor and businessman. Nicknamed the "Oracle of Omaha" or the "Sage of Omaha" - 2nd richest person in the world behind Bill Gates. (wikipedia)

James William Buffett singer, songwriter, and recently a film producer best known for his "island escapism" lifestyle and music including hits such as "Margaritaville" (wikipedia)

Now that you've got margaritaville spinning in your head go ahead and hum along while you accept that neither billions nor margaritas are coming your way for the moment.

No.

His money is going to charity. No, you are not a charity. Even if you were a charity, you'd have to be a Bill and Melinda Gates approved charity. Why? Because Buffett is using their philanthropic organization to channel the money.

But I always wanted to start a charity.

But you didn't start a charity.

So even if you could talk to Warren, it wouldn't do any good. You need to talk to Bill and Melinda. And Bill and Melinda have very specific agenda items: 1. Public health. 2. American education. It's hard to argue with either of those - given how desperately they are needed. So even if you could talk to Bill and Melinda, it would be useless unless you represented a legitimate, established charity that addresses #1 or #2 above.

Sure, I spent a few minutes wondering what I would say and what (I dream) they would say, and how I would spend the money. But we all need to face facts - none of us will directly see a cent - the money is going to charity.

Now, if we could all take all that day-dreaming time and effort and spend it on a second job flipping burgers or stocking shelves, we'd have something to show for it. It's that kind of industrial behavior that made Warren the man he is today.

That and inheriting a good sense about the stock trade from his father.

At least he didn't pull an Anna Nicole.

Now excuse me while I go invent my chairty and work on my sales pitch...

Readers' Choice

Okay readers, here's the setup:

I've got 3 topics I am working on and I can't decide which is really worthy of fleshing out. I'm going to give you the three topics, and assuming I get a majority of comments in agreement by midnight EST on 6/27 on the topic, I'll blog the topic of your choosing.

Here are your choices:

1. Driving while cellular
2. Why you won't get Warren Buffett's money
3. The crazy things criminals do

That's it. You vote. I write.

Ask Sarcastica

Every Friday we're going to do a little something new... the Dear Sarcastica advice column. Feel free to send in your questions to get some thoughtful advice!

Dear Sarcastica,
I’m having problems printing. Have any ideas?
Signed,
Inkless

Dear Dinkless,
Printing as in hand-writing or printing with a computer printer? I ask because…I DON’T CARE! First, phrase questions clearly as to ensure that people know what you are asking and second, call friggin tech support.


Dear Sarcastica,
My boss is a jerk. What should I do?
Signed,
Tormented

Dear Twinkie,
Everyone’s boss is a jerk. No matter how cool your boss may be on one thing or another, your boss is a jerk on something.

Here are your choices:

1. Stop whining
2. Whine to someone who cares
3. Become self-employed
4. Get promoted and torture others

Dear Sarcastica,
How casual is work-casual?
Signed,
Khaki

Dear Cracky,
It’s all about context. Do you work on a beach? Do you work for a CEO? I mean seriously, look at the other people you work with and find a happy medium.


Dear Sarcastica,
I’m trying to lose weight. What do you recommend?
Signed,
Full-figured gal

Dear Fabulous,
Don’t lose weight. Skinny people are miserable. Sure, you won’t live as long, but how great is your life right now? Remember food = good, skinny = cranky.


Dear Sarcastica,
I think my boyfriend is cheating on me. Help.
Signed,
Girlfriend

Dear STD catcher,
He is.

Tune in next week when our own Sarcastica answers your questions!

Charity

Is it still a charitable contribution if it was extracted by force?

At the beginning of May the Puppy Patrol called me. They wanted a donation to support their outreach program. I gave them some money.

The Puppy Patrol is a group of Police dogs and their handlers, going to schools and trying to influence kids in a good way. Now, I have several reasons that I felt compelled to give: 1. I love dogs, 2. I love to see Police dogs employed away from guns and bombs and the like, and 3. I used to do this.

Not this exactly. When I was in high school I worked with Project D.A.R.E. going to grade schools and talking to kids about saying no (it was the 80s) and answering their questions about jr. high and high school.

So, I have a soft spot for the outreach thing. I think it is great for all involved. I didn’t hesitate when he asked for a $45 pledge.

Now, less than 6 weeks later, they’ve called again. But not for Puppy Patrol.

The group doing the pledges for Puppy Patrol is the same one doing this new drive. And, I’d love to help, but I can’t give them money every 4 – 6 weeks.

And I listened to the spiel, and I agreed it was a good cause, and if I hadn’t just given I would have gladly said yes.

And I tried explaining that. Call me back in 3 months, I said. In 3 months I’ll be ready to pledge again. Not now.

So he started bargaining with me, if you can’t do $45 now, will you do $25?

In 3 months. Not now.

If you can’t do $25, can you do $12.50?

In 3 months. Not now.

If you can’t…

And here’s where I may have seemed belligerent. I don’t know another way to say this. Right now I don’t have a dime to pledge. Call me back in 3 months. That is the soonest I will pledge again.

Grumble. Sigh. Snort. Click.

So the thing is, this charity is more serious than Puppy Patrol, and I felt hugely guilty on the phone saying no. But the other thing is? I can’t give out money every time someone deserving asks for it.

And I’m not stingy. In any given year I make donations to the Humane Society, ASPCA, Breast Cancer, Cancer, Parkinson’s, Diabetes, Vietnam Veterans, and now the Puppy Patrol. I’m the person in line ahead of you that sees the change jar for the little girl on crutches and gives all her spare change. I don’t know her, but you know, life looks harder for her than it is for me.

I’m no Angelina Jolie (who states she gives 1/3 of her income to charity – which is awesome) - in more ways than one – but I give what I can, when I can wherever I see a worthwhile charity.

So right now this guy probably thinks I am some uber liberal who will support puppies but not a human charity.

But the thing is, if you get hounded to give, and it isn’t coming from the heart and is a strain on your wallet – is it really charity or emotional blackmail?

For me, wanting to give is a critical part of the equation. I don't give to causes I don't believe in. I don't give if it means bills go unpaid or we go without groceries.

So, pledge guy, wherever you are, just remember that just because I had money to give 4 weeks ago doesn't mean I have it now.

Why don't you hit up Angie? I hear she's got money to burn.

Personal Truth

Somewhere in the wasteland between honest self-reflection and total narcissistic absorption you’ll run into truth you cannot deny.

It might be that maybe you are too naïve, or spoiled, or ill-mannered. For me, the truth that I heard throughout my childhood and sometimes into my adulthood for whatever reason hit me tonight as truth. I am a difficult person to get along with.

People frustrate me. I’ve never denied it. I usually shout it from the rooftops. People see that. They see my impatience. They see my frustration. They see that at that moment I do not like them for whatever reason.

The thing is, I am not intentionally rude or mean to people. But I hear it all the time. I’m mean. I’m sarcastic. I’m insensitive to others.

Am I?

Yes and no. Like anyone I have my good days and bad days. I used to have many more bad days than good (if you don’t believe me, head over to the Cosmic Gypsy Tea Room and ask my mother why she gave me two nicknames growing up: Mope and Bitch Woman). I didn’t know how my moods impacted other people, at home, at work, out in the world. And I was truly moody.

There’s a temper issue too. I do not have an even temperament. I get angry too easily. I want to yell. I used to yell, snark, scowl, insult, demean – you name it – at one point I did it.

Two things changed me. One, I had a great boss who actually sat me down and told me. He wasn’t accusatory, he wasn’t mean, he was trying to help me – and I could totally see that. It made a difference. I started to change.

The second thing was my relationship with Scott. Our friendship and inevitable romantic involvement gave me wisdom that I could never have attained through normal means. He taught me patience (it’s a work in progress), he taught me calmness (ditto), and he taught me that fighting is futile. It accomplishes nothing. He taught me that if you want to solve the problem, you have to work together towards a solution. No one wins if someone loses.

If we ever face the ultimate judgment – will it be based on our worst day? The day on which we were cruel, self-absorbed, thoughtless? Will it be based on our best day? The day that shows the potential of who we could be? Or will it be based on the journey – the progress we make along the way, to right our wrongs, to learn and grow?

No cosmic force started me down this path. No life-changing event. No haunting encounter. I was thinking about an assignment for work: my career goals. The form wants to know what I want to be when I grow up. I have no idea, so I took an assessment online. It said I get bored easily. I like frequent change. I like new things. None of this was news to me.

What do I want to be when I grow up? A good person. What do I want to do for a living? Something fun. Something challenging. Something that makes me a better person.

Sadly, that job is not listed in the drop-down menu.

I wish it was. That would be a goal worth attaining.

Second Viewing

Some time ago, I went on an ordinary girl's night out, had dinner, and went to the movies. We saw a movie none of us really had any interest in seeing, but it had just won in several Oscar categories. The awards were well-deserved.

Today, I was flipping through the channels to have something on for noise while I ate lunch and cleaned. It was just starting. I sat down. I never cleaned.

I knew every scene that was coming. I knew the character development. The relationship development. The plot development. Still, I was riveted.

It took me ¾ of the way through the movie to realize I hadn't made my lunch. I stood there making my lunch and staring out at tv. Riveted.

The story of a 30-ish woman from a bad background with a meaningless job and a dream. A dream that no one thinks she can pursue.

She does, she finds success. She tries to take care of her family. They shun her.

Her mentor, a man with an estranged daughter that won't speak to him, becomes her surrogate father. The crusty old man pushed her away at first. Then, they bond. Then he gives her the nickname, My heart, My beloved, My blood in Gaelic without telling her what it means.

They give and take. Their personalities are so different. The commonalities seem limited, a wounded heart, a fighter's spirit. Somehow, they form a family.

She, his surrogate daughter. He, her surrogate father. Both standing in for those who can't, or won't.

On the surface it might seem formulaic, however, the movie is anything but. Rewatching it today only made me want to watch it again immediately after it ended. I've already decided to add it to my Christmas wish list.

If you haven't seen Million Dollar Baby because you don't like boxing, sports, sweat, Clint Eastwood, Hillary Swank, or Morgan Freeman, then you are missing out. Rent it, give it a try. If you don't like it after 30 minutes, turn it off. My guess is that you'll forget to breathe and even blink at times.

And when you've made it through the movie, and you feel this haunting presence like a mist about you, remember why you love good movies. They do more than just fill a few hours, they reach inside you and tear at your heart and your gut.

Phone Manners

Having a new home address phone numbers mean lots of new people calling me. They call me to make me great offers. Lawn care. Dog walkers. Filtered water. Home security. Pest control. Newspaper delivery. Driveway paving. A year of de-linting my belly button.

I always try to be polite and gracious, but efficient. I understand you are at work. You need to understand that I am at home. We’re not both on the clock here – you are, in essence, invading my private time, so be considerate.

This isn’t a rant on telemarketing. I could rant on that, but let’s just assume for now that telemarketing is going to be in our lives for a while, so we need to make the experience less unpleasant.

When you call my home, have the courtesy to:

• Get the name right. I know my husband’s surname can also be a first name, but you ought to know which one is the first name before you ask for Mr. Stewart, if the name on your list is James Stewart or Stewart James makes a difference to the person you are calling. After all, it is his name.
• When you are asked to leave a message, do not do the following:
• Hang up
• Say, “I’ll call back later” without identifying yourself and your reason for calling
• Sigh
• Act like this is a huge inconvenience for you. No one is under any obligation to be home to take an unsolicited call.
• When you are asked what this is in regards to, that means I am asking who you are and why you are calling. If I ask what this is in regards to and you ask again to speak to him or when a better time would be to contact him, know that he is already determined not to use your service. I can’t speak for other households, but we discuss all financial decisions before we make them. Dealing only with him may seem like a good tactic, but he deals with me when you aren’t around – which is all the freaking time.
• When you make me a great offer and I say I would like to see it in writing, do not attempt to strong-arm me. It’ll just make me say no. Time and again Scott has had the amusement of listening to me ask for it in writing, explain to the telemarketer that if I can’t review it I can’t take the offer, and then tell them I distrust any organization that refuses to put offers in writing. Understand that your potential customers want to read the deal. Have a way to provide it and time to digest it. If you don’t, you’ll never see a dime from me.
• Speaking of great offers, my general response to “limited-time, once in a lifetime offers,” is to say, “Shucks, I guess I am going to miss out on this one. I am sure I will kick myself later.”
• Do not call during the following hours:
  
  • Before 9 AM M - F, 10 AM on Saturday and Sunday. We’re talking local time. I once got some amazingly mathematically challenged dofus who called me in Tucson at 6 AM, It’s 9 AM here… die.
  
  
  • During normal dinner hours. This is family time. I’m sorry that you are working this shift, I know it sucks. Certainly you can pester someone outside of the dinner time range in another time zone or do your administrative tasks during this time.
  
  
  • After 9 PM, 7 days a week. I don’t have kids, but if I did they would be in bed by 9. Regardless, this is around the time that family calls come in when they come, and I want to be available for my family. If you call during these hours? You lose my business. It’s that simple.
• Do not eat, drink, chew, burp or make any oral noises besides speaking while you are on the phone with me. I don’t want to hear it or imagine what is happening to you.
• Speak slowly and clearly. You have no idea how good my hearing is. You have no idea how much of HelloMrs.XMynameisSylviaandIamcallingfromtheAcmecompany my brain will catch and digest. Go too fast and I’ll make you do the whole damn thing over again.
• Same thing when you try to get the whole offer out before I can even finish saying hello. If you talk that fast, I didn’t catch more than every third or fourth word. So, when I hear an offer like Acme Toilet Reduction – how am I to know that what you said was, We here at Acme Plumbing and Supplies are having a store-wide sale on all Toilets and Vanities – it’s a huge reduction in cost of our entire inventory. I mean, Acme Toilet Reduction? Sounds totally unappealing.

Now here’s the real rub. I almost never agree to anything over the phone. Unless I was about to call you (like when I had setting up Pest Control on my to-do list and you called me) then I am probably not interested in your product. I don’t care how inexpensive it is. I don’t care how cool it is. I don’t care how good the offer is. I don’t care how shiny it is. In the internet age I know that if I want it, I can find it. Sure, I’ll have to pay for shipping, but it’s worth it to see it, read about it, and decide.

But I am guessing there must be some business incentive to have telemarketers. Otherwise, I can’t fathom why these people would be employed.

I know you will call. When you do, be polite, have the kind of manners that would make your grandmother proud. Maybe your great-grandmother, for some of you up-and-coming telemarketers.

Know that I will say no as politely and quickly as I can. I will ask you to put me on your do-not-call list. As much as it pains you to do so, simply say, I will. Thank you for your time.

See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?

Stop doing that

Really. Stop doing that please.

You, in the public restroom, the one who uses a seat protector and then leaves it on the seat? Why would anyone else want to touch that? And don’t flush it either, you just gum up the works.

You, in the obviously Freudian sports car, stop driving like you own the road. You cannot turn left from a right turn only lane. Yes, I saw you do that. Yes, you are a doofus.

You, on the cell phone in a crowded elevator, loudly repeating the same line over and over again. It wasn’t funny the first time you said it, and it gets less charming each time you repeat it.

You, with the shopping cart turned diagonally taking up the entire aisle because you got a little flustered about whether you should get oatie-os or oatie-os-plus.

You, with the gaggle of friends who are walking in a tight space and who without reason stop, backing up all human traffic in any direction.

You, standing outside the public restroom to have a conversation. Step away from the door. I said, step away. Stop blocking the door. Move it, woman!

You, stop staring at me while I brush my teeth. Why am I the freak because I want to erase the signs of lunch from my mouth? Heard of oral hygiene? If you don’t know what a toothbrush is, then I have no idea why you are spending all that effort and money on the plastic surgery, ‘cause when your teeth fall out ain’t nobody gonna be kissing that face.

You, in the 10 items or less aisle with more than 10 items. Die. Die screaming.

You, with the dog in a purse? You suck. I wish I could put you in a purse and see how you like it.

You, tabloids, I don’t believe that alien babies are infiltrating the FBI using cleverly encrypted gizmos that come out of the bubble gum machine. Who buys this crap?

You, gossip rags, stop creating amalgams of celebrity names. We don’t call you and your significant other Joheather. These names sound like failed As Seen on TV products, or new germs.

You, news reporters, stop acting like everything is earth shattering. Give me the facts, without the hype. Did you ever watch the likes of Edward R. Murrow? Hell, watch Anderson Cooper. Stop spazzing at us.

You, technology developers, don’t start marketing me the 1.0 and the second I buy it release the 2.0 with incentive goodies. I want incentive goodies!

You, with the perfume, cologne, or whatever that scent is. A dab please. If I can’t get fresh air outside when you are within 50 feet of me? Honey, did you swim in it?

There are so many of you out there, doing so many unpleasant things.

Just stop.

Writing about writing

I’ve gotten a lot of wonderful feedback on the blog (thank you, thank you, muchas gracias and all that) and some encouragement to do this professionally (write, that is).

There are some things that hold me back from this: 1. I like a steady income, 2. I really have no idea how to get into the industry (I tried when I graduated from grad school), and 3. Writing takes discipline.

So let’s pretend that 1 & 2 cancel each other out (if I get into the industry, I can make a steady income – just play along), and just focus on #3: discipline.

I’ve read a lot from writers about how to write professionally, and I have yet to hear anyone say Just write when you get the spark, just write when you get the urge, just write whenever.

They all talk about discipline.

I’ve read that you should treat your writing like a normal job. Schedule working hours and write during that time. One of Scott’s favorite authors has a seasonal approach to writing (I'm paraphrasing here):

Phase 1: Winter
In Phase 1, he sits inside, by the fire, and writes by hand. No editing, just writing whatever he thinks would work in this story. This is every day.

Phase 2: Spring
He reviews it - looking for stuff that fits, as well as eliminating stuff that doesn’t or saving things that might make other good stories. Every day.

Phase 3: Summer
In the summer he goes out to his room in the barn every day, in the middle of the pasture and sits down at an old fashion typewriter and types the draft.

Phase 4: Fall
He reviews the draft then types the final edition. Every day.

Come winter again he starts all over.

I must say this system takes a hell of a lot of discipline. More than I could possibly muster.

I joke that I am ADD – show me a shiny object and… hey, look, a birdie!

I know I get distracted when I clean, at work, mid-conversation (regardless of who is talking), or at the grocery store. It happens non-stop.

And sometimes I am that way with my writing.

I sit down with a great idea and about half way through I am bored, or distracted, or, well, bored. I mean, I love to write, it is one of my passions, but sometimes I want to do something else. The worst part is when I return to the document, I no longer have the same passion. Sometimes I have no interest in the topic at all. Sometimes I look at it and go, “oh it would be better if I said this” and then I spend the time revamping it, often losing the original text in the process.

So, I get all ADD, I get distracted and then? I’m done. Honestly, I just walk away from the piece.

I’m not disciplined.

I write when I have something to say. I write when something happens that I can’t let go of. I write when I am feeling funny, or sad, or angry, or frustrated, or… you get the picture.

I don’t write when I am emotionless. My emotions drive my writing.

And therein lies the rub.

If my emotions drive my writing, and I need to be disciplined, I have to have a structure that enables me to be emotional and productive at the same time.

You try scheduling an emotion. Go ahead. How about sustaining it for 8 hours. I don’t want to be frustrated for 8 hours.

I know, not every writer is the same, and therefore what works for them may not (who am I kidding, will not) work for me.

I can sit down and write a 500 word blog like nobody’s business. Can I do a novel?

Well, you’ll be surprised to know that the answer is yes.

When I graduated and moved to Tucson I dedicated myself to writing my first novel. I say first, as if it was the beginning of the list. There has not been a second yet. But, I naively believe that someday I may sit down at the computer again and make another attempt.

My first novel was a detective story. It tried to do too much. Too many homages, too many far fetched ideas. It was great fun to write, and every so often I would ship a chapter off to my friend Evelyn back in Indiana who would edit it, make comments, be my sounding board, and send it back.

We must have spent a fortune in paper and postage.

It was great fun. And, when I thought it was suitable for a larger audience, I bought a book on how to become a published author, I sent a synopsis of my book to all appropriate publishers, and I waited for a response.

Most didn’t respond. Those that did ranged from pleasant (not right at this time) to obnoxious (I do not think that word means what you think it means).

Sure, it was disheartening. But, I kept trying. I went online and found lots more to contact. No responses. I almost got lured into vanity publishing, because I didn’t know what it was (and of course they don’t call themselves vanity publishers), and that was when I gave up.

I gave up. I accepted the fact that I would never be a professional writer.

Then, I got a job as a technical writer. Writing without passion and glamour. But I reveled in telling people that I was a professional writer. I was bored, but I was a writer.

Then, I became a technical editor. Less stimulating than technical writing.

Then, I managed writers. Far worse than editing.

Then, I switched jobs.

Professional writing isn’t glamorous – it’s thought, reflection, discipline. Also, you have to catch the ideas before your brain goes ADD and switches topics. I literally had another dozen topics that almost made it into the blog, but I wrote them in my head because I was doing something else, and then, when I had the time… they were gone.

I love to write. I’ve been so happy with my little blog, because it gets me flexing this muscle that has been in mothballs quietly screaming for use. But I have to be honest with myself: the chance of me ever doing this full-time is slim.

Maybe I’ll do a book of short stories and try the publishing route again. Maybe a book of satirical essays. Maybe.

In the meantime, I’m just a girl, sitting in front of a computer, asking you to love my blog.

Spelling Demons

My mother trumps the spell check, again.

Of all of the things I have inherited from my mother, her spelling wasn't one of them.

Solicited Advice

Across the internet you can find a plethora of advice columnists, from Ann Landers to Dear Prudence, Sars at Tomato Nation, or even the tried and true Miss Manners, if you have a quandary, someone has an opinion on how you should deal with it.

I read practically every one I come across. I love to see what problems people are facing and how different people suggest dealing with it. Some are totally mainstream (I love him, but he left me, for my sister) or totally left-field (My cat likes my partner better than me, should I poision the cat?). Regardless, they run the gamut from comic to tragic, and that is why I find them so addictive.

I have a lot of respect for good advice columnists, I know that I have no patience for the people that write in and would likely tell them to shut up and deal.

To that end, I’ve come up with what I call the real message the advisor is trying to tell you:

1. The “He/she is great in every way, except…”
If the except is something along the lines of:

• He/she is mean to me
• He/she hits me
• He/she is rude to people I like/love
• He/she is trying to isolate me from my friends and family

Then you should leave. Leave. Just leave. Go away. Stop being involved with this person. This person is not great in every way – this person is a jerk and the deeper into this relationship you get the more this person will be a jerk to you. You deserve better. Leave him/her.

2. The “My friend is great to me in private but in public he/she does horrible things…”

See #1. This person is not your friend. For whatever reason, your insecure idiotic friend thinks it is cool to mistreat you in front of others. Whether it is for his/her amusement, or out of embarrassment, or whatever else. This person is a jerk. This person is not your friend. Stop spending time with this butthead.

3. The “I saw my friend’s spouse making out with/fooling around with someone that is not their spouse”

What would you want someone to do if they saw your spouse cheating on you? Would you like them to pretend they knew nothing? Not me. I’d want a photo. Use your camera phone (puh-leaze, you have one), snap an incriminating picture or two. Drive to your friend’s house. Sit your friend down. Tell your friend you are sorry. Bring up the picture and hand it over. Hug your friend while he/she sobs. I know a lot of people say, “don’t get involved” but seriously, are you going to be able to sit on this? If you could, do you think you should?

4. The “My friend has this problem…”

Own the fact that you have a problem. Everything following this statement sounds like grown-ups in a Peanut’s cartoon (because we are all sitting here thinking, "oh honey we know it's you"). You know you have an embarrassing issue, but you don’t want anyone to know it is you, so you write to a columnist. Do you know how many people read those things? Better to go to a doctor, dentist, shrink, hair dresser, personal shopper or whatever you need to resolve it. They’ve seen and heard worse. And hey, I’d rather have a snotty hair dresser know that I’ve got something funky going on with my scalp than to write “Dear Abby, my friend has this problem… Signed, Dandruff-covered Dancer in Dallas.” Everyone who knows you, knows it is you. Everyone who doesn’t know you stopped caring long ago.

5. The legitimate “My friend has this (insert personal hygiene, dress, appearance, etc here) problem… should I tell him/her?”

Your friend picks his/her nose in public. Gross. Should you tell him/her? YES. For the love of all that is holy tell this clueless person that you don’t want to share a bag of popcorn at the movies after witnessing that. Hey, if nose-picking is your thing, maybe you should do that at home. Let’s face it, we all are a little clueless about something – better to hear it from our friends in a nice way than to have some child screaming “BOOGER EATER” at the top of her lungs in the grocery store. I’m just saying.

6. The "Why doesn't my friend want to be my friend anymore?"

Friendships come and go. As sad as it is, friendships have a shelf-life. When it's over, it's over. The same is true of break-ups. Let. It. Go. Mourn it, but say good-bye and don't beg this person to be in your life.

So, to wrap up:

1. Leave.
2. Leave.
3. Be honest.
4. Admit you have a problem, and seek help.
5. Help your friend see the problem that everyone else sees (nicely).
6. Let it go.

Fast Food Nonsense

For years I have tried to restrict my fast food intake, but honestly there are times when it is either the easiest or most affordable thing to do.

So back in Tucson my favorite Taco Bell thing was a tostada. In VA, none of the Taco Bells have tostadas. I find this incredibly peculiar because they have Mexi-pizzas and Crunch-wrap supremes which both use the tostada shell.

WTF? I want my damn tostadas!

Conversely, I've spent years weaning myself off of McDonald's. In College, the best hangover 'medicine' was to walk the 1/4 mile to the Mickey D's and get a Big Mac meal with a Biggie Coke. Dude, the Mac soaked up every ounce of liquor left in your system and the Coke got your energy up. It was bliss.

I still haven't seen Super Size Me, and I don't really need to. I know it's bad for me. I make Big Mac's a rarity, I don't upsize, and I drink Sprite ('cause I kicked caffeine long ago).

So tonight on our way home Scott is jonseing for a milkshake, and while he will not eat any Mickey D's food, he loves the shakes. So, we pull up and a sign says 24 Hour Drive through. Seriously? If I have a Big Mac attack at 3 AM I can drive 5 min from my house and get whatever hot junk I want? Oh God help me!

But wait, it gets worse. We pull into the drive-through and not only do they have the normal hot fudge sundaes, they have 4 additional sundaes. I couldn't resist. I got the hot fudge brownie sundae. And? It was fantastic. I gave Scott a bite of the brownie and he was in heaven.

24 hrs a day, Big Mac and a selection of sundaes? For the love of God, what will save me??

There must be some irony or karmic compensation for losing tostadas. Damn you, Taco Bell! Damn you, delicious selection of sundaes and ridiculous availability of junk food!

Why am I sparkly?

Ok, short rant this morning.

I bought a new foundation powder called Illumination. I thought the description sounded cool.

Here's what happened when I dusted my face this morning: I look like I am covered in sparkles.

The Illuminating factor apparently is designed to either make you look like some goofy child who played with sparkles, or worse yet, like you are sweating (okay, "glowing" but still, eew).

I guess the name bucket o' sparkly stuff didn't test well.

Damn you Illumination!

Beagles are People too!

I've got a Beagle.

I had a Snoopy infatuation from the moment I saw my first Peanuts cartoon. Snoopy was the coolest. I had to get a Beagle.

I named my Beagle Archie, after Archie Goodwin, the Man of Action from the Nero Wolfe mysteries. I named him that because, in one book, Archie says, "Well, I'm no Beagle..." and well, it just fit.

Archie, a.k.a Archie the Wonder Beagle; Archie Goodwin, Beagle of Action; Big Fat Beagle; Archie with the Big Beagle Belly; and of course, the Regal Beagle (Recently I was trying to tell Archie to stop being a nutjob and somehow it came out NutButt and Scott loves that one best).

I've had Archie since he was a puppy. I didn't do any homework about Beagles. I assumed they were all like Snoopy. I really should have done some research. I still would have gotten a Beagle, but at least I would have been prepared.

Archie eats any and all people food*. It doesn't matter if you say no. It doesn't matter if it is on the table. It doesn't matter if it is on the counter. What matters is he can reach it, and he got to it before you could stop him. Squirt him with water? He doesn't care. Smack him? Ditto. Yell? Ha. Chase? Oh, a reward! If you want to punish him, you have to have food and not let him have it. You have to actually taunt him to see him react like he is being punished. That's the only way to punish him. And then? Puppy-dog-eyes and I cave. He is more stubborn than I am.

*The funny thing is that he is a food snob. Asparagus? Raw or cooked is fine. Mushrooms? Must be cooked. Chicken or Beef? Either. Fish? First he has to make this smacking noise, drop the fish on the ground, roll his head in it, stand up, stare at it, roll his back in it, stand up, sniff it, and then finally eat it.

When he was a puppy he learned how to knock a beer bottle over and lick up the contents before I came back in the room. Sticky tables and dry carpets were the only things that gave him away (Many thanks to Bobby Sunshine for teaching this trick to Archie, along with some other ones that call Bobby's common sense into question).

The beagle has some other, shall we say interesting traits. He has a foot fetish. He wants to lick your bare feet. Between the toes. On the heel. For like an hour. Sometimes he'll lick the bottom of my sock in an attempt to get me to remove it. If I have a bare foot under the covers he will go in under the covers after it. Likewise he loves any and all sweat. If you exercise and then sit down where he can reach you, every drop of sweat is his. Push him away? Nonsense. He will fight his way back. He's really helping you out, you know.

He also has toxic gas. SBD in ways I cannot describe. Many a nights I have awoken to find his ass on my pillow, in my face, and the smell of death and garbage surrounding my head. At that point I promptly turn over and fart in his face. Tit for tat.

When he gets cranky he barks. Sure, all dogs do that, but Archie propels himself backwards as he barks. The more he barks the further back he goes. Sometimes he'll bark until he hits a wall. Sometimes he adjusts his route so that he barks himself in a circle, or down the stairs, or into another dog - and then he acts offended - Out of my way, dog, I'm talking with the other people.

He sings. If I sing, he sings along. The worse I sing, the more he sings. Scott hates this because it means I intentionally sing as badly as I can just to get Archie to sing along.

He's demanding. If he knows I am leaving the house he will follow me around until I give him a treat and say good-bye. If I am packing for a trip he will come into the room, sit on the bed, turn his back on me, glare at me over his shoulder, and once I notice it, he will snap his head around and actively shun me.

However, the craziest thing of all about Archie is that he thinks he is a person.

Really.

How do I know this?

• He won't play with the other dogs. They are dogs. He played fetch and tug-of-war and all doggie games when he was the only dog. Once another dog came along, and he saw them doing that, he completely stopped. Only dogs do that. I am not doing that. Do that with the dog.
• He sleeps in the bed with his head on the pillow and his body under the covers (unless you are unlucky and he is turned around, per my example above).
• He does this crabby wake-up routine that rivals Scott's. When you turn the light on, he does this squinting thing, then yawns, licks his lips, squints again, and then puts his head back on the pillow. Not yet mom, another five minutes.
• When Archie is on the bed or a chair, and you tell him to move, he'll give you this look like, Are you fucking kidding me? I was here first, jackass. Find another spot. Hey, stop pushing me!
• When we tell the dogs to go out he barks at the other dogs. Get out you dogs! You heard mom and dad. All the people are telling you to go outside. When this is followed by one of us saying, "You too, Archie" he looks crestfallen. Of course, this applies to anything we tell the dogs to do.
• When we activate the alarm Archie tries to leave with us. The voice said the people should exit the premises. Why are you pushing me back inside?
• He's stubborn and vindictive. One year I left Archie with my dad while I went on vacation. Dad loves to read, and Archie was not getting as much attention as he would have liked. So, when dad put his glasses down on the coffee table and left the room, Archie promptly chewed them up and then left them where dad would immediately find them. Another time, Archie was trying to let my mom know he had to go outside. When she ignored him he looked at her and pissed right there in front of her. I said I have to go out, woman!
• He is downright sneaky. Archie loves when we grill - steak, chicken, fish, it doesn't matter. Once we are inside he sneaks into the back of the grill and pulls out the drip tray and shreds it. Also? He ripped and stripped the ignition wiring when we started finding ways to thwart his drip tray access. If I can't have my drippings, you can't have your grill. (Eventually Scott outsmarted him on this, but I know it is only a matter of time before they have another battle of wills over the grill.)
• He smacks people. If he needs to go out and you don't respond to the barking he will come and smack your leg. Have some food that you are selfishly not sharing? He will smack your leg. Are the dogs out of food and/or water? He will smack your leg. Does he want something from you and you have no idea what it is? He will smack your face. Just like a man, he uses physical force to get your attention.

Of course, it must be said that while he insists he is a person, he would never be as loved if he was one. He is too stubborn and obnoxious to have such a cushy life as a person.

But...

When I am lonely? He's totally there. When I am unhappy? He's totally there. If I cry? He licks the tears off of my face. He's not the first dog I have ever had. He's not the only dog I currently have. He is, however, one of a kind.

TV Finales

Note: my cable has been out all week. So the only finales I have actually seen have been the ABC ones that have thankfully been available online after the finale airs everywhere.

Second Note: Contains spoilers

Finales are hard. There is so much to do, such limited time to do it in, and there is a delicate balance that recent shows seem to completely misunderstand.

Season finales seem to suffer from the inevitable, we want to wrap some things up, but we also need to tease you over the summer phenomenon. Season 1 of Lost really seemed to struggle with this the most, as they focused more on the teaser and less on the wrap-up and thereby incurred the wrath of many fans.

Season two of Lost ended with an overcorrection – too much wrap-up and not enough teaser. The ending of season two reunited Michael and Walt, left Jack, Kate, and Sawyer hostage, and left Sayid, Jin and Sun out on a boat (don’t even ask), the button unpushed, chaos, and Locke and Eko possibly dead inside the hatch.

The rest of these lost-a-ways were having a bonfire.

So, the season ends with the constant that when people are missing, other people either do not notice, or do not have the impetus to do anything about it. All the people who would notice and care are either hostage, on a boat, or trapped in the hatch.

The one thing you can say about Lost… no one knows what anyone else is doing… so the season finale is just like the rest of the season. That is my ringing endorsement.

I missed the season finale of House, but based on the TWOP recaplet and the boards, it sounds like an episode that would have annoyed me as a season ender. This, if you ask anyone who knows my TV habits, is shocking, as Hugh Laurie is the only man I would ditch my husband for. (Okay, not really, but… he is lovely.)

The dream/hallucination storyline is sucky. In a regular episode it totally sucks. As a finale? Screw you. That is totally wrong.

Moving on.

The Series Finale.

The Series Finale suffers a worse fate – to wrap up an entire series in a satisfying way. No cliffhangers, no teasers. Closure. Happy endings. Believable happy endings.

So you know where this is going: Alias.

Alias is a show I was hooked on from the moment I saw Sydney Bristow (Jennifer Garner) in that pink wig strutting into CIA HQ and telling the desk matron that Director Devlin had a walk-in.

Who is this crazy brash broad?

I missed the first half of that episode. The promos made me think it would be a poor man’s La Femme Nikita (and I mean the movie, NOT the TV show, and NOT the horrible Bridget Fonda “homage” to La Femme Nikita, which, please, someone deserves extreme dental work for that entire film).

I was so wrong.

I loved her. She was smart, funny, and insanely athletic. And? She was strangely naïve, trusting, and vulnerable.

She did it all – super spy, super student, super girl-friend, super friend. We saw the struggle to do it all – the other characters saw her doing things “effortlessly”. We knew the struggle – with her dad, her boss, her job, her compartmentalizing her entire life, keeping her friends in the dark to keep them safe, juggling the craziness of her life.

Season two brought Sydney a new challenge: her mother. Magnificent Lena Olin – as Irina Derevko - simultaneously pulled at our heart strings because we wanted her to develop a relationship with Sydney, and scared the ever-living-crap out of us, because we knew she was smarter than us, more devious, not to be trusted, up to something, totally scheming, and yet…? She was totally cool and Syd’s mom – and just like the rest of us, Syd wanted her mother’s love and approval.

They had a stunning dynamic on screen. The relationship was written perfectly – acted perfectly – and then you throw in Victor Garber as Jack Bristow, and you have the most amazing Spy Family. Spy Mommy, Spy Daddy, Spy Baby, and they bicker like a real family and then they go thwart evil, bicker more, shoot baddies, bicker, and have real moments.

Season two was a masterpiece. I dare anyone to prove otherwise.

Seasons three, four, and five were hard. We wanted Lena back. We wanted Lauren to go away. We wanted Rachel and Tom to go away. We wanted Dixon to lose the dreads. Please man, those were so bad.

Syd got pregnant (Okay, Jennifer got pregnant and somehow they decided it was a good plotline). We wanted Syd to sit down and not do roundhouse kicks while she was pregnant with a big baby belly. It was disturbing to watch that. The best scenes with her preggers were in mentoring Rachel. And not because of Rachel. Because we saw that Syd was no longer that girl who was tricked into being a spy for the bad guys, she was now knowledgeable and able to mentor without coming across as a know-it-all. It was a good fit.

Rubbing her belly and cooing over a craps table? Really kind of icky.

All of this preamble is leading somewhere – trust me.

So now we’ve had this uneven 4+ years – the first two knocked your socks off, the latter years still hold you in case Lena shows back up, or even just to see Syd and Jack interact – because the dynamic and chemistry between them was completely undeniable. They were always completely believable as family – and even when the missions were crap, or Rachel or Tom spoke, or Dixon did something weird with his hair (did he not get to play dress-up enough?) we could always rely on Jack and Syd – father and daughter, working together in a world full of total distrust, arguing about who to trust, with what, when, etc. How many of us have ever thought, Wow, I’d really like to work for my dad in a role where I will have to stand up to him on a daily basis? Um. That would be none of us. And if Jack Bristow was your dad? He is so good at killing people. His skill is a crime in and of itself. This is not an easy man to defy.

Okay, so how do you wrap it up?

We’ve got this whole Rambaldi storyline that started in season one – we’ve gotta wrap that up. We know Spy Mommy has always had an agenda – we’ve gotta wrap that up. Sloane has spent too much time going from bad to “good” to bad again – we’ve gotta pick a position (evil, duh) and then make him unforgivable. And then? He killed Syd’s fiancé in season 1. She’s spent the last 5 years wanting to kill him. Are we going to do something about that?

And now we have these extra characters – Rachel, Tom, Peyton (played by Amy Acker – and can I say how much fun she is to watch? First Fred, then Ilyria, now Peyton – she’s a hoot). And, a new group of baddies – Prophet 5. What are we going to do with them? And then we’ve got the whole, Syd was kidnapped and tortured by her mom, while pregnant, and there’s this creepy nursery set up for when the baby is born. What does Spy Mommy want with the baby? Who is she working for?

And even better? We spent the first half of season 5 introducing Rachel, Tom, and Peyton to set up a spin-off… and that’s not going to happen. Great. And, we find out mid-set-up that Alias is officially going off the air. Great. And then? Then we find out that they aren’t getting the full run of episodes.

5 years of storylines. Rambaldi has to be wrapped up. Syd is supposed to bring about the end of the world. The prophecy says so.

So that’s another problem. You can’t end a series with the apocalypse. I know that this is fiction and all, but there’s that whole, “then how are we here to know the story” thing that your audience can’t get over. This takes place on earth, with people and everything, so there is some realism that is required.

So now we need an out – fulfill the prophecy, but basically everyone misunderstood it. Check.

Let Syd finally kill Sloane. Yay! Whoo hoo! About f'ing time! Check.

Make Syd have a battle with her mother. Force Irina into a stance as a baddie. She picks being bad over her daughter. Syd kills Spy Mommy. Bummer. But mom - don't you love us? We love you. Sigh. Check.

Spy Daddy. Spy Daddy and Sloane were peers from the beginning. Friends at some points. What does Spy Daddy do now that Sloane is dead? Well, we bring Sloane back from the dead. Rambaldi’s secret was immortality (only he didn’t live to use it??). So now Sloane’s back. Crap. Ah, Spy Daddy comes to kill Sloane… but Sloane. Is. Immortal. Um?

Well, the good (?) news is that Spy Daddy is dying from multiple gun shot wounds. So Spy Daddy traps Sloane for all of eternity with a big blast. Spy Daddy dies (no fair!) and Sloane is trapped alone for all of eternity. Um, okay.

Prophecy – check
Killing parents to force protagonist to be the adult – check
Killing bad boss – check
Good guys win – check
Bad guys lose – check

It’s an easy formula – and yet, if you ask anyone, the episode was supremely disappointing.

Was it because it was a bittersweet ending? Not really. I mean, we all hated to see Jack die. We all hated that Spy Mommy didn’t choose to love Syd above all else. But that isn’t it (Although, seriously, that was painful. Where’s opium-smoking Freud when you need him?).

It was too rushed. It was too neat. It was too sterile. It was too much of a foregone conclusion.

My expectations were incredibly low. I was unspoiled, but knew there was too much to do and that it wouldn’t feel satisfactory. If it were a stand-alone episode it would be one I wouldn’t have any interest in watching again.

The acting was superb. There was just too much for the writers to do, so it turned into tons of action and tiny bits of exposition to try to sum up 5 years. You can’t do it well. You shouldn’t do it at all.

I blame the networks for this crap. When a series is cut short prematurely the story suffers, and that makes the viewers suffer.

For some reason finales are hyped for weeks, and whether it’s the hype, or the things that finales must overcome, they are always disappointing. The good ones make you agonize for the first month about having to wait for another 3 months. The bad ones make you roll your eyes and say, Well, that’s an hour I am never getting back.

I mean, seriously, if the guy invented immortality, why is he dead?

Humidity with a slight chance of Stairs?

I lived in Tucson, AZ for 10 1/2 years. There are many things that Tucson has that other places don't. There are, however, two remarkable things they don't have that everyone else generally does:

Humidity and Stairs

I grew up in the Midwest, so both the aforementioned items were pervasive in my formative years. Over time, living in Tucson, I forgot about those things - as if they no longer existed.

Now, living just West of our Nation's capital, I'm re-learning.

When Scott and I were house hunting I found myself excited at the prospect of having multiple floors again. I didn't seriously think about the cleaning, or how the laundry would travel from the 2nd floor into the basement and back again.

I didn't think about how many times a day I would forget something on another floor and find myself questioning the need for said item.

When we talked about how great it would be to have a finished basement to use as an office and a game room, it never occurred to us that being finished was not the same thing as having a phone line. Neither of us relish the idea of running upstairs every time the phone rings. Luckily, we found a phone outlet in perhaps the most inconvenient spot in the basement, and then bought phones that came in a bundle - 3 phones, 3 handsets, each with caller ID and speakerphone. Who knew such a thing existed? Who would've thought I'd be so happy to have one?

We also never considered how fascinating the basement would be to the dogs. It's different down here. It smells different. They do different stuff down here. It's not like upstairs. The basement is in fact so fascinating, that if we dare enter it without them, they bark as if they are fighting for their very lives.

The household stairs pose another problem, this one we saw right away, but decided it was not a deal breaker. There is only one exit to the backyard - a sliding glass door through the kitchen. It isn't really big enough to add in a doggie door. Even if it was, the door opens directly onto steps leading into the yard. I explained to Scott my horrific image of one of the dogs spastically jumping through the door in mid chase only to find himself tumbling down the stairs and going splat on the patio below. If you imagine it as a cartoon it is very funny. If you imagine it with the pain, and the crying, and the vet bills...not so much. So, these dogs who are so used to going out whenever they please are not very happy with us when we leave for the day.

So, when we are home, we usually have the back door flung open, letting the dogs have some semblance of what they were used to. This arrangement has a short shelf life, because come summer, the windows and doors will be shut tight to keep in the precious AC.

Summer. It is only May and we have 80% humidity every day, and most days have some rain, even if only for a few minutes. I love the rain. I love the lush green foliage all over the area. I love the feel of rain, the smell of rain, the sound of rain.

I do not like humidity.

Humidity is that thing that makes your hair frizz. It's that thing that, while walking out to the car, even when it is chill and damp, makes a drop of sweat run down your forehead or under your arm. But I am not exercising. I am not exerting myself. Why on earth am I damp?

In Tucson there is much ado about the "dry heat" and I never thought anything of it after my first summer. Your first summer in Tucson is a novelty. It's very hot, but you really don't sweat. You feel completely dry. Almost as if something is sucking the moisture right out of you. Each subsequent summer is something you mildly dread, but remind yourself that it doesn't last long, and at least you can get tan in the time it takes to walk to your car.

In Tucson, when it is 115 degrees and some yahoo is in line next to you and he says, "But issa darrryyy heat" you want to smack him. Because let's be serious - humidity or not, no one should be exposed to anything over 100 degrees. It's inhuman.

But now I realize that slurring fool (and all his kin) had a point. You can still move around in 115 degrees. Sure, it should be indoors, and it should be brief, but you aren't worried about melting into a puddle. Add humidity to the mix, and anything approaching 90 degrees is dangerous. To be fair, in Tucson no one is deliberately outside to do anything besides go from building to car and back again when it is over 100 degrees. Air conditioning is a powerful friend in both regions.

At least in VA there are no warnings about dashboards and windshields cracking from the intense heat and sun - at least the humidity trades for car destruction.

Of course, in VA there are no warnings about the stairs either.

Audio Books

Since I have moved to VA I find myself spending far more time in the car – and more time in the car means more time that I have to fill my brain with various and sundry to do lists for me and for Scott. Remedy? Audio Books.

I’ve always been an avid reader – and I can easily burn through 100 pages an hour if I like the book/content/topic. If I don’t like it…well…I just put it down.

So while I have never sought out audio books before, it seemed like a logical thing to do to make my time in the car more pleasant and relaxing, less anxiety-induced task-master I have a hundred things to do and I am stuck in the car – and even get to have some hobby time.

But there is this thing about audio books – you need to listen.

So Scott will tell you that I am indeed not the best listener in the world, because while I am not clinically ADD I am easily distracted. I suffer from a severe case of the “Ooh, something shiny” phenomenon.

Being that I am not a naturally great listener, I can’t say that I am catching everything. Of course part of that has to do with the fact that I am driving, and therefore need to pay attention to the road. Another part of it is that it isn’t an ensemble cast – so I am hearing one person read aloud – doing “character voices” to distinguish between speakers. But. It’s the same guy. No matter what change in his voice he employs? Still sounds like him.

Audio books really should use either multiple actors or use someone that really has a range of voices that are distinct. Take the cast of the Simpsons, for instance. Most of them are able to do multiple characters, and until you get really familiar with them, you might not know which half a dozen are done by Hank Azaria and which are done by Dan Castellaneta.

And there’s another thing with the voices. When you read a book, if you are anything like me, you conjure your own character voices in your head. Listening to someone else’s interpretation of the voices is sometimes quite painful. I’m currently listening to The Black Mountain, by Rex Stout, as narrated by Michael Prichard. Now I am sure that the producers think he is the cat’s meow because they used him for the whole series of Rex Stout mysteries. I, however, do not want to listen to him again. He isn’t horrible or grating. Quite the contrary – I find him almost too smooth – so I find myself easily disengaging from the story because it starts to sound like background noise (so each time I start to drift, I turn the volume up).

It’s also hard because the pacing feels off. Archie Goodwin has very snappy banter. Nero Wolfe is very thoughtful, methodical, and exact. The pacing seems the same for both - so I have to listen for the subtleties to hear the transition from one character to another.

His Wolfe is starting to grow on me. I say that with some reserve, but I firmly believe that if I picked up another audio book in a few months, I would find it as grating as I did at the beginning of this one. However, I have now been listening to him for 3 days straight, and Wolfe is becoming tolerable.

But not so with Archie. It’s a strange book for his character, so I don’t put the full onus on Prichard. But. Archie is a man of action, sharp, witty, and yes, in this book, quite frustrated. But Archie is not a whiner. And that’s the feeling I get from Prichard. And I don’t like it.

So I figure that by the end of this week I will be through with The Black Mountain and then I can either start on the Agatha Christie compilation or on Julius Caesar.

At this point I cannot say that I am particularly looking forward to either. I fear they will suffer from the same issues that The Black Mountain does.

I’m thinking someone should produce audio books by the Simpsons cast. Imagine, if you will, the Simpsons cast doing any Shakespeare play. You would so totally listen to that. Or South Park – I would love to hear Cartman as Hamlet. Absolutely ridiculous – but certainly entertaining. I would even love to hear Cartman as Wolfe – with Stan as Archie and Kyle as Saul and Kenny as Fritz – and Officer Barbrady as Purley Stebbins? Genius.

So if you are out there, oh great Hank, Trey, Matt, Dan and all the others… think about it. I know I would buy them in a heartbeat.

It's called FREEDOM of speech

So bear with me because I need to come at this in a roundabout way.

Aaron Sorkin is easily one of the best writers of this generation. He made me passionate about politics when I hate everything there is about politics. Movies like The American President and shows like the West Wing (when Sorkin wrote for it) have the best dialog, intelligent characters. You name it - it rocks.

I bring this up as a preamble to my topic because I want to intro with a quote from The American President:

America isn't easy. America is advanced citizenship. You've got to want it bad, because it's gonna put up a fight. It's gonna say, "You want free speech? Let's see you acknowledge a man whose words make your blood boil who is standing center stage and advocating at the top of his lungs that which you would spend a lifetime opposing at the top of yours. You want to claim this land as the 'land of the free'? Then the symbol of your country cannot just be a flag. The symbol also has to be one of its citizens exercising his right to burn that flag in protest. Now show me that, defend that, celebrate that in your classrooms. Then you can stand up and sing about the 'land of the free.'"

Now, here's the topic that you aren't expecting: Bill Cosby.

Bill Cosby is making news here in DC for saying things that are outraging people. It's all over the bloody news.

At this writing I have no idea what he said that was so controversial. I don't actually care. You see, when I was a kid my dad took me and my little brother to see Bill Cosby in concert. It was when The Cosby Show was just taking off and we were big fans. That was not a concert for kids, and Cosby said so right off the bat. We stayed.

I think we stayed for lots of reasons. One is that my parents really didn't shelter us from grown-up conversations and concepts. Another is that my dad was really looking forward to it. Another is that after driving into the city with a pre-teen and her little brother there was no way he was getting back in the car without a nice respite.

I'm glad we stayed.

I can't honestly say I remember any of the jokes, or even any of the topics, it was a lifetime ago. I remember thinking at the time how cool it was that I got to hear an adult concert, especially one which I was sure my brother was too young to understand, and was nothing like Eddie Murphy Raw (I loved that too, but that is another story). And for some reason that applies only to me at that very moment, I felt like a grown-up because I got to stay and hear everything, and I felt like I was accepted even though no one looked around and flashed the secret "you are an adult now" gang sign.

Over the years I've read transcripts of speeches Cosby has given, and I must say that while I have never had a vested interest in his topics I think he is amazing for standing up and saying things that risk his popularity. Some may think he doesn't care what others think. I think he does.

One of the things I admire most about it is that it never seems like one of these: "I am a celebrity - believe in my causes" speeches. He is trying to make a difference and he is saying things that people don't want to hear.

I guess that's one of the things that makes me sick about the news - it's so sensational - always so much drama for a show that is supposed to be about facts - events - things that happened. The news jumps on the drama and that's what they show us.

So I'm sitting at home tonight, watching House, and a teaser comes on for the news with the Cosby story as a lead story. And it is sordid! Sordid! Dramatic! Can you believe it?!?

Stop it.

The man said something - and he was free to do so. It's what this country is based on. If you don't like what the man has to say, you have options: 1. Don't listen, 2. Respond with an intelligent counter argument and have a constructive dialog, or don't listen.

I don't know what he said or why he said it. It's immaterial to me. The man earned my respect long ago, and he continues to earn in whenever I read the transcripts.

We all have this right. The ACLU ensures that we get to exercise this right. There are so many things in the world that I disagree with - and I'll be the first to admit that I would not be the one helping the Nazis march in Skokie, but I am glad that someone does - because it means that I will always have someone to back my play when I want to say something.

While I can never be as poetic as Sorkin, I think he and I agree on this point: if you don't believe in freedom of speech, you've come to the wrong place.

Da Bears - 20 year retrospective with Chris

So today I spent some time chatting up my good friend Chris about Da Bears and football in general. Herein lies the discourse:

Sara: So I am trying to engage my brother in a back-and-forth for my blog comparing the 85 bears to the 2005 bears - my premise is that 85 didn't have that much greater talent, but they had infinitately more heart, and that is why they were the greater team

Chris: OK

Sara: I was just thinking that would be a good read

Chris: It certainly would. Plus, anyone who can defend Gary Fencik as having "talent" should be entertaining.

Sara: OH! I love him. He's why I started watching football

Chris: Easily the best of the rappers.

Sara: I had a total crush on him. I must have walked in while he was giving an interview and I was done for - I was like 13 or something - I was totally smitten

Chris: :)

Sara: and when I saw the 20 year special I still thought he looked good. But I was thinking more of Singletary and Dent - the things they talked about in the retrospective. Mike Singletary was saying that the defense would come over and coach the offense - tell them what to look for, how to hit, how to play, etc. And the offense started doing the same. They believed they had to do this because they all wanted it so badly - not just the winning - they wanted to be their best.

Richard Dent or Dan Hampton talked about how in huddles they would bet each other about who could sack the QB the most. Or when a runner was about to reach some goal in a game against them, they said in the huddle, "whoever hits him, hold him up, and we'll all tackle him - he doesn't get another yard in this game" and that's exactly what they did.

They saw it as a game and they loved to play

I sometimes look at teams now and think they are just there for the money. You look at someone like T.O. with some amazing god-given talent, but no heart and because of it he will never be great

Chris: Absolutely.

Sara: Guys like Singletary were great because they had the talent and the heart - and he had so much heart that it was contagious to the team - so someone like Fencik (my first love, le sigh!) may not have been great, but he played with heart. I loved watching that retrospective because they were all so into it - then and now

Chris: What about McMahon?

Sara: heh, the punky QB? I have mixed feelings about him. Certainly he was passionate, Certainly he was a leader, certainly he was injury prone…

Chris: He's an ass.

Sara: I was getting to that ;)

Chris: (And a misogynistic one, if the reports are to be believed.)

Sara: Yeah, who knows. BUT, look at the chemistry of a team like that vs. the Bears this last season.

Sara: Could you imagine, if you had a time machine that only went to football games (impractical, I know) - there are some games you'd have to see. I'd take almost any game of that season for the Bears. Oddly, I would not take the SuperBowl. I have issues there. Glad we won and all, but not much of a game to watch.

Chris: It seems like a no-brainer. Does anyone really think the 2005 Bears were really more than above average in a watered down conference and weak division?

Sara: Surprisingly, yes. Scott and I were at Old Chicago on game days to watch football last season. The crowd there was very enthusiastic about the Bears. They really thought they would go all the way. I spent all season saying it would never happen.

Chris: Hm.

Chris: That surprises me.

Sara: You know rabid fans - they get caught up in it and won't see it for what it is. For me it's more of a then and now retrospective. Why were the '85 Bears successful while the 2005 Bears weren't. I know it seems like a no-brainer, but it isn't as if the Bears are without talent.

Chris: No, but on a position by position basis even, they're clearly inferior, starting with the QB, RB and defense. (And you're going to hit me, but Urlacher needs to pony up another good season soon, or he's going to land in Overratedsville.)

Sara: Urlacher - one of my favs - he was supposed to be the next Mike Singletary. He isn't. But he is the best substitute we've had since Singletary retired. So sadly, I agree. He has not lived up to the hype.

Chris: Also, you've been a victim of some absolutely insanely bad drafts.

Sara: Oh yeah. And again, injuries. And bad trades, etc. Speaking of - I think that will kill the Pats this upcoming season, but that is just me.

Sara: Okay - time machine. You can go to any game in the history of football. What game do you go to and why?

Chris: Hm.

Sara: It's hard, right?

Sara: I mean, do you want to see Theisman break his leg live?

Chris: Nope

Chris: Easy

Sara: Ok - what game?

Chris: 1993 AFC Wild Card game --- Houston v. Buffalo, where Frank Reich leads the greatest comeback in NFL history against my then-beloved Oilers.

Sara: Because of the comeback?

Chris: Yep. Just to be in the crowd and see if the surreal feeling I got watching that game at home was intensified by actually being there watching it

Sara: See, I'm thinking before my time...things like the first SuperBowl - like what was that like? Or Theisman - just to know you are at one of those games that become infamous and to say you had been there.

Sara: Or, because I have always been a Bears fan any Payton game - but especially record-breaking games.

Chris: oic

Sara: I'm not dissing your choice - I'm just explaining my frame of mind.

Chris: sure

Sara: Granted I am always a fan of watching amazing play.

Sara: Which is why I actually really liked the last 4 minutes of the Pittsburg / Indy game in post-season. The end of that game was phenomenal.

Sara: So - your Bucs... can they do it in 06?

Chris: Heck anybody can do it....Simms and Cadillac and our new O-line need one more year together before the offense clicks, though.

Sara: Did you pick up any good drafts?

Chris: We got the WR from Notre Dame and a couple of linemen that we desperately needed. Nothing huge, but we don't have any glaring holes to fill anyway.

Sara: I think the best thing the Bears have going on for ‘06 is Lovie Smith and that the team seems to be getting the hang of his coaching. But, we still have QB issues.

Chris: Yes. Lovie Smith is unquestionably a good thing.

Sara: He's the best we have had in a long time.

Chris: (Plus, he's a member of the Tony Dingy coaching tree.)

Chris: *Dungy

Sara: LOL. I am sure he would appreciate being known as Coach Dingy

And so we close this chapter and hope that Brother John will come through with some exciting insight about Da Bears.

Our favorite new game (she said sarcastically)

Since we’ve arrived in VA we must have made dozens upon dozens of calls to get services set up. This has led to our favorite new game: let me speak to a supervisor.

Now I have to give a disclaimer or two first: 1. I do everything in my power not to escalate, because once upon a time I used to do tech support and I know it’s a thankless job and I know you can only do so much. 2. I usually do all of the arranging and follow-up bitch-slapping.

This time is different.

First, Scott is taking on most of the utilities because he wants things the way he wants them, and the new place was his responsibility. You get the drift. I cannot even begin to explain how weird this is for me – it’s thrilling to not do this stuff – I hate it. It’s wonderful to know it’s being taken care of. It’s nerve-wracking to see this incredibly patient man become so frustrated with the incompetent and lazy in the call center world. Scott is an uber-geek programmer. He is smart, patient, technical, methodical, and did I mention patient? The man should teach classes in patience.

Second, because Scott is patient, because he is newer than I at this, I have to suggest when to escalate.

So the scenarios of late go like this: Scott calls the cable company because the installer was supposed to come between 11 – 2, and it is now 2:30. We’re sorry, they are running a little behind. They should be there shortly. Now it is 3:15 and there is no sign of them. We’re sorry, they are running a little behind. They should be there shortly. Now it’s after 3:45. Um, the person that is supposed to install your stuff isn’t even working today. Now Scott is angry – angry Scott is not good. No one wants angry Scott. He doesn’t yell, but you can tell that you do not want angry Scott. Now he is asking why he has gotten the run around all day and insists they send someone else out immediately. We’re going to send someone right over. Scott wants to know when he will be here. By 4:30. AND WHAT IS YOUR NAME AND DIRECT EXTENSION SO I CAN CALL YOU AT 4:30 IF THIS PERSON HASN’T SHOWN UP? He gives Scott his name and extension.

Now it is after 5 and I say to Scott, “Honey, they aren’t coming.” He picks up the phone. “If it were me, I would stop talking to these entry level folks and talk to a supervisor”. He makes a face. They answer, “I want to speak to a supervisor”. They get his name and info; it’s the same yahoo he talked to last time, “I want to be rescheduled for tomorrow, and I want priority – I want to be the first visit of the day.” I gave your information to our supervisor – he is coming over to personally install everything. He will be there in 15 minutes. “15 minutes” Scott tells me. I say okay and try to smile encouragingly.

The guy shows up - close to 15 minutes later, is there forever, and doesn’t even do everything. When he leaves we go run our errands that we have been waiting to do since 2 PM; so it’s nearly midnight when Scott sits down to watch some TV and unwind.

There is no TV. There is no internet.

Another round of phone calls to support. One woman has the audacity to tell Scott that their records show that the outlets were activated, so if he wants different outlets it’ll be a $75 charge per outlet to have someone come out to do that. “To fix that, you mean” No sir, I show here that you have 3 active outlets. If you want additional outlets it will be $75 for each additional outlet. “I don’t want additional outlets. I want the 3 outlets to work.” Yes sir, I understand. If you want additional outlets it will be $75 for each additional outlet. “You don’t understand. These aren’t additional outlets.” Sir, you have 3 active outlets. If you want additional outlets it will be $75 for each additional outlet. Me: “Honey, talk to someone else or get off the phone with that horrible woman.” He says “thank you” into the phone and hangs up.

The next morning he calls the cell phone for the yahoo who came over the day before. He comes back over, finds that the previous owners had installed a “blocker” because they had dish service. He acts like this whole thing is somehow Scott’s fault.

We hate them.

We have the same experience with this service and that service. Saturday night we tried to change our cell phone numbers from AZ numbers to VA numbers. Scott called early in the week to find out what the process was, and realized that we had a lot of deliveries where they only had our cells, so we put it off. Now we were ready. Scott called Sprint. They told him that in order to change his number, he would have to sign a 2-year contract. Scott gets a little indignant with the rep and hangs up. Scott tells me that we are keeping our AZ numbers because there is no way he is being held hostage like this. I agree, but I say, “you should call back and ask them what it’ll take to get us out of our contract. Quite frankly, we can go to a local dealership and sign a new contract with someone else if they are that unreasonable”. Scott dials. “If it were me," I say, "I’d talk to a supervisor”. The rep picks up, and Scott asks for a supervisor. The rep wants to know why, Scott tells him. He says that information is correct. Scott repeats that he wants a supervisor. He gets some lame reply that he’ll hear the same thing from the supervisor. Scott repeats himself again. Scott gets a supervisor. Scott tells him what both reps have said, the supervisor replies that the person he talked to is new. Scott asks if everyone is new, since they all say the same thing. The supervisor says they need to educate a few people. Scott says they need to take care of that. And then Scott says, “Regardless – that is your issue to resolve. As to my issue, I see that you have a choice: you can lose my business over this, or you can do right by me and fix this.”

We have new VA phone numbers. We do not have a new contract.

The thing that fries me is that front line people are not empowered. Do right by the customer. Use common sense.

Of course, for the lazy and incompetent you can’t do anything to empower them. The ones that are good become supervisors who have to supervise the lazy and incompetent. It’s a vicious cycle.

To me the most unfortunate thing in all of this is watching Scott develop that mental callus – realizing that when he hits a brick wall with these people, being the patient one, helping them figure it out and learn and become better at their jobs isn’t viable. Scott’s escalations, even though calm, could all have been avoided by the front line people doing the right thing, being good listeners, being competent, and caring about their customers.

Sometimes I ponder philosophical improbabilities. Can you imagine if Sartre was right and hell is other people? These people would spend all eternity trying to get help on the phone…from someone who can’t or won’t help.

Now that would be sweet. That would be a call I'd like to listen to.

He was a damn fine dog

Just like everyone thinks they have the cutest and smartest baby on the planet, dog lovers all think their pooch is the prettiest, the nicest, the best companion, etc.

I've had lots of dogs. Some great. Some duds. My mom at one point had 4 dogs at the same time. One was an insane little terrier. One, however, was a truly great dog - Garozzo, the Chow/Australian Sheppard mix who was named for a famous bridge player. Even with the Sheppard lineage and the famous namesake, Garozzo was not the brightest dog. He was, however, the sweetest dog I've ever met.

Of course, I said was - since Garozzo died today. Last Wednesday we noticed that he had lost some weight and that his glands were swollen. Mom took him to the vet on Saturday and they said it was cancer.

A biopsy confirmed this. They thought he might have 3 months to live, possibly 9 with chemo. These estimates are more art than science, but this time the art was way off.

On Wednesday he seemed fine. Really. His demeanor was perfectly normal - so we had no worries other than the physical clues.

By Saturday he wasn't eating. By Monday night he was incontinent. Last night mom decided that he had no quality of life left, so it was time to euthanize him.

Only we didn't get the chance. Today, I went over to my mom's house to help her take Garozzo in. I knew it would be devastating for her and I knew I had to be with her. She was on her way home from work and I let myself in. 2 dogs greeted me at the door. One dog laid by the doggie door, unmoving. I knew as soon as I walked in, but like a badly written screenplay direction I still called out to him, "Garozzo, honey, you okay?" I walked tentatively towards him, felt my eyes welling up with tears, and put my hand on his chest to feel for breathing and a heartbeat. He was gone.

I could go into painstaking detail about mom coming home, our getting him to the vet for cremation, and all of that - but that stuff sucks, and Garozzo was one of a kind. He needs to be remembered not for the good-bye but for all the good stuff.

Garozzo was a gentle soul. He loved people and other animals. He once accidentally killed a wild bird he was trying to play with and he howled about it. He nudged the poor bird and howled - he looked at me as if to say, fix the birdie. So the next week when we brought a new toy into a house, a stuffed cat that actually mewed like a real cat, Garozzo gingerly carried the cat with him everywhere. He would not let any of the other dogs play with it. The more we made it mew the more protective he became. Be careful - little animals are fragile. He looked worried as he carried it past the other dogs. Don't hurt him - he's our friend.

One of our favorite Garozzo-isms was his love of wet hair. If you came out of the shower, the rain, or even just worked out, Garozzo would try desperately to rub his head on yours. If you laid down on the bed with wet hair he would jump on the bed and roll all over your head. Something about the smell of wet hair was like ambrosia to him.

Another great Garozzo-ism was that his Australian Sheppardness made him want to herd all of us. He'd walk along side you and suddenly try to redirect you, for no good reason, and in no good direction. Sometimes he'd redirect you into a wall. Sometimes he'd over correct and he's be the one facing the wall. When he would herd us we would say, "Garozzo, I don't want to be herded right now" and he would smile and wag his tail, and then try to direct you into a wall.

He was a sweet dog. He wasn't a barker, he wasn't a jumper, he wasn't needy. He wanted to be around his family, regardless of the number of legs they had. He loved his siblings, he loved every person that came into the house - and everyone loved him.

His eyes were always bright and full of kindness. His red hair was the envy of most women. When mom started having him shaved a few summers ago, he would come home with his normal head full of red hair, but his whole body was blond. We started calling him the sweater dog - since it looked like he was wearing a sweater. Did he mind? Not at all. Even with all that beautiful hair he had no vanity. He liked being cooler in the scorching AZ summers. It made it easier for him to snuggle in the summer, because he wasn't overheated.

Mom has always described Garozzo as the least selfish dog she has ever known. Even as he worsened this past week he always had a smile and a wag for anyone that talked to him. Mom struggled with the idea of putting him down, but it seemed like the only humane thing to do. Then, just when mom thought she was steady enough to do it, Garozzo died peacefully, as if he wanted to spare mom the pain and the guilt and the self doubt.

He died at home, looking out into the garden with a smile on his face. We should all be so lucky when our time comes.

He was a damn fine dog, and he will be greatly missed.

Addiction

So my brother has quit smoking. Again. This time he did some laser treatment. Laser acupuncture. This time he seems like he has a handle on it. He's drastically reduced all the other things he does while he smokes - drinking coffee, drinking liquor, working at the bar. He's thinking it through - he's got a game plan - he's got attainable goals. I hope it works.

My parents smoked. My dad smoked when I was a kid and he quit cold turkey when John was born. My mom quits smoking every so often - stays away from cigs for a year, maybe two or three, and then one day, out of the blue, starts smoking again for no good reason (at least, not as far as I can see).

How come my dad could quit cold turkey? Why can't my mom or my brother?

I've never smoked, but I know how addictive it is. It just isn't my addiction...um...one of my addictions.

I love to gamble. I love to play cards. Mix cards and gambling and I'm there. Vegas? It's my Sin City. I turn into someone else there. I stay up all night, get a few hours of sleep, and gamble like a fiend. I spend too much money. I lose too much money. Every dollar I win may as well be a thousand for the rush I win. Every dollar I lose is immediately denied that it's just a dollar - as if that means it's just a penny.

Cards. Slots. Craps. Ding Ding Ding. Noises, smells, chaos. I love it. It is a drug for me. Play the ATM - you'll win every time. Play the ATM and then play a real game. How much did you lose? I didn't lose, I spent. I gave myself an entertainment budget and I am still within budget. I am paying for entertainment. Yeah. If Scott and I go to the movies we're out $30 for tickets and drinks and we've spent 2 or more hours. In Vegas? I can spend $100 in an hour. Not really fiscally responsible. Of course, with the crappy movies that have come out in the past year or so it feels more like I am losing money on the movies. Crash. Totally overrated. Star Wars. Don't get me started. I'd rather play cards. Hell, I'd rather have my eyeballs massaged by a porcupine than see another installment of Star Wars. I loved Episodes 4, 5, and 6. The rest are pure crap. Don't get me started! Where was I? Oh yes, the fiscal dilemma that is Vegas.

The worst part? Scott hates gambling. He loves the card games. He does well. He can last on $100 twice as long as I can. When I start to do badly I switch gears - head over to the slots. He hates slots. He'll only play the slots if there is some secondary game, like Monopoly or Wheel of Fortune. And he does really well at them. I love it - I have no luck. He hates it - he has all the luck. You'd think the irony alone would snap me out of this gambling nonsense.

As if.

He's off playing blackjack, and I burn through my allotted money for the night. So I go play the ATM game. I run into Scott later and he's surprised that I still have some of my money left. I sheepishly fess up. Now I have to split the money. I hate that. It's our money - he's entitled to half. I want it all. I want to gamble, have a drink, cavort, snark, cheer, get rowdy. And I do.

It can be years between trips, but when I go I want to go full out - I like meeting up with my friends with the worst vices. I want the people that bring out the worst in me, I want to gamble like I have money to burn, drink like alcohol is good for me, and treat the buffets like it's my last meal.

When I get home I will have the Vegas hangover. I am usually totally burnt out. I'm back to going to bed by 11, up by 6, working 8 - 5. Not drinking. Not cavorting. Still snarking. How much did we spend? On gambling? Seriously? I don't remember the second visit to the ATM that night. Or that night. Or that night. Oh that was Scott? I feel better about that one.

So John is going to Vegas this summer. So is some friend of mom's. Mom thinks we should all meet up there. Mom hates Vegas - she's another non-gambling person. John is a gambler. He makes me look like a beginner when it comes to spending in Vegas. He and I will gamble and be obnoxious morning, noon, and night. We will spend insane amounts of money. We will give each other the world's worst Vegas hangovers. This would be bad. It would be fun, but it would be very bad.

We're all addicted to something. Some people are addicted to lots of things. Some addictions are relatively harmless, some destroy lives. I guess we all get our buzz some how.

Moving sucks

I am moving from Arizona to Virginia. By choice.

A great opportunity came up at work - and we took it. The hubby is already out there, started a new job weeks ago. I miss him terribly. He misses me. We're miserable but dealing.

It's the moving that is killing me.

Sure, work is paying for the move. That's a huge help. And sure, they are helping coordinate activities. A huge help.

Only who is coordinating the coordinators? Me. Who is working with the local realtor, taking care of the house, the dogs, the bills, the daily grind? Me. Why? Because I sent the hubby on ahead to start working at a new job, so we could get approved for a loan so we could afford a house, yadda, yadda, yadda. We agreed. It was the right division of labor and such. It just sucks.

It's like a full-time job. Oh but wait, I have a full-time job. And it's insane right now, because, guess what, brand new role and some responsibilities and no one knows what work I should stop so really I do all my old stuff and all my new stuff. And we're in the middle of this insane project right now and everyone thinks I am the go-to-girl even when I have nothing to do with that part of the project. So I shuttle people to the right resource. And the next time? They come to me even when they know who to go to because somehow I am more helpful than the right person and if I intercede the right person will somehow magically do the work better, faster, nicer? Who knows.

But the moving. We got lucky on the sales end, because we got an offer in a week. The buying end has really sucked. Our realtor is great - but the market there sucks (2+ times as expensive as what we currently have) - so finding a house we could afford was a real chore. And then, there was the financing.

Every bank promised to make it easy. Screw you, B of A and Wells Fargo. Whatever you people think easy may be, you are totally delusional. The sellers wanted a letter as proof of financing. Wells Fargo said, "Yes, you are approved, but we don't fax letters - we mail them. And we mailed yours." Okay, but you mailed it to Tucson, and I am in Dulles, VA and I need the letter to make the offer here. Can you mail another letter here? No? Because? Because you mailed it to Tucson. Thank you. That was very easy. Now I can't make an offer.

And B of A? You don't do bridge loans. Okay. You do home equity loans...that act like a bridge loan. Okay. I just need to take my house off the market to do this. I'm sorry? Take my house off the market? When I am trying to sell it? Yes. Just until we assess the property. Sigh.

Thank goodness our realtor has a contact at Fidelity. He's great. We got the financing. We got the approval within minutes. We got the fax. We made the offer. They accepted the offer. Fantastic.

Now it's the home-inspection back-and-forth at the house we are selling and the house we are buying. Again, the selling end was easy. The buying end is still under review. The house is great. I don't think we are asking for much. By much I mean we didn't ask for everything. We asked for the things the inspector considered hazardous. Of course, these reports read like the house is going to fall down on your head the minute you walk in - so you really have to read them, look at the picts, and see what it really means. Of course, the hubby shadowed the inspector and asked lots of questions. It makes all the difference in choosing which things to ask for.

Hubby flies back on the 21st. The movers come on the 24th. We sign the local title papers on the 25th and hit the road. Me, hubby, 3 dogs, 1 camry, luggage, dog food, etc. from AZ to VA.

We close May 5th. The movers come May 8th.

I've still got to take care of the utilities on that end. Or Scott will. Who is doing what? Right - Scott handles VA, I handle AZ. I am closing out the old. He is starting up the new.

Every day someone reminds me of the negative... you need to find new doctors, dentists, vets, grocery stores, etc. ad nauseum. Yes. These things must be done. When I get there. Those are future tasks. Important tasks. I'm not doing them yet.

I'm saying goodbye to friends and family. I am spending every minute with someone I love, saying goodbye, making a last memory because, honestly, how many times will I make it back to a place I've lived in for 10 years? I didn't grow up here. My mom is here. Seeing her will bring me back. But how often? For how long? Will anyone even have time for me when I have time for them? And how many of them will come to visit? I know of 1 (besides mom) - because her daughter is moving about 30 min from me the same week we are driving out. I will see Sally and Jerry. That is important to me. Will the rest visit? Nah. They have younger kids, obligations, lack of finances, etc. They have their lives. I have mine. Our lives intersected for a number of years. It was a lovely intersection. It will dwindle to emails and chat.

I will make new friends. Important to do. I'm not doing that yet. I'm not there yet. I'm in limbo between wrapping things up and starting anew. What will I do there? Will I take up new hobbies to get to know the area and meet people? Will I just stay home with Scott and the dogs? Will I engage my worst workaholic traits? Will I get in shape? Will I eat right? Will I floss? Sure, anything is possible in a new place.

I'm just not there yet.

Let the bitterness begin!

I am evil.
I am mean.
I am judgmental.
I am a bitch.

Okay, maybe I am just cranky or short tempered, or maybe I am just normal, but I have to say it:

I don't like people.

Don't get me wrong, I love my husband, my mom, my dad, my bro, etc. I have friends (really, I do!) and I love them all. I hate strangers. Those people that are in front of you in the grocery check-out line, the single mom with a toddler in tow who uses the 15-items-or-less aisle when she clearly has 40-odd items ("but they are all baby-food, so really it's one item, even though they are individual jars"). I should have sympathy for this woman - she's young, she's struggling, she's carrying a child and juggling a really hard life. And she's in the 15-ITEMS-OR-LESS aisle. So I loathe her.

Then her adorable child smiles at me, spits up a little on his mom and I think, "good job kid, you are karma's tool" and I smile back at him. Sincerely. Because - mom is cutting corners because she has to - and I get that. I just don't want her in line in front of me.

Or that witch at the airport. It was not even 5 AM and the line is forever. My plane leaves at 6. I was there at 4:30. This woman has held the counter person hostage for 30 min. Why? I have no idea. I can't make out the words, but I can hear the tone in her voice - that "I'm privileged" tone - that, "I'm special" tone. And I want to slap her. Woman we all have places to go and you need to get the hell out of my way.

And then she's on my flight, and my connecting flight. On my connecting flight she is sitting behind me complaining that the plane is very small and this isn't really "first class" and I'm thinking, "Yes, it is a small plane. Does it fly? Because when I get on an airplane my motto is 'safety first'. And you know what else? I was stranded, this was the only flight I could get and I am happy to get it. Shut up and let me sleep!"

"But there isn't any breakfast!"

I saw your butt. You've got a bit to spare. So do I - so that's not my point. If you don't eat for 3 hours it won't kill you. If it will, you should have planned ahead. I did. I have an insulin problem, so I pack protein snacks just in case. I plan ahead. I don't expect anyone to take care of me. I am responsible for myself.

I'm not a saint, I'm just not that bitch. I'm a totally different brand of bitch.

I'm the bitch who is glaring daggers at you plotting evil things to befall you for my own amusement. Why? I don't know you and you are in my way. And, if I am looking at you, it means you did some totally ass thing to get my attention.

Because if you are pretty or nice or do some good deed in front of me? I notice. I think well of you for it. I just don't see it that often. And believe me, I am looking.

I admit I hate people most when I am in line. I get that you are trying to live your life too - I just don't want to share it.

My friend Dave said, "Strangers are just friends you haven't met yet" which I mocked him for greatly.

I have an odd assortment of friends. I love them all for different reasons, they all drive me nuts in different ways, and if you saw us together you might wonder why I am friends with them and vice versa. I saw something amazing in them that got them past that, "I hate strangers" thing. They did the same with me.

I'm friends with a single mother. Just not the one in the 15-items-or-less aisle. She probably pulled the same bullshit more times than not, but never when I was with her, 'cause she knows I won't stand idly by for that shit.

Count your items before you get in the restricted aisle. If you don't, look over your shoulder and ask yourself who is hoping you break your neck in the parking lot - and then be happy that she doesn't actually have any telekinetic abilities.