It’s all about the Holly….

OK, let’s start this off with a little excitement –

Every year, usually in mid-to-late third quarter, I look at hundreds of ticky-tacky Christmas items, as part of my job.
Specifically, I review new items that will potentially be imported by my employer, in the coming year. To ensure that there are no restrictions; and to determine how much we’ll pay in duty to import them.

If you’ve not already decided that this is going to be too boring, read on.

Christmas items, or “Trim-a Tree” items, are a huge deal for retailers.

They stock up during the summer months, and dance around like they have to pee really bad, in greedy anticipation for the day when they can change their seasonal areas out and get to sellin’ Christmas stuff.

It is what it is. I don’t judge.
I’m an enabler, after all.

Anyhow, this product category being such a big deal, you KNOW that there’s going to be thorough rulings in place, defining what a Christmas tree light string is, as opposed to one that technically might not go on a Christmas tree.
More importantly to this story, there is a very comprehensive list of what an item needs to have or to BE, to be considered a “Holiday festive” item, and therefore import-able at 0% duty.

We like 0% duty.

A handful of years ago, the most recent, most detailed version of “Classification of Festive Articles” guidelines was released.
And in it, was an at-the-time insignificant item.
Sprigs of Holly are classifiable as a holiday festive article.

Next thing you know, you are seeing holly on everything! Everything that the rulings determined were NOT, by themselves, festive articles, that is.

Snowmen or their likeness are not considered a holiday festive item. It’s simply a winter item, apparently, unrelated to Christmas.
But... But we don’t want to pay duty to import that big-ass inflatable snowman that sits in your front yard!
No problem.
Just slap a sprig of holly on his hat.
Viola – now it’s CHRISTMAS snowman.

Ditto the big-ass lawn penguin and his polar bear buddies.

And ditto that creepy looking giraffe that’s not actually strangling on the holiday light string, but “playing with” it, according to the product description….

A monument to animal cruelty?
No! It’s a holiday festive item! See? Someone stuck holly on the giraffe’s head!

Honestly, I found myself a little irritated by the whole development. It seemed a circumvention of the rulings put forth, just to save a few cents, at the expense of… ugly-ing up Christmas a bit more. I
t was slightly offensive to me both professionally, and aesthetically.


I mention this because of what happened to me the other night, as I walked my dog around the neighborhood.
I started seeing sprigs of holly everywhere.

I wasn’t seeing Frosty the Snowman in the neighbor’s yard. I was seeing a tiny weed on a top hat.

It wasn’t a cute inflatable penguin, it was a tiny leaf and a couple of berries on a stocking cap…

It wasn’t a giraffe strangling on….er… playing with a holiday light string. It was a giraffe with a tiny scrap of shrubbery stuck on its forehead…

I simply couldn't help myself.

Yeah, maybe I DO need a vacation.

Random Christmas thoughts

And I DO mean random…

I’ve lucked out twice so far, at the post office. Getting there with packages just at the right time, only to turn around while (next or 2nd) in line and seeing folks lined up out the door and down the sidewalk.
No way in hell I’m going back THERE anytime soon.
My luck has been pushed.

Took my last vacation day for the year last week, and went to Christkindl (Kringle) Market with Wendy and Fiona.
We’ve not many Christmas traditions, but this is one of ‘em.

http://www.chicagohotblog.com/chicago-christkindlmarket


First time we went is the very day we found out we were going to have a baby.
So technically, Fiona’s been every year.

It’s beautiful, has great vendors, lovely food and beverages and is just Christmas-y as all get out.
And this year, there was a Snow Faerie/Angel (street performer) that totally captivated Fiona (and me, and many others, for that matter).
She gave off such an aura of calm and otherworldliness, that you walked away wondering if maybe, just maybe she wasn’t actually a street performer…


A gift card is a handy, if at times impersonal gift. But if someone on your list ASKS for them….

The REAL problem with them is that they’re small, and flat, and weigh nothing, and can end up being lost amongst the other items in the bag, and end up… recycled.
We think.
We’re not positive.
We just know it’s gone.
Ouch.

If your kid sleeps for crap, AND is prone to coming to visit you around 11pm every night, just when are you supposed to put all the presents out / put together the big stuff?

Sorry, sweetie. Santa saw that you were awake, and just skipped our house this year.
Sweet dreams.

Every kiosk at the mall was out of the correct size watch batteries. But at least I spent an unnecessary hour at the mall on the Saturday before Christmas, finding this out.

Who knew that this was such a hot holiday gift idea?
“Merry Christmas, baby. I wound your watch…”

That kinda sounds like it should be on the naughty list.

And yeah, I AM the guy who puts a new $15 dollar watch battery into a 4 year old Timex that probably only cost me $30 when I bought it.
I LOVE that watch, the 6-7 times a year I actually wear it…

Daughter did us the solid of getting really sick a week BEFORE Christmas this year. So she should be cool by Saturday.
Last Christmas, her and I both had the flu, and downed Tylenol all day together while watching really bad kid’s TV.
REALLY Bad.
Caillou bad.
Barney bad.

Caillou... the show that she only asks for, when she's feverish. Coincidence?

Looking forward to spending Christmas with my family, all of whom are driving in for the weekend, weather permitting.
Even if it DOES mean I have to sleep in the basement.

Murray Christmas is never on Christmas, so this is really cool.

If you’re waiting on a punchline… there isn’t one.

Merry Christmas to all my friends and family.
May the coming year bring you all joy, good health and prosperity.

Christmas day IS in your grasp, as long as you have hands to clasp.

Almost Home Made, with Sandra Lee

Almost Home Made is on TV, during my lunch hour. Someone always turns it on one of the TV’s at the gym, as, honestly – who DOESN’T want to work out to Almost Home Made, with Sandra Lee?

Well, me.
But I’m 5 minutes in on a 35 minute cardio workout, and there it is, right in front of me…

It’s how I got hooked on One Life To Live, a few years ago.
(And for the record, I hope Rex finds out that Clint paid someone to falsify the paternity test results, and kicks his ass, even though Clint IS his dad….)

Anyhow, I get done with my workout, and I come across this...

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/denise-vivaldo/kwanzaa-cake-sandra-lee-hanukkah-cake_b_797165.html

Which made me decide to write a blog entry…

For the most part I really enjoy Food Network’s programming.
It’s informative, and entertaining, and I get the same vicarious enjoyment from watching someone cook a fantastic meal from scratch, as I get from watching The Joy of Painting with Bob Ross, or fishing programs on a cold winter day when I’m home sick.

And of COURSE I’ve pulled recipes off of their website after seeing them made, and tried them myself.

I’m a fan.

But THIS show… Can’t stand it.

There she is, talking about a quick and easy meal she just LOVES to make when she’s having a dinner party….

Take some frozen vegetables, a couple cans of mushroom soup, some pre-cooked bacon, pre-cooked cubed potatoes, and a couple of cans of pre-cooked, pre-cubed chicken….

And for desert…. Take one box of Betty Crocker yellow cake mix, a can of sliced pineapple, and some non-dairy whipped topping…
(Seriously, she couldn’t even use ACTUAL whip cream? It comes in a spray can!!!)


I understand not everyone’s interested in cooking from scratch. I also am cognizant of time restraints, etc.
Every meal cannot be gourmet.

Good lord, how I know and accept this to be fact.

But do I REALLY need to watch someone prepare a recipe that she found on the inside lid of a container of Cool Whip?

And do so in a vaguely creepy manner?

Sandra, I have two words for you:

Hamburger Helper
Or
Popeye’s Chicken

For Desert:

Hostess Twinkies

And if it’s a really special occasion:

Boston Market

“Hey, let’s go to Toys R Us, right before Christmas!” OR “tis the season to be jolly, my dimpled butt….”

Random Thoughts and quotes from a delightful trip to Toys R US on a Saturday afternoon, three weeks before Christmas.

Thoughts in Italics. Quotes…not in italics.

More or less.

Well, a parking spot behind the store by the dumpster, right next to a front end loader’s still a parking spot…

“Loins all girded up?” as we reach the entrance…

“Seriously? SERIOUSLY????” 90 seconds later.

"we're back to on-line shopping next year. screw the postage." I whisper to Wendy, as I see what we're in for.

Two minutes later: “I’m gonna throw up” as I find myself too close to the most disgusting couple I’ve ever seen outside of those sleeping on el trains. I turn around quickly, and cover my nose with my coat sleeve. Wendy starts to pass me. I grab her shoulder.

“You don’t want to do that.” I warn her, as my stomach subsides.
“Not sure how they did it, but I’m pretty sure they’ve been smoking cat pee.”

“Did you see the McDonalds drive thru play store? Want to teach Fiona to say ‘do you want fries with that?’”
“Something kinda disheartening about the fact that little kids want to play ‘fast food restaurant employee’. Glad Fiona wants to be a cowgirl AND a veterinarian…”

“It’s on the ‘boy’s side’ of the store? You’ve got the store split up between boys side and girls side?”
(what is this, a Jr. High School dance?)
I was assured that not only is this the case, but a slinky dog is a boy’s toy.
As are board games, blocks, puzzles and all electronica, apparently.

And apparently, using same store design logic, all toddlers are… girls.
And boys should not have stuffed animals.
Or sleds.
Or yo yo’s or doctors kits or…

“Sweet geezus I hate this place.”

We found what we wanted, eventually, or as close to it as we were to get at this store.
Baby doll accessories are pretty clearly “girl side” items, so it wasn’t difficult. Trying to find anything else, since we were there and already miserable, was nearly impossible.

Oh, and the only slinky dog in the place - ON THE GIRLS SIDE OF THE STORE!!!!
“Where’s little Ms. Customer Service?!?? I want to show her….”
“Let it go.”
And I let the slinky dog go, too, as it was a cheap plastic one designed for toddlers, and not the one I was looking for.

We get in line, and… stay there. For several soul-eating lifetimes.

Finally, it was our turn, next. When out of nowhere, we were approached by a guy who had one item, and didn’t want to wait in line like everyone else. He assured us he had cash in hand for it, and could we please… We sere standing there with three whole items in our cart. $25 worth of toys for all of our time and trouble and loss of soul….
“Sure, go ahead.”
When he thanked us and whisked in front of us, is when we realized he reeked of alcohol.
“Cocktails first, THEN Toys R Us…. I can see the appeal…”

Finally, we paid for our purchase, after assuring the check out person that we were not interested in opening a charge account today (or ever!!!!) thanks.

“I think I just caught scabies.”
“You did NOT just catch scabies.”

We walk through the door, out into the parking lot.

“Car exhaust never smelled so good.”
Wendy busted out laughing.
“Thank god I didn’t have to go through that by myself.”

“Hey let’s go to Walmart next!” My wife says, not quite keeping a straight face.
“Sounds great! Or we could play in traffic…”

We get in our car, behind the store, next to the front end loader, near the dumpster. Other cars see this, and eagerly await their turn to enjoy our crappy parking spot.
“Suckers!!! Flee!!!! FLEE!!!!!”

I put the car in gear, back out, smile and wave to the people who blocked traffic so I could back out and they could pull in. They smile and wave back.

“Let’s go get custard. We earned it. “

Making $65 bucks a day – The hard way.

So, I was in a movie, yesterday.

Not something you get to lead with, very often.

A guy I was kids with, really hooked me up. His friend’s in charge of all the casting for extras, on some major films. My buddy tends to help him out, when he can. This one’s filming in Chicago, my friend said “Hey, you wanna be an extra?” and then made it super easy and hassle-free for me to do so.

I was in a scene that was supposed to be taking place in a bitterly cold Minneapolis neighborhood.

I jotted down notes throughout the process, which gave me something to do.

Something to do on a day where I spent huge amounts of time with… nothing to do.

6:50 – arrived.
7:10 – stood in line for pay voucher
7:50 – done with wardrobe. My red hat and scarf were, and I quote “Iffy”. So I had to exchange my pay voucher for a darker hat and scarf
8:00 – discovered that the food trailer has a self serve spigot for coffee, sticking out the side of the trailer. I need to get me one of those…
8:05 - Coffee interrupted, for hair and makeup. I’m bald, and am wearing a blue stocking cap. My hair, as it turns out, is fine. My face is apparently ok without makeup as well, since I’ll be walking down a street…

Sat around for awhile, eating a little breakfast and listening to three other people talk about “the business” whilst helping them with a crossword.

8:45 – sitting in a bar on the north end of the set, with all the other extras, awaiting assignment. If I had decided to wear a suit and tie, I might have got a better extra gig. Who knew? Three different sports channels and GMA on TV. No idea if or when I’ll be called to set.

Watched them spraying “snow” in the yards on the van ride over. Bitterly cold Minneapolis, but still lots of green leaves on the trees.

Awkward.

9:30 - Sitting in the bar with a bunch of increasingly crabby people. I’m hanging out with two people that had answered last minute desperate phone calls for “Café Worker” roles. They’re not “Pedestrians”, nor “bus riders”. Cool chick predicts she will be forgotten about, and will be riding that bar stool all day.

11:40 – back in the bar with my friends the café workers.
I’ve spent the last two hours, walking up and down a street. Southbound on the West side, Northbound on the East side, and vice versa. When I was walking southbound on the West side, I was told that I was to be, and I quote:
“A fast walker. You’re not angry, you’re not running, you just happen to walk faster than everyone else.”

But when I got switched to the east side of the street, someone else informed me that I was… walking too fast.
My goal in life became to time my walk so that I’d be as close to where the bus was stopping (all the action was on the bus) as possible.
And I was nailing it. Take after take.
Until YET another person took me aside and said:

“We really don’t want you directly in front of the bus when it stops. So if you get to the corner by the bus stop, before we cut, you’ll need to turn the corner and keep walking.”

I watch another extra walking with a pronounced limp on the first few takes. All the sudden, on the next take, he was walking normal. The assistants to the asst. director apparently healed him of his "affliction". Puh-raaaaiiiise Geez-Hus!

I become friends with the two women smoking outside the diner at the corner by the bus stop. I stop for a second and say hi to them as I walk by, and then we critique each other’s performances after each take.
“How was my corner turn this time?”
“I dunno, it really didn’t seem like you were feeeeeeeeeeling it.”
“Well, you totally OWNED the ‘good morning!’ and cigarette drag this take. “


12:45: We’re done. And my new friend the café worker’s prediction came true. She was the only one that did absolutely nothing all morning. Her partner in crime got to play an EMT, and share a scene with Kate Winslet. HIS day turned out pretty okey dokey.
And there are no vans to drive us back to the tent area, because crew’s on break. So we hump the 6 blocks back to the command center, arriving 15 minutes or so later.
I turn in my hat and scarf for my pay voucher.
I turn in my pay voucher.
Food smells great. But we’re told we’re not allowed to eat yet. We’ll need to wait a half hour for the crew to finish up and vacate the tent. And there’s no shuttles back to the parking lot until after they’ve eaten, either. I see no reason to stick around, and my near-to-tears café worker buddy has expressed strong desire to go as well (uh, to say the least...). I get a picture in my head as to where the parking lot is in relation to where we were, and we take off. I’m in my car 20 minutes later.

Guess I’m glad I did it. My effort in obtaining the gig was minimal, thanks to my friend.
It WAS an interesting experience. I’ll certainly be more selective about the type of extra work I do, should the opportunity arise again.

For instance, I won’t sign on to walk up and down the same block by myself for two hours, in 45 degree temps…….

Whoo Hoo, the McRib's back!!!!

The McRib's back!

Yes!!!!!!

actually, I couldn't care less.

But it's impending return to the McDonalds menu is actually being reported as news today.

And frankly, I'm sick of reading about politics.


Not sure the point of bring it back for a limited time, every few years.

It just says to me that it didn't move enough units when they initially brought it out, so they ditched it.

If it was really popular, it never would have gone away.

I have this horrifying mental picture of some guy cleaning out the freezer at their central distribution center, located not too far from here, and coming across a pallet of mcRib patties with "use by 1999" stamped on 'em, and going...

"Oh, shit."

They apparently only found a month or so worth of them, as it's only back for four weeks.

And they're even having a "Legend of the McRib" promotion, where you can submit ridiculous stories involving the McRib, in hopes of winning a trip to Germany.


An idea that they apparently stole from the Wolf /Moon T-shirt folks on Amazon.

"Why Germany?" you ask.

What, you got something against Germany?

It's because Germany's the ONE country in the world that has McRib on the menu, ALL the time.
ALL the time? it's like a beautiful, barbeque dream come true!

If they REALLY want to impress me, they'll create a mcRib sandwich that uses two MORE mcrib patties as a bun.

Not something I'd want to eat while driving, or...well not something I'd ever want to eat, ever, but they'd get points for pure disregard for the health and safety of their customers.

Like they need more points for THAT...

The day my wind chimes attacked me

Every fall, the colors change, the air gets that smell – you know the one. The sun shines and the world around us is resplendent.
Every footstep is a minor symphony, and every intake of breath is a small treasure.

I enjoy it so much I base fishing decisions not on where I have the best chance of catching fish, but on the prettiest scenery in which to maybe, just maybe, catch fish.

And every fall, this lasts right up until that one day, that one day that's suddenly upon you, when winds and rain whip through stripping the trees of their remaining leaves, turning crisp into sodden, a slap upside your head reminding you that fall is fleeting, and winter’s warming up on deck.

And he’s swinging big lumber…

Today is the meteorological slap in the head, I fear. Only this year, it’s a sock full of nickels, as opposed to an open palm.

And in case I was really,really dense, some metal pipes.
More on that in a moment.


I know it’s going to happen, and expect it, but C’mon!!!!
60MPH winds and lightning storms and power outages and tornado warnings????

Kinda overkilling it, dontcha think?

Hey, I like sharing my leaves, trash cans, tricycles, and patio furniture with the folks up the street as much as the next guy.
Like good fences, this kind of sharing can make good neighbors; folks we only see during the rest of the year, when our mail carrier forgets her numbers, or gets confused…

I do have to state for the record, however, that having my wind chimes attack me first thing this morning, when I was trying to remove them for their own safety, was over the top.
The mighty wind shifted as I was stretching , tippy-toed, to try to unhook them from the back porch this morning, resulting in foot long metal pipes chiming musically as they smacked me in the face.

OK!!! I get it already!!! Enough!

Hey, I’ve shat in the woods.

Thought I’d start this entry with that statement, in hopes that it would grab your attention.

This was just one of the many thoughts that raced through my head this morning, as I was parked on the interstate.

(Ironically, right next to the sign that let us know that we were leaving the construction zone, and could resume regular speed.)

I noticed the MSU Spartan Logo on the back window of the Ford Explorer parked next to me, as I came upon it. MI license plate (pretty!), expensive bike on roof rack. Upon closer inspection (Hey, I had time…) I noted two pair of ski’s on roof rack next to expensive bike.

I almost laughed aloud when I got all the way up next to the Explorer, and saw the two guys inside. They were almost comically rugged, wearing plaid flannel shirts and perfectly shaped 5-day growths of beard.

“Look at us, we’re soooooo amazingly rugged and outdoorsy!!!“

It’s early Friday morning; they’re headed north out of Chicago with a bunch of gear on their roof; and have amazingly rugged facial hair. They are obviously starting out on a big adventure.

Or maybe they were just headed to an audition for a Brawny paper towel commercial.

I gave them the benefit of the doubt, and assumed “adventure”.

And I was jealous.

Not of the expensive bike, or the skis (Really? Skis? it’s warm and sunny and winter in this part of the country’s another 2 months away), or the fact that their manly facial hair was dark, whereas mine is alarmingly silver and white when I let it grow out.

It was the adventure part.

The road trip, the getting there (Wherever “There” might be) and the “Christmas morning” feeling when you’re finally at your destination.
The crap unpacked-toes in the sand-line in the water- beer-in-the-hand feeling.

“I’ve been waiting months for this, and here it finally is and it’s just like I hoped…”

My god, but I love that feeling.
And I DO get to experience that feeling on occasion, but not nearly often enough.

I love “The Adventure”.

The planning, the anticipation, the actual adventure…

I’ve watched families of moose slip silently out of dense brush into a N. Minnesota lake.
I’ve caught trout in small farm creeks in upstate NY.
I’ve awoke to find deer foraging right outside my tent.
I’ve slept (or not slept) where bear hang out.
I’ve climbed trees, mountains.
I’ve swam under waterfalls
I’ve gotten up with the sun countless times, fishing pole in one hand, cup of coffee in the other.
I’ve, indeed, shat in the woods.

But this morning I was headed to the office, no perfectly shaped, silver and gray flecked five day growth of whiskers on my cheek, no kayak strapped to my roof, no fishing gear rattling around in the back of my 15 year old Subaru. No cool adventurous wife sitting next to me, playing DJ.
No “I’m so excited!” or “ Are we there?” or “I have to go potty!” from the backseat.

And I thought about the endless potential of “The Adventure”.
Not like I had anything better to do at that moment...

My daughter’s juuuuuust about old enough now, perhaps by next spring we can ramp it up a bit…

Poop is Hee-larious!

Driving home from apple picking in MI on Saturday, Fiona said something too quiet to hear, and then busted out laughing.

“What’d you say, darlin’?”

“I smell Billy poop!”
And then she giggled again.

What in the…???

“Billy poop?”

She laughed even louder when I said it.

Then she repeated it, but with some kind of southern twang that comes out of her mouth sometimes, for which we’ve not figured out the origin.

“Bil-EE poo-yoop” followed by more laughter.

“What’s ‘billy poop’?”

“Goat poop.” Chortle, chortle.

“Goat POOP!” she tries again, with slightly bigger emphasis on “poop” in her delivery. And laughs some more…

Awesome!

Correctly combining “poop” with one of the funnier farm animal names, and nailing the delivery.

That’s my baby!

Tip your waitresses, she’s here all week.

Horse poop, cow poop- not as funny.
Chicken poop - too many syllables, really.

Oh, wait, I wasn’t supposed to laugh? This only encourages her???
Huh. Gotta work on that…

Yep, poop became funny to her, all the sudden, in the car on Saturday.

Funny? Hell it’s the most hee-larious word EVER.

And apparently she’s not the only one, as I find out by talking to the mother of a three year old boy while we awaited our kid’s turns on the pony ride yesterday.
She said that “poop” had just made a big splash at her house as well…

Just what ARE they learning at pre-school?

I’m now officially nervous to pick her up from school, fully expecting her teacher to greet me with pursed lips and a slight shake of her head this afternoon, as she hands me a note….

Just bust a move.

Found an “Eighties and beyond” radio station the other day (100.3 on your FM dial), liked what I heard, programmed it into my radio.

Was parked on the northbound Tristate, surfing my pre-sets with little satisfaction this morning, when I heard it.

Young MC’s Bust a Move.

I derived far more pleasure from it than I would have expected.

You want it? You got it! You want it, baby you got it! (just bust a move)

Pure poetry.

I’ll rate it an 87, Dick. It’s got a great beat, and you can car dance to it.

Since I was sitting in traffic with nothing better to do, I drifted back to late winter /early spring of 1990.

We had just let the word out that we were planning a big house party, I believe our last one in the old, haunted (yep), house four of us rented in Lansing.

I was talking to friends, Chris and Verna. They complained that house parties thrown at guys houses never had good dance music. They said they wanted to shake it, basically, and put me on notice, musically speaking.

Hmm…. Girls wanted to dance a lot, at my house.
Yeah, I could work on making that happen.

But what did guys know about dancing? We were all about standing in circles, playing air guitar, throwing our fists in the air above our heads.

You gotta fight. For your right. To Paaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrtee!

Kick it.

And while I WAS working for the college radio station, and my tastes were more eclectic than many guys, I realized I didn’t have “Shake it “ music lying around the house.

Apparently, while awesome party songs in their own right, I wanna Be Sedated by the Ramones, So Alive by Love and Rockets, and Personal Jesus by Depeche Mode did not exactly meet the required criteria.

So, I brought in a pro, a ringer, demographically speaking.

I hooked up with a female friend of mine, Tracy, and explained the problem. We got a hold of various acquaintances, did a lot of borrowing, and viola!

Approximately 80 people jammed in my house, with Joy and Pain by Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock, the aforementioned Bust a Move, and other music to “shake it” by, blasting through my roommate’s speakers on a cold Saturday night.

I still have the mix tape, in a cupboard in my basement. I no longer have any equipment I’d feel confident playing it on, but it’s still there.
As I recall, there’s a cigarette burn on the case, and the ink’s faded a bit.

Back to the present, traffic was starting to move, albeit very slowly. Bust A Move faded out, replaced by a news and traffic update.
Seems traffic was heavy on the toll roads.

The hell you say!

Calmly walking Lucy...

Lucy, our dog, has heart worms.
We found this out, ironically, when we took her in to get her started on heart worm preventatives.

The vet thinks that she probably had very early stages of them, when we adopted her last Thanksgiving.

Given how far along her case was, it’s either this, or she was bitten by the VERY FIRST mosquito of the year, who coincidentally had whatever it is they have that can spread heart worms.

Anyhow –

The treatment for heart worms is pretty simple, really.
Here’s some poison, hopefully enough to kill the worms without harming the dog.
See you in four weeks or so for another dose, keep your dog from getting excited until then.

The last part’s very important. As the worms die off, you want to make sure that the dog doesn’t get too excited, too often, and run increased risk of worms entering blood stream, causing major problems.

Not only is it very important, it’s damn near impossible to achieve.

She’s a puppy. Puppies are pretty excitable….

She’s a big fan of squirrels, rabbits, other dogs, my neighbor, and the world’s full of these things.

It’s become a joke with us, upon returning from her short walks, short CALM walks, to talk about the walk in terms of the distractions and such that awaited us.

How was the walk?

Rabbit in the alley, and the guy was out in his yard with the beagle again.
Or
Two squirrels, and a cat in a picture window.

You get it.

The walk to beat, the one WAY out in front of all other walks, consisted of :

A rabbit
Two different dogs
A feral cat
And my neighbor, one of Lucy’s favorite humans, stopping in the middle of the road to chat with me as she drove past.

All within a block of our house.

It became so ridiculous that I had to laugh.

I honestly didn’t think that this walk could be beaten, in terms of stuff that can excite my dog to an unhealthy level. I mean, c’mon!!!

Until last night.

Until we stepped outside, and saw the guy roller-blading with THREE BIG FREAKIN’ DOGS ON LEASHES, running in front of him.
IS HE INSANE?
He stops at the corner, opposite us, and is catching his breath, petting the dogs, etc.
Lucy’s going nuts.
I drag her around the corner, and keep her walking, while turning around repeatedly to see what direction this guy’s going to go.

Duh. Of COURSE he chose to cross the street, and have the dogs run right down the middle of the road, past us. And OF COURSE they see Lucy, and start to pull him toward us, before he could correct them.
And OF COURSE Lucy’s lunging and straining at her leash, and barking, and whining.

Lucy, of course, is fine. No harm befell her from this outburst.
And the bar has been raised, possibly to a point that is truly impossible to beat.

You see the darndest things

Stopped off to put gas in the Subaru this morning, before hitting the highway for my morning commute.
Commute, gasoline, usual gas station…all pretty standard stuff.

I had just started pumping when I happened to look up and….. wow.

There was an older guy, late 50’s, early 60’s probably, standing by the gas cap of his bright yellow jeep.

But he’s not pumping gas.
He’s washing his car.
Not sure what he was using, but he had worked the area around the gas cap and left rear bumper into a thick soapy lather. And then….. he started washing himself.

Yep, he took some of that thick soapy lather off of his car, and started rubbing it vigorously onto his arms.
And then…. On to his not-so-white t-shirt.

So there he was, covered in thick suds from neck to waist, standing next to his similarly covered jeep.
Only THEN did he reach for the gas pump.

This is why gas pumps have automatic shut offs my friends.
For when guys like me end up pumping gas next to guys like him.

Because by this point, I was not paying any attention whatsoever to what I was supposed to be doing. I’m just staring at him, thinking deep thoughts like:

“Wow, that’s messed up.”
“glad I don’t sit next to him at work”
“where’s he gonna rinse all that off?”
“Oh, geez, maybe he’s not GONNA rinse all that stuff off.”

The pump shut off with a clang, bringing me back to my task at hand.
I re-holstered the pump.
Would I like a receipt? Certainly, thanks for asking.

I contemplated sticking around until he was done, just to see what was going to happen next. At the same time, I realized that NOT knowing was probably more entertaining than what the reality would end up being. So I got in my car, and drove away.

By lucky coincidence, The Pretenders song, Middle of The Road, was playing on WXRT when I turned the radio on as I pulled out of the station. I turned it on just as Chrissy Hynde was singing “You see the darndest things….”

Indeed.

Visons at the Zoo

So, I was at the zoo with my daughter yesterday.

Brookfield Zoo’s pretty great, as far as zoos go. We’re members, and big fans.

My daughter’s two, and her zoo needs are pretty simple. A couple of animals she MUST see, picked out of the air at random as far as we can tell.
Then a carousel ride, and on to the Family zoo building, to see the kitty cats and the lemurs...


Anyhow, yesterday it was kangaroos (We've been reading Winnie the Pooh...), so we watched kangaroos lay around in the grass for awhile, where they stubbornly refused to get up and hop over to us even though my daughter was imploring them to do so.

Then we headed to the large carousel in the middle of the zoo.

As we awaited our turn, she informed me that she wanted to ride on the zebra, the penguin, not the penguin, and the peacock.
We got to the peacock, she found out it was a bench and she couldn’t stand up and hold onto the peacock’s head, and we were off again…

Once firmly ensconced on the lady bug, we began to move.

This is the lengthy description part of the entry, so pay attention.

We’re on the inside of the carousel, closest to the center.
There are mirrors placed close together, all around the center of the carousel.

So, as we begin to move, you see yourself in the mirrors.

BUT: they’re angled a little goofy, so you actually only see yourself in every OTHER mirror.
You also end up seeing the person in front of you in every other mirror.
You, them, you, them, you….

You still with me?

Ok.

So, there I am, standing behind my two year old daughter, making sure she doesn’t fall off. She’s got hair in her face and a slightly nervous grin, but she’s enjoying herself.

The person in front of us is a girl, maybe…11-12 years old. Same color hair as Fiona, tied back in a pony tail.
She’s sportin’ blue plaid Bermuda shorts, and black Chuck Taylors.
I’m impressed with her fashion choices.

As we continue to go around, and I watch the mirrors, it hits me.

There’s my daughter, holding on tight with daddy standing behind her, there’s a cool lookin’ girl about 10 years older, all by herself , not quite old enough to be bored with the carousel yet….
Two year old with daddy
12 year old
Two year old…

Anyhow, unless you’re completely unsalvageable, you get the picture.

And I found myself getting caught up in the moment a little bit, getting the tiniest bit choked up, checking to make sure that there really was a girl on the animal in front of us, and not just a mirage in the mirror, a vision of things to come.

So the ride ends, and the mirage looked and sounded solid enough, as she got off her mount and tromped off. And I gave my daughter a little extra hug as I carried her off the carousel.

“I’m hungry, daddy.”
“Crackers, or cranberries?”
“Crackers!”
Crackers it is, darlin’. Whatever you want.

Maureen Storey - thanks for helping me give up soda.

One of my favorite novels is Thank You for Smoking, written by Christopher Buckley.

(It apparently became one of my old buddy Nate’s favorites as well, because he never returned my copy...)

Anyhow, it’s a story about a PR hack for the tobacco industry, his trials and tribulations, etc etc.
It’s funny, smart, and timely.

One of the subtexts of the novel is that the main character meets regularly for dinner and drinks with two friends, also PR hacks. One works for the liquor industry, the other for the gun industry. They jokingly refer to themselves, if I recall it correctly, as the merchants of death.

I had occasion to think about this book on my drive home from work the other day, along with old Saturday Night Live skits where Dan Ackroyd defends unsafe toys, like “bag of broken glass” to Jane Curtin.

I was listening to All Things Considered, on NPR. They were discussing soda consumption, how it’s changed over the decades, studies linking it to various health problems, etc.
Pretty straight forward stuff.


http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=126511372

Then they brought on Maureen Storey, senior vice president for science policy at the American Beverage Association for the rebuttal.

And I almost wrecked the car.



Maureen explained that soda in and of itself was not bad for you, and actually provides you with healthy and necessary nutrients.

Like… water.
See, cuz kids run the risk of not being sufficiently hydrated, so a nice big soda after exercising can help with that.

What else?
Sugar and High Fructose Corn Syrup.
See, cuz they’re full of calories, and calories give you energy….

I figured at any moment, she’d just bust out laughing, and say “Ah, I’m just *bleeping* with you guys. C'mon, it’s soda for godssakes! You might as well look for nutritional value in a bottle of Mrs. Buttersworth…”

But she didn’t. Turns out, she was really serious about the health benefits of water and sweetner.
And in being so, also appears to be really serious about the idea that we’re ignorant.

I’ve been trying to give up drinking Coke for awhile now, anyhow. Thing is – I love the stuff.
L-U-V love it.

Yesterday I heard the Coke machine calling my name from a couple rooms away, like the song of a Siren, trying to lure me onto the rocks….

But she actually pissed me off so bad, that I’ve decided to redouble my efforts to give it up.

That’ll teach ‘em.

work day fun...

My loud,self-important coworker walked into the office this morning at the usual time of 8:03, looked at a pile of invoices he checked yesterday, that hasn't been picked up yet, and.... exploded in anger.

"Somebody has been going through my things!!!!!"

huh?

"Somebody is going behind me, checking my work! See?" and points at the pile of papers.

Uh... no, I don't see.

"I leave them perfectly stacked, I come in and look!" He points again.

So I look again.

The top sheet is slightly off center.
a couple of degrees off plumb, if you will.

I kid you not, this is what set him off.

And....the stack's right on the edge of his desk, I could have bumped it with my bag this morning, and not even known it. For that matter, the breeze created by someone walking by might have moved it the whole....half an inch that it might have been moved.

nope....

"I can tell, you know! I do things certain ways, so that I'll always know if somebody touches anything on my desk when I'm not here!!!"

I'm trying to decide whether I should hide under my desk or jump out the window at this point. Thankfully I'm only on the 2nd floor...

another coworker is sitting at her desk, smiling at him, with increasing unease.

I can't keep my mouth shut, of course.

"Did you know that you can buy De-caffeinated coffee now, that tastes just as good as regular coffee?"

nah, I didn't say that.

Didn't quote from the movie Buffy The Vampire Slayer, either.
("It's way past medication time for you, buddy.")

Instead, I went with:

"You have procedures in place to check to see if anyone's gone through your paperwork, your drawers?"

"Yes,of course! I do this at all my jobs!" he says proudly.

Yep, he's saying he places "tells" around his work area, like James Bond stringing a hair across his hotel room door to make sure noone's snuck in and is waiting for him, gun drawn, while he was downstairs picking up duplicitous women at the casino.

"Seriously?"

"Yes, of course!"

Wow.

"Uh... it never crossed my mind to bother doing that..."

Funny, AND creepy-scary.

Can't go wrong with that....

How My Life's evolved. or....Finding Mr. Noodle.

How far my life's evolved in a short time" or.... "Finding Mr. Noodle."

Was watching Elmo's world last night. annoying little muppet, but Fiona's a big fan.

(How BIG a fan?
She has a Elmo chair that she refuses to sit on, and refuses to put any other toys on, jammed into the corner of her ladybug tent at the moment. It takes up like, half the freakin' tent. But you do NOT mess with the Elmo chair, thanks much.)

Anyhow, during each segment, he opens a door and they ask Mr. Noodle, or "Mr Noodle's brother, Mr. Noodle" how to do something.
Mr. Noodle's a sad looking guy in a bushy wig and bushy fake 'stashe, who isn't very bright but does physical comedy very well.
How does Mr. Noodle catch a ball, play an instrument, dance, etc etc etc.

Anyhow, watching Mr. Noodle, and what little of his face that you could see, he looks vaguely familiar. But they don't do a ton of closeups, and he's heavily made up...

"Think that's the guy from Northern Exposure, the circus guy that wouldn't talk because Words were like rock's, and weighed him down so he couldn't fly?"
I love my wife, she immediately understands the reference.
(it WAS a pretty great couple of episodes)

"He kind of looks like Rick Moranis' partner in My Blue Heaven, certainly dances in the loose-limbed manner that the guy in the movie danced..."

More kudos to Wendy for getting THAT reference.

So I spend valuable internet time, doing a WIKI on Mr. Noodle. That’s what my life has come to, apparently.
And I found Mr. Noodle, and more importantly, I was right on with my guesses. I paraphrase, of course:

Bill Irwin, born 1950, famous actor and clown.

Most notably a stage actor (he’s won two Tony’s) he's also had roles over 20 movies, including Eight Men Out and My Blue Heaven, and was best known on television for his role as Enrico Ballati, "The Flying Man", on Northern Exposure, as well as Mr. Noodle, on Sesame Street.


So props to my ability to remember faces, and to Mr. Irwin, for being a great actor, dancer, and clown.



But I still dislike the little orange muppet.



As an aside, Grover, my favorite Sesame Street character, is probably pumping gas somewhere now.
I think they down-sized him when Elmo caught on.

He was the MAN, before Elmo debuted.
A lot of the old sesame street books, for example, starred Grover.
Monster at the End of the Book? Grover.
Just read one about him wanting to be a firefighter when he grows up, too.

He's not even hanging on The Street anymore.
Man, that had to be hard for him, when they brought in the new stud, and he saw his own stock drop, the new guy getting some of his plum roles, and then getting their own segment.
Maybe plastic surgery?
Try to reinvent yourself as a character actor?

What do you do when “I’m just a monster, doing my best” isn’t enough anymore?

Oh the heartache of a fickle three year old's viewing habits…

The Yin and the Yang, The good/bad balancing act.

Ah, life.

Should be congratulating myself right about now, because the sign on the interstate said it would take me 20 minutes to get to my exit, and I did it in 18.

That's what I SHOULD be doing.

Instead I'm sitting in my basement, gas fireplace on full power, sipping quickly cooling coffee and typing this.


The idea that life's about balance and timing, has been illustrated clearly this morning, and at great length.

read on...

Fiona slept through the night, which is awesome, and doesn't happen very often of late. Whoo hoo!

She started calling to us at 5am, which is fine. Wendy gets up, I stick my hand out from under the covers, and joke "whew, sure feels cold out there."

30 seconds later, from Wendy...
"It really DOES feel cold. the floors are freezing..."

She heads to the back of the house, I get out of bed, put on my glasses, check the thermostat, and... it's 56 degrees in my house.

No "Whoo hoo!!!"

"Oh, Man!" from the back of the house.
"What's up?"

"Your daughter's soaking wet, so are her sheets."

No "Whoo hoo!"

I stumble around the house, check to make sure it's a furnace problem, and not a gas problem, crank up the fireplace in the basement, and start riffling through our records, to find the name of the repair guy that came out last time. (almost three years ago, as it turns out."

Left a message for him with his service, and then called in to work.

Got to spend a little more time, and spend it leisurely, with my family this morning, before Wendy took Fiona to her well heated day care.

that's a "Whoo hoo!"

And We've an old house full of old appliances, so we understand that this shit's gonna happen.

Fiona wet the bed, and the furnace stopped working. On the same night where I didn't have to get out bed, and climb into her (probably wet) bed to get her to go back to sleep.

Not a "Whoo hoo" per se, but good timing, if you wish to look at the bright side, which I DO.

And the furnace repair bill that's bound to happen today???
I got my annual bonus check from work, and deposited it yesterday.

And Wendy's first decent check from her new job?
Today.

Again, darn nice of the old furnace to keep us warm all winter when it was 5 degrees out and we had far less discretionary income.

So I was forced to use a vacation day.
I've got quite a few.

And now I've got the house, cold though it may be, to myself. For the first time in... I can't remember how long.

I'll get some work done, lots of work probably, screw around a bit, maybe shut my eyes for an hour, run some errands...
It's gonna be a good day. Even though my coffee IS ice cold now.

And I'll be able to start it, once I hear back from the furnace guy, and know when to expect him.....

included with the rent....

On another site, I participated in a discussion about quirky neighbors, odd living situations, etc.
Since I wrote it out, felt it was a shame to waste it, and decided to post it here as well.


I’ve moved around quite a bit, so much so that I still am surprised to find myself in the same house now for over 10 years.
We still get the itch, but have learned to stop scratching at it.

Anyhow:

Almost any college living situation has its’ share of bad stories, so I’ll skip through those, and begin after “real life” started.

My first apartment post-college, was in the ghetto/student ghetto of Kalamazoo, MI. A cool/ not too safe neighborhood, full of old homes that had been turned into multi-units.
The guy who lived downstairs with his wife and kid (in a one bedroom apt.) had a drinking problem, and I had to knock on his door a couple of times when he’d be listening to his trance music (Dead Can Dance, as example) at ridiculous levels.
I always knew his wife and kid were gone, when the music would start up.
His apartment smelled of sweat and garbage.

I had to call the cops once because of the noise.
The odd part of this situation – he was the owner and my landlord.

His wife fed the neighborhood strays, and there was more than one occasion when one pushed in my screen window, and started prowling around my house.
At night.
When I was asleep…

When he didn’t bother to pay the electric bill, and the electricity got turned off, I ratted him out to the housing authority, and packed up my sh*t.

The first apartment I lived in after I got married – there was a truly screwed up woman living upstairs. She would do things like drive her car off the retaining wall on the edge of the property, and it would be nose down in the church parking lot next door, while the back end was blocking our driveway.
One morning, she heard my puppy crying, and discovered we had forgotten to lock our door, so thought nothing of coming into our place, and taking our puppy upstairs with her for the day.
She forgot to leave a note. We came home to a shut door, and an empty dog crate.
We found out that she would sit outside of our place, on the fire escape, and talk to our dog through the window almost every day, because he sounded sad…
We’ve friends who told us that every time they heard Crazy Mary by Pearl Jam, they thought of her.

Our very favorite rental experience by far, still was not without its’own idiosyncrasies.
Our house: converted utility building, possibly a chicken coop, on a farm in the middle of nowhere.
Our neighbors: Cows, and Jehovah Witnesses.

It was actually awesome…

Then there was the young, wholesome looking, smooth talking drug addict that lived next to us in our apartment near the beach in Gulfport, MS. We first met him when he knocked on our door and gave my wife a huge story about needing cash (and only cash will do) to pay a garage to get his car back before he had to be at work.
My wife’s gullible, but not THAT gullible, so we didn’t give him money.

(Sidebar: Is there a reference manual for drug addicts? We’ve heard the “Need cash and cash only to get my car back from garage story” either directly or indirectly several times over the years, by people that live 1000 miles apart…)

Anyhow: 2 days later, the 80+ year old woman who lived next door with her husband knocked on our door. She said she had been waiting for someone to pay her back the money our apartment mate (!!) had borrowed two days earlier, and since they were on fixed income, she was getting desperate.

I fully planned to beat this guy bloody, when I saw him next. A week later there he was, and I stormed out to confront him, only to meet his parents, who were very upset, and I noticed he looked like crap, dirty, disheveled, maybe a bit bruised. His parents were carrying his suitcases. Never saw him again.

Every time I have to shovel my own snow, mow my own yard, pay a plumber, or a roofer, I briefly think about how nice it would be to NOT own my own home. And then I remember…

Because it was there – story#2: Party in the Park

Why NOT trespass in a city park, after hours, for purpose of underage drinking and other questionable-at-best behavior?

I mean, what could be a more safe and sensible plan than THAT?

And, I’m kind of ashamed to admit, the Captain Sensible for this particular plan – me.
I was the person who first said “let’s go to the park!” when a group of us were puzzling over just where we might go to enjoy our ill-gotten bounty.

Fairly easy to be spotted from the road??
Check.
Frequented, as it turns out, by less pleasant individuals than ourselves, IE: violent public school kids?
Check
Had a similar reputation to rest areas, and Cook County Forest Preserve parking lots?
Check.

We
Were
Really
Bored.

But it was a big, beautiful park, with lots of trees and benches and a nice stream that curved it’s way through.
We ended up finding a particular spot, a spot with a huge flat stone used as a bench, along a shaded walkway, partially obscured by a rock wall, that sat on a hill overlooking the stream.
It became “ours.”
If memory serves, we even named it, “The Rock” I think.

It was a brief favorite destination, introduced to many friends and friends of friends, over the course of many “nothing better to do” evenings.

These places had limited shelf lives for us.

Perhaps we all suffered from short attention spans, or some of the girls decided they didn’t feel comfortable there. Maybe it was just a change of the seasons, resulting in colder nights and snow, but it was not long before we’d moved on.

Because it was there – story#1: The Cure – In Orange

It was a slow night in the small city. Had a couple of beers at a friend’s house, and combed the local paper looking for an acceptable band at one of the three clubs where one could find live music – no luck.

Maybe a movie? Geez, we’ve been to the movies a lot…. Hey! Midnight showing of a concert movie by the band The Cure. We like music. We liked the Cure, enough. We were really bored.

So many of these tales involve those four words.
We
Were
Really
Bored.

So, off we go to The Cure – In Orange, probably with a beer in a coat or pants pocket. Three straight guys, no dates.

Great plan.

The audience ended up being far more entertaining than the movie, and we stood out a bit, to put it mildly.
We weren’t wearing black clothes, or eye liner. The androgynous goth boys and their uber-pale female friends stared at us like WE were the freaks. Cuz we were, basically, in that environment.

In addition to the aforementioned, there were small groups of younger (14 or so) girls lumped together throughout the theatre, with skin pigmentation and who looked fairly well adjusted.

We settled in to watch the movie, and…. It sucked. Sound wasn’t great; their song selection was obscure at best; and it sounded like the entire band had knocked back a bottle or two of cough medicine before they took the stage.
This was my impression of the first half of the movie. I have no review of the second half, perhaps it got better.

Why no review of the 2nd half?

We were already leaning toward walking out, mid movie, when it happened.

Robert Smith looked into the camera, and….smeared his lipstick with the back of his hand, and then smiled, just a little.

And we heard an “Oooohhhhhhhh..” as much of the crowd let out a collective sigh, sounding like nothing but a bunch of folks who maybe, just maybe, had just had their first sexual experience.

My two friends and I looked at one another, and without a word, all got up out of our chairs, and headed for the exit.

The other day, I was reminded of an event from my youth. The event’s not of importance, really, but the reason for the event kind of IS, as it’s going to be the topic of the next few posts.

I grew up in a small city, one that did not offer a wealth of outlets, opportunities, stuff to do if you will, when you’re in your teens, and starting to really develop socially.

So our social lives revolved around whatever was available to do.

Why did the man climb the mountain?
Because it was there.

Why’d that group of kids risk getting in big trouble by drinking at night on the shore of a small lake next to the grounds where an asylum used to stand?
Because it’s actually the plot to a bad horror movie, and I’m unable to differentiate between real life and cinema?
NO!
Because it was there.

Why did the kids go watch The Last Starfighter THREE times at the theatre attached to the run down shopping mall?
Because it was there.

(As an aside, The Last Starfighter hasn’t stood up all that well to the test of time. Buckaroo Banzai in the 7th dimension, however – still rocks)

Anyhow, you get the idea.

We hung out in places that we probably shouldn’t have, spent our limited $$$ on whatever movie didn’t sound too crappy and countless nights of bowling; and we drank cheap beer and wine coolers in dumb outdoor locations because being at home alone, bored, was too terrible of an alternative.

Most of the time it made for evenings out that were fun enough, we never really got into half as much trouble as we could have, and nobody died.
It wasn't a John Hughes movie, and most nights are completely unmemorable, but I have to label it a success, in retrospect.

Anyhow, I hope to touch on a few specifics in upcoming posts, and maybe, hopefully, the result will be entertaining.