OBX

(7:10am)
It is looking more and more like we'll be heading to the Outer Banks for that week in April. Doug has spent many long hours researching rentals, and we can pretty much live like kings and queens and princes and princesses for a week.

We invited Aaron and Michelle to come with. They're considering it. This'll be a long assed trip for them -- 5 hours to our house, 12 hours there. We'll have to plan this right so everyone is comfy, and life is good.

If you've ever gone to the OBX (I just like typing it. Makes me think of "The OC" only without furrowed browed actors hanging around) tell me your stories. Use the comments.

(7:58pm)
Not using Journalspace during the day means that I'm not able to throw my pithy updates at you higgledy-piggledy, or whenever the wind blows up my writer's skirt.

It's late. I'm home, we just grilled Salmon, and are waiting for yet another winter storm to begin. Joy of joys.

I know, I've maintained in the past that you (and I) are NOT allowed to bitch, kvetch, whinge or otherwise complain about the weather if we live in New England. It is our collective cross to bear. And it is no party.

I'm reaching my tolerance limit though. This late in March, when it was 57 degrees just the other day -- this chafes my britches.

Anyway -- grilling in the cold is so much fun. I greatly enjoy standing out there and smelling the cold air, and the fish and the charcoal. I can't wait for campfire time... which now will be in July thanks to the extra coat of snow we expect tonight. Grrr.

Today at work (I know, I don't talk about work... but) we received content from our Flash designers.

Each month the content gets better (don't ask me about the aneurysm I had in early February when we received that batch of content) but there are always errors in the text or the layout and it just makes me crazy.

Yes, I'm hyper critical.

Just because they know Flash and I have yet to conquer it, they get to do the content and make it look assy.

The latest batch contained the line "Here's some suggestions" in the text and the voice over.

Isn't it "Here ARE some suggestions?" You'd never say "Here IS some suggestions" (unless you are Cletus Squatford). So doing the contraction to "here's" is not possible, not grammatically correct and simply punishable by DEATH in my book.

I pointed this out to G and told her that I thought we should send it back to them and say "correct the mistake or eat it."

She told me that the amount of time to have that done, and the cost, were not justified. "You're the only one who is going to notice, you're the only one bothered by it."

Which is true, but not true.

How many of you go to the grocery store, or any store for that matter, and notice huge, glaring errors on signs (hearken back to my "Dinning" sign picture on Flickr.com)?

How many of you are made mental by such signs? Especially fancy pantsy design studio signs, not just Sharpie on Cardboard signs. I'm talking stuff someone paid pantloads of money for.

I'm irritated beyond belief that this error is going out into the world. It bothers me so deeply, down to my core being, that I see it in my mind, and hear the voice over in my head and I get sick to my stomach.

I told G that the death of the English language and the accountability of our vendor supplying this content are incredibly important to me, and I'm devastated that it doesn't seem to matter. I know she's busy, overworked, picks her battles carefully and has been hyper critical to the content providers in the past for other reasons. But hell -- don't they have a QA staff at this production house? Don't they have proofreaders? Doesn't someone have to look this over and sign off? More than just the professional who does the layout and design.

Two people could have corrected this from the outset -- the voiceover person, and the person typing the content into Flash.

Someone reviewing the documentation, a third set of eyes, also should have caught it.

Why does it come to ME in the scheduling phase, the last notch on the ladder, to catch these things before they go out to the consumer? And yes, 9 out of 9.8 people aren't going to catch it... but I know you. You're like me. Yes you are. And you will catch it. And you will think the content and our service are shite. Yes you will.

Now, before I get the snark comment, I realize right off the bat that I'm not the world's greatest writer. I make mistakes left and right ovah heah. I type too fast, and then I don't use the spell check built into Dreamweaver, and I push things up to the web without a QA department. I end sentences with prepositions. I start sentences with And But and/or Or. Yes I do.

My sister will catch things, write me a snarky note, and then I'll fix them. But. Without her, I doubt it would matter to anyone.

And you know why?

a) this is a blog
b) I'm not being paid obscene amounts of money for my work

And that makes all the difference in my mind.

Grrr again.

We went back on Atkins this week, which could explain my hyper sensitivities towards sentence structure, agreements, tenses, grammar and other crap. And one should never start any diet right before the cycle (unless you're a guy, in which case, knock yourself out) begins. I am cranky. I'm like Grandpa Simpson.

After Christmas, we got off the low-carb bandwagon. We were still low carb, meaning lowER carb compared to the year before when each of us would eat a pound of spaghetti for dinner.

I think I was hitting about 40 grams of carbs daily, most of that from bread and beer, not from salads and other healthier carb choices. I had lost over 40lbs total, and I think in the past three months gained back about 10.

Doug did the same.

So, we're back at it -- I'm hoping that the break from the low/no carb thing kicks our bodies back into gear and we're able to lose the weight. I've already lost 3 lbs. But damnit, I want a bottle of wine. And a cheesecake. Wish me luck.

Grrr redux.

Well, there isn't much else to write about. I want to go read to Geoff before he goes to bed. We're reading Lafcadio by Shel Silverstein, and it is well received by him. We're laughing our asses off. And it makes the evening wind down to a comfortable purr. Doug is going to look at more rentals online (OBX rentals... 800 bucks for a 5 bedroom 4 bath house with hot tub and billiards!) so I want to get off of here and let him have at it.

Talk at you later folks.

Book Meme

My girl Tanager passed a meme on to me. I enjoy a good meme. And this one doesn't involve 1000 check marks where I'm bound to make a mistake and accidentally check off doing something "gay" like I did in the last meme I participated in.

It provided a lot of good laughs for my sister. Hey, I live to serve, ya know?

You're stuck inside Fahrenheit 451, which book do you want to be?

I'm not sure I understand the question? Am I a character in F451 and want to be in another book? I think F451 is one of the greatest books ever, but I'd make the jump to R is for Rocket by Ray Bradbury. Because the short stories are phenomenal.

Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?

No, but I wanted to hang out with Daniel Underwood and the other characters in Microserfs for the longest time. I think they'd be good friends to have. If you've never read Microserfs, please do.

The last book you bought is:

WAS. The last book I bought WAS "Planet Simpson"

The last book you read:

Blue Latitudes, by Tony Horowitz. A very engaging read, and good for the winter-addled brain.

Five books you would take to a deserted island:

Speaking of Blue Latitudes (the book follows the trails around the globe of one Captain Cook and his crews)

The Bible
Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury
The River Why by David James Duncan
The Missing Piece by Shel Silverstein
Anything by Michael Palin. Probably Pole to Pole.

This meme torch is passed on to Michael, because... he reads.


I think we figured out what we're doing for April Break. I think we'll rent a house for a week on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. We've never been. It's pre-season, meaning a house that goes for $4000 a week in August is $900 a week now. We're trying to get Aaron and Michelle to come with us. They both work in schools and have this week off. We'd like to give them the chance to get away and have it not cost them a ton of money. They just need to get their bodies here.

The thing is, we can bring our dogs. The houses we looked at welcome pets, usually for a fee. To kennel the dogs for a week is over $300. So, with that savings going towards the rental of a house, balanced against what it would cost for us to pay for a hotel room in Pittsburgh -- we'd spend just about the same amount of money.

So I'm down with the idea. We just need to get Aaron and Michelle aboard. Promises of the king bed in the master suite and they don't have to give us money towards the house -- just get here and pay for some of the food, and we're golden.

As usual, I'll keep you posted.

So that guy who killed the 9 year old girl in Florida, that John Couey guy -- he's going to receive the death penalty when convicted. He's confessed to kidnap, rape and murder. That's all fine and good.

But it ties in with what I wrote about last night -- he'll get a lethal injection and be asleep in a few minutes. While his fellow state resident Terry Schiavo, who committed no crime aside from not dying when she should have, starves and dehydrates painfully.

God bless America.

Anyway -- I'm off to get ready for work. More later.

Terri

I would like to take a moment and write about Terri Schiavo.

I have been thinking a lot about the delicate balance between spousal privilege and parental love. I have been thinking a lot about what constitutes "living." I have been angered by lawyers and judges and doctors, and really am pissed off at the whole process that surrounds her existence right now.

Existence, not life.

Personally, I think it sucks that she didn't have anything in writing stating what she wanted done with her life. Her husband states he has only been trying to do what she initially would have wanted done 15 years ago. I think her parents need to let go and let her go.

But.

I think it is criminal the manner in which this is being done. Murderers who are sentenced to death get a shot in the arm and they go to sleep.

My dog got better, more humane treatment when we put her down.

Starvation and dehydration over the course of a week is not humane. It is painful. It is torture. People are upset about how detainees at Gitmo are being treated while this woman, who can breathe on her own even if she is in a persistent vegetative state is tortured. This American citizen who deserves to die with dignity or live in comfort until she sheds the mortal coil herself.

That, my friends, is the thing that pisses me off the most.

And it's sad.

It is truly, totally sad that someone ends up in this position. Her wishes cannot be told. Her husband claims she would want to die. Her parents claim she would want to live. He is a shady character, and her parents are crazy. But the fact that Congress is involved, and Tom DeLay is shooting off his mouth, and this person and that person are up in arms...

And this is the third time they've done this to her...

She deserves to either be released to her parents and they can pay for her care until she finally dies... or she should be gently released from her torment with a shot in the arm and a room full of those who love her and were blessed by her life even during the 15 years that have passed with her in her own special place.

She does not deserve to be dehydrated and starved to her demise. God, that just sucks so badly. I don't think what is happening to her is fair. And I'm glad I watch from afar.

So -- this brings me here. Doug and I have discussed this. And we'll get it all written down on paper. And none of our extended families better step in the way and attempt to do contrary. We both want to die if, God forbid it a thousand times, we find our bodies continuing without our minds.

No feeding tubes. No breathing machines. No heroic measures. No gargantuan efforts. Death is a part of life. And if we are halfway there, let us continue our journey without Congress stepping in.

Done.

You bear witness to this fact. Keep it in mind.

This is such a damn cheery subject, eh? I'll close with Bruce Cockburn. This song comes to mind whenever I lose a close friend... whenever someone dies. And it is how I want to be remembered when I pass away... it is the circumstance with which I wish to be surrounded.

Make me a bed of fond memories.
Make me to lie down with a smile.
Everything that rises, afterward falls.
And all that die have first to live.

As morning becomes night.
As night turns to day --
Everything changes.

Joy will find a way.
Joy will find a way.

Terri -- may you have that bed of fond memories. You deserve as much.

Hobo Saw Thingy and Church

Today, we went to church.

We haven't been in about 10 months. Maybe 9. I can't remember when we last went. Doug decided a long time ago that the Episcopal Church wasn't his thing. Not because of the gay thing, but because

• he just doesn't feel the liturgy.
  
• he didn't find people there friendly,
  
• he interpreted their coming up to him and saying "Well, we haven't seen YOU for a while, how are things?" as a personal attack towards his not going to church enough. And that bugged him.

Can't say as I blame him.

Add to that the new pastor didn't really have a message for us. It seemed like a lot of her sermons were geared toward people in very different places than we were in our faith. A lot of "It's okay if you left the Catholic Church. We're here for you" kind of stuff. A lot about healing after divorce. A lot of ... dare I say it... womany stuff.

And I'm not into the whole Women's Ministry stuff, and neither is Doug. So. It just wasn't our cuppa.

So we worshiped with our feet. We spent an incredible amount of Sunday mornings driving out of the driveway at 9:30 am as the church bell rang to call us to service... and headed to the woods to cache. I wouldn't trade it for the world.

But. Doug has been thinking a lot lately that we should get back to going. I agree. Jessica is really not caring at all about anything other than her friends and when she can go to bed... she seems like she's missing something. Geoff has a wellspring of faith and a huge love for God that needs to go somewhere. And Sunday School would be a good place for that to happen.

Today, we went somewhere that spoke to Doug's roots. A Presbyterian Church. I went to a Presbyterian church when I was in youth group in High School, and really liked it. It was painless. Everyone was friendly. I liked the pastor a lot, and he sponsored me for going to College, something I'll be forever thankful to him for.

The folks here were friendly, and they did a good job with things. The choir was small but ... exuberant! Jeesh were they ever. Maracas and bongos at one point. Not my thing, but I give them credit for the multicultural effort.

Geoff willingly and wantingly left for Sunday School. I walked him in and introduced him to the director. She welcomed him and said that she's got a lot of experience with ADHD kids, and that more than half of the ones in the room right then were kids with special needs. He introduced himself to a bunch of kids, with hand outstretched for a shake, and they shook back and sucked him in. Happy to have him.

I'm used to kids turning their backs on Geoff because he's all "Hey Dude, My name's Geoff! What's Your name! I like your shirt. I have one like it! Hey do you like ..." and that's too much for most kids so they just shut him off.

So it was nice to see him immediately settle in.

And the pastor did a really lovely sermon on hands. He framed his sermon around the sculptor Rodin, and his works. How Rodin was virtually obsessed with hands, showing their power, their strength. He then compared individual sculptures by Rodin to Christ's hands through his ministry, building each time to finally a giant hand of anger juxtaposed against Christ's pierced hands on the cross.

He encouraged us to go out this week and use our hands. Because there were hands that gave, loved, and died so ours could do things freely.

I wonder if he's a product of a college like the one I went to -- seeing literature, history, art, sculpture and all sorts of angles of the liberal arts through eyes of faith. My College Friends hopefully will laugh and agree that he's most likely the product of an undergraduate program like ours.

Anyway -- as we were leaving church with our palms (Geoff calls them Leaf Whips so we had to make sure that he didn't use his in that manner) a huge eagle flew over us. It reminded me of a couple of July 4ths ago when we were at Aaron and Michelle's and an eagle flew over the party and Geoff yelled "Let Freedom Ring!!!"

It was a good service. I am very glad we went.

Then, when we got home we went caching. Of course. Found two of three, and at one spot the apprentice saw mill operator (Taylor Mill, Derry NH) came out and asked us if we wanted a tour. So we went in and hung out with him. He was a really young guy, and Geoff called him a hobo... because he had a huge Zeke beard and a ratty ponytail.

Like I said, most people turn their backs and walk away from Geoff. We need to work on that with him. Don't say "Okay, hobo. I'll come see your saw thingie" but say "Sounds nice, sir."

Sigh.

I need to get dinner started. I can't believe it's this late (6pm) already. Meh! More later.

I'm a bad mommy

To my daughter, at least. Last night I took Geoff to cub scouts, and it didn't get out until 7:30. Part of me is relieved to not sit through the play tonight. Another part of me wishes I had gone.

That part of me is the part that doesn't enjoy 10 noisy, disrespectful boys joking around about peeing behind trees and in the ocean.

They're working on their world conservation badge, and the entire discussion this meeting was about "leave no trace" outdoor front-country behaviors. And they all decided that in addition to trashing your trash, and "managing your pet" (which means, pick up your dog crap, even if you're in the 18,000 acre forest...) but that you should pee in a bottle and carry it around with you all day. And then stop and pee some more. And make sure you bring your pee back to a potty and flush it.

And this went on and on for over 20 minutes. With hysterical giggling and tittering each time one of them mentioned pee. Geoff sang a song about peeing in the ocean. I think the den mother was going to have an aneurysm, but she held it together. God bless her, I couldn't have done it.

As badly as I wanted a beer last night, tonight was tenfold.

I'm not sure what it is, but this was the worst behaved these guys have been since we started the year. I think we all need a break. Hopefully Battleship Cove won't be, as Michael referred to it in an email to me as "The worst night of my life." Hopefully Geoff and Doug will survive it.

I'm glad I'm not going.

When I picked Jessie up last night, she informed me that everyone was really downtrodden during and after the performance. During the school day on Friday, a bunch of students who had attended the Thursday night opening performance had told all the other kids how bad the play sucked, how everyone sang horribly, the story was gay, the entire thing sucked.

So the entire cast got very defensive, and very angry. Some kids who had told them that they sucked were actually IN the audience, heckling.

I can't freaking believe that these kids showed up and spent five dollars to heckle.

The good thing is, they're out five bucks and the arts association pockets it. They can heckle all the hell they want. Assholes.

So, Jessie said they're going to try harder tonight. While they were backstage, everyone had pretty much given up. She tried to rally the troops, but they weren't having it.

I feel so badly for these kids. What the hell is wrong with people? I swear if I hear one heckling little dingus I'm hauling his or her ass out of there and bitchslapping them verbally in the hall. Grrr.

Don't incur my wrath, punkass.

Speaking of punkasses... At the beginning of March, I met (and Geoff did too) with a behavioral psychologist to talk about Geoff's problems with behavior at school. He had some suggestions to put into play immediately, and wants to send a colleague up to the school to spend time observing Geoff.

One of the things he suggested was reinstituting a behavior chart. A rewards program, but making sure that Geoff knows at the beginning of the day what is expected of him, and also making sure that he at least gets SOME reward even if he has a bad day, so that he doesn't feel totally defeated.

For instance, mornings are great for Geoff. He comes to school, he's on task, he does his work quietly, he is a good citizen, he behaves well.

Then, they have lunch and they go out to recess. He doesn't run around like a maniac and play with the other kids all the time. He kind of sulks around, walks about the playground, and just generally keeps to himself.

Upon return to the classroom, he is unmanagable. He is aggressive, nasty, no fun, will not work, will not obey. And it has been incredibly difficult for any of the other students around him to get anything done after recess.

My feeling is that recess is part of the problem. Free time to himself to build up his imaginary fantasy space hero stuff, or get into a verbal altercation with another student (it happens a lot) is not good for him. All of us enjoy free time, but Geoff just doesn't know what to do with it.

That's one thing we are looking into. Food allergies is another thing we're investigating.

But -- back to the behavior chart.

Seeing as mornings are so good, that's an instant reward. We wanted to communicate to Geoff that mornings are where he does best, and he should work as hard to do as well in the afternoon.

So the chart is broken up into two pieces -- mornings and afternoons, obviously. The mornings are rewarded with a Quarter. Afternoons, he can earn .75 cents. Because the afternoons are harder for him, he should receive a greater reward for good behavior.

We explained all this to him, and let him know that if he behaved super badly, he'd get nothing in the afternoon. If he behaved okay, a Quarter. If he was good, Fiddy Cent. If he was AWESOME, the full seventy-five.

And he liked that idea. He KNOWS he will always get that morning quarter, but he sees that the afternoons are more valuable.

We put the plan into play last week. Throughout the day, he asks his special ed aide "Am I doing okay?" "Do you think I'll earn the seventy five cents this afternoon?" And he stops himself before he does something that he knows will jeapordize his earnings, and gets himself back on track.

I'm proud to say that in two weeks, Geoff has earned his full dollar each day. His teachers are so happy to see this turn around. All for a freakin' dollar.

The behavioral psychologist told us that eventually Geoff can be weaned off this plan, that he'll know his behavior is capable of being managed without a monetary reward. I'm not sure how THAT's gonna work out, because honestly, he is motivated by the reward.

We tried stuff like this with him when he was 3 and 4 and 5, and he just didn't give a damn. Stickers, quarters, treats... nothing was worth getting back on track in his mind. The doctor said that at about this age money becomes a great motivator... and kids respond.

I don't want Geoff to develop the sense that things are only WORTH doing when you're being PAID to do them... I want him to learn the value of doing something for the sake of doing it, because it is RIGHT to do it. The doctor and I talked about that, and he said that is all part of the process. Geoff could very well before the end of the year develop this sense of "crap, this dollar thing is SO not worth the hassle..." and go off it. And we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

In the meantime, these past two weeks have been wonderful for him. And I'm incredibly pleased... and so is he.

Which is a relief. I think with Geoff, crossing each bridge as we get there is essential... I have a tendency to want to know what impact things are going to have in 10 years, 15 years, 20 years... what is he going to be like when he's 30. 20. 15. I think going day by day and taking the positives is something I need to really focus on. And hopefully... the positives will totally outweigh the negatives. The bigger picture will be all positive when I look back on it, instead of worrying about what could be ahead of us.

I hope that made sense.

I brought a ton of work home with me to keep me earning money all weekend. In drips and drabs, blips and blurps. An hour here, an hour there. I figure I can be done with this floorplan project by Sunday as long as I stay away from the playstation, and my kids don't bogart the keyboard.

I'm hoping to fit some Geocaching in, and may bring a friend of Geoff's. Last year at this time, when she was in the 6th grade play, we hid a geocache and all it had done for weeks was RAIN. We haven't been back out to that site since, so we may do some cache maintenance.

After hiding 10 caches, I'm finding that's my limit. Needing to revisit them is hard when I'm looking to actually go out and find someone else's caches.

Worst. Play. Ever

I'm helping out the operations group of our company with another project concerning grocery store floor plans. And it's funny, all of these are in the greater Boston Area. There is probably one of these shops in a town where YOU live (Michael/Jon just were at one the other day when Jon threw his back out).

Suffice to say, my work is going to be seen by you very soonly. Or at least the work I program up onto the things you'll see. When they happen, you'll know, and you can let me know what you think.

Like I say -- never talk about work.

But. It's still the coolest to know that YOU WILL SEE WHAT I DO very soon if you live in Boston or Chicago. Hell Yeah, you will. And I hope you like it.

To quote the Great Homer Simpson -- "I've never wanted a beer more in my life."

Thursday night was the opening night of my daughter's play. Lovingly and with great anticipation we took our seats.

It was horrible. It was the suck. It was the second worst thing I've ever seen. When Jessie was in fifth grade, she was in the school production with the sixth grade, and that particular play was over 2 hours of sheer terror. This was better, but not by much.

And I need to be honest -- none of my dislike of the performance had anything to do with the kids. They were great. They were wonderfully cast. They did a great job with the task that was set before them.

It was the play itself. Sometimes, plays just suck. The material stunk like wet, soggy fish wrapped in paper and left on the back doorstep all winter, and now that the temperature is in the 40s, it just reeks.

No wonder it was an off-off broadway play.

There was a major problem in my mind in that there were only 5 boys in the play and 899 girls. Seems the male of the species does NOT like musicals in our school district. And that's sad. An entire batch of characters was supposed to be male, but only 2 of them were.

And I think it messed with the overall feel of the play. The girls who played boy rolls were fabulous. One of them stole the show in my opinion (good ole Emma. Always so amazing to watch).

Jessie looked fantastic in her weird space banshee clothing. All the banshees did.

Geoff absolutely loved the play. I may take him to it on Saturday for the matinee. He so desperately wants to be in a play, like his sissy, but I think he's quite a ways away from being able to pull off something that needs this much focus and effort.

Best part though was in the middle of the second act, one character yelled "Au Contraire!" Geoff turned to me and said "What does 'Au Contraire' mean?" And before I could formulate an answer he said, "Is it French for 'the hell you are?'"

Towhit Doug and I both lost it. It was loud enough for us to hear, but I doubt that anyone near us heard, thank you Jebus. And we laughed. And laughed. Geoff was all "What? I'm serious. Is that what it means?" I finally got my whits about me and answered him. But it was seriously difficult.

Tomorrow evening I will go to the play. And dutifully will attend at least once on Saturday (not twice. There's a difference between support and self-abuse). And then she'll get a serious sleep after a fun cast party on Saturday night. And Monday she'll suddenly feel the post-production let-down. The "What will we do with our weekday afternoons?!" sensation.

Anyway. Not much else to report. I'm glad Jessie enjoys this. I'm glad she's into something and has made some good friends and connections to people. Her theatre teacher thinks she is spectacular. I do hope that she sticks with.

In the meantime, her grades are slipping. Dude has gone from a B+ to a B- on the verge of a C+ in Math. I talked to her about it on Monday, and she sighed. "I'm aware. I'll worry about it after the play is over," she said. I'm glad that it was on her mind, and I am glad she'll refocus. Luckily no other subjects are slipping, or else I'd have to bring the smackdown on her ass.

Failing Math? Au Contraire!

Well. Tomorrow I think I'm going to leave work early, around 2:30. Come home and let her nap. She stayed up late tonight writing a paper that is due tomorrow. I asked her if I could proof it, and she said no and put it in her backpack. I think she just wanted it done and put away.

She's worked hard and deserves a break. To watch Geoff tomorrow is too much, and I don't want to have the baby sitter come out for just an hour. Not worth her time driving. So. It'll be an early day for me. One where I can blog in the afternoon! Or at least catch up on my reads.

Right then. My turn for bed. Cheerio!

Wearin' O'Tha Green, or the Orange if you're Sassy.

6:30 am. The phone rings. Doug and I both ponder who the hell could be calling us at this hour. Geoff gets out of bed and answers. "May I help you?" And then I hear him laughing, and he says "No, not yet" to the obvious answer of "Are Your Parents Awake."

Doug gets his attention and gets the phone. It's Aaron, calling up talking all leprechaun-ey before leaving for work. He wanted to make sure he caught us.

I have an irish maiden name and on St. Patty's day, my husband refers to me as it. Quite funny. So it was nice to talk to Aaron, even for a minute. I don't think I've talked to him more than once since Michelle got sick around Christmas eve. His life is incredibly busy, and he and Michelle went through a rough winter. Hopefully spring will bring flowers, sunshine and easier times where they can pick up the phone and talk leprechaun to me more often.

Just not at 6:30am.

But I needed to get up. I brought work home with me last night, and didn't work on it. Instead, I goofed off with Geoff and then watched "Mythbusters" on the Discovery Channel (If you haven't discovered the joys of Adam and Jamie, you don't know what you're missin!).

I figure if I can crank out an hour or maybe 90 minutes worth of work and still make it to the office by 9:45, I'll be stylie. Better to show up with something than to show up with nothing.

Tonight is Jessica's opening night for the play. Wish her luck. It'll be a busy night, I doubt that I'll get another entry in before tomorrow... perhaps I'll use Jspace at lunch. It's like crack. Slow crack, but convenient crack.

Beware the Ides of March

Happy March 15th, y'all. Seeing as I am not named Julius and Shakespeare has not written a play for me, I care not for the warning.

Oh best be careful. Instant Karma's gonna get me.

Okay -- I'm slightly superstitious, but normally just around those old wyves tayles from ye olde days. Black Cats, Ladders, Salt over Shoulder and that sort of thing. Calendar based superstitions rarely get to me.

What does get to me is funny signs.

No, not the M. Night Shamalamadingdongian kind of signs, but signs on the side of the road that have bizarre inconsistencies. A few months ago I wrote in my other journal of my indignation over a sign at a Newburyport pre-school, which stated Kids As Peacemakers, and the "peace" signs were Mercedes Logos. It made me mental. Kids as Corporate Shills instead of Peacemakers.

I drive past another one on a daily basis. There is a restaurant opening in Georgetown and I pass it each day, twice. On the way out and on the way home.

The sign out front announces: Family "Dinning" will take place here. I wonder if they serve "Desert" too. At least they didn't have "Openning" on the sign. I've seen that elsewhere, in Haverhill at a Chinese buffet. Openning Soon, the sign screamed. I suppose if English is not your first language you may make a mistake such as that. But... if your company is paid to make signs, and you proof-read them, and the owner of the restaurant hangs the sign WITH the mistake out front, there are many stupid parties involved here.

I'm afraid to eat here, if they'd hang a sign out that says Dinning. I wonder if the food here will be prepared better than the signage. Should I leave a note at the door and offer the services of proofreading their menus before they spend money printing up Alfreddo Sause and Shrimmp Cocktale?

I feel like taking the sign and a big red school teacher marker and correcting it with one of those proofready squiggly things that means "take this crap out!"

There isn't an HTML symbol for that squiggly thing.

Speaking of school teachers, many of you following my misadventures in life know I applied to graduate school this past fall. I missed the acceptance deadline for fall admittance by a few days, so I had to wait for admittance in February, which was last month (to those who are confused as to the date and time, it's now March. I know. In New England it still looks like deep, dark January, but trust me. It is March).

Seeing as it is March, and I hadn't been contacted for my admissions interview during the month of February, I sent an email today to the college to inquire (or inquire, I learned today that they both mean the same and it doesn't matter which you use! whowouldathunkit!)

I got an email back saying that the letters went out on Friday, and I should be getting something soon.

But I didn't get an interview.

So how do they accept me or possibly reject me?

I'm confused. Suffice to say, thus far I am underwhelmed with the levels of efficiency, support and knowledge the administrative end of this program offers. But. What does one expect? A recent news report that I heard stated that colleges are ill-equipped to train teachers and educational administrators, that the programs are too easy, and they are poorly run.

Sounds like they read my mind.

In the meantime, my husband says to me the other night that he is interested in becoming a physicians assistant (PA) and making scads more money a year doing pretty much what he's doing as a Speech-Language Pathologist. It means another degree for him. I'm thinking that if he can make scads more money, I'll take a back seat in the masters in technology education thing, and allow him to do what he needs to do.

Scads more money is awfully nice.

Speaking of money, I come to an anecdote about my job. Back in the day, I worked at a company with G (my boss)'s husband D. There were some cool and fun people who worked there. Kenna, Dara and Dan. And every day at 2pm we'd get together in KDD's office (that's Kenna, Dara and Dan) and we would have a "Humanity Moment." That would be probably nine years ago that we'd have this ritual.

In this venue a couple of years ago I wrote about the whole Humanity Moment thing. It was a time in the day where we would get together, grab an icecream or a soda, and just share one good thing, one pure, nice, wonderful thing, that reaffirmed our faith in humanity. It could be that the lunch Dan ate was just wonderful. Or, Kenna didn't get cut off by the jerk in the Mercedes who cut her off daily on the way to work. Or, that the bus from Boston didn't take 3 hours for Dara (commuting to Marblehead from Boston via bus is an interesting concept).

I brought up Dan to G today (she's friends with him, through the fact she was hired into the company after I'd left to go work at the college) and we reminisced about Dan and the weird old days. I brought up the Humanity Moment, and C and M, the two people who sit near me decided to do Humanity Moment with me.

Albeit at 4pm, long after the requisite time of start traditionally, it was really fun to introduce this concept to C and M. C, my girl the graphic designer, decided that ranking on M would be the route to go with her Humanity Moment.

I don't think she truly grasps the concept, but we had a big laugh nonetheless.

And that made my day.

So tomorrow, M is going on vacation. I'll suggest we do Humanity Moment before he departs for the day. And good vibes shall be spread about. What better way to leave for vacation than with good vibes, right?

Okay -- on that note, there are other things I'd love to talk about but this is just getting long and silly. I'll save my thoughts on Queer Eye for the Red Sox until later. Until then, you'll just have to quake with anticipation at what I could POSSIBLY have to offer in the realm of thought and opinion on THAT topic.

Goodnight.

Dinner Time

I spent a better part of this afternoon running around the north shore getting things that Jessica needs for play performance. Thursday night is opening night... and the only thing left on the shopping list was hair gel and a pair of black sneakers.

Now, without spending 120 clams on the top of the line men's Nike sneakers, you'd be hard pressed to find a pair of plain black sneakers. Like Black Keds, or something.

It's springtime.

No one is pushing black. It's all pastels, flowers, crap like that. Stuff she wouldn't wear in the first place anyway. And I'm hunting for black.

I ended up getting her a pair of black Chucks, and if they have too much white on them, we'll duct tape them (ie: the rubber tip of the shoe) to hide the whiteness. I even bought black laces, just in case.

I bet the other girls were smart enough to go buy chinese slippers, or ballet shoes. My daughter is a space banshee with black Chuck Taylors.

And I like it like that.

When I arrived home, approximately 6:30pm, my husband was at a loss as to what to make for dinner. He realized we had gift certificates to TGI Fridays. His company had their holiday party at a TGI Fridays last December and the service was so excruciatingly horrible, that they all complained and were given gift certificates by the manager as hush money.

Doug swore up and down he'd never return to TGI Fridays. And then it was THAT particular TGI Fridays. And tonight -- faced with the insurrmountable task of figuring out what to do for dinner, he suggested TGI Fridays.

Funny how a body can come to that point when hard pressed.

We figured it was a lot better than left over pork chops or suspect ground beef.

It is really sad when your dinner out choice is based on whether or not you'd rather risk food poisoning.

Actually, our experience tonight at TGI Fridays wasn't bad at all. Our waiter looked like a strange cross between Brad Sherwood and Kevin Hearn. He was exceedingly friendly and kind to the kids, which is always a thumbs up in my book.

Monday nights at TGI Fridays are Kids' Night, but we didn't see many kids there. They had a magician who was supposed to come to the kids' tables and entertain, but I noticed he really enjoyed entertaining at tables with no children.

That bastard.

We ate our fill, enjoyed dinner, pondered whether or not that was Velveeta in the mix of cheeses or if it was some other cheese we hadn't yet come across in life. And we went to Borders to shop for books.

Geoff made out well with the books, none of the rest of us found anything that really tickled our fancy. I did get a book on Simpsons pop culture blah blah blah ness, which I'll read two pages of tonight and collapse into a deep, fitful, beer-fueled sleep.

It was wondered via email by a friend how work was today, after last Friday's fireworks. Suffice to say nothing was said. No apologies offered, water under bridge.

The way these work kind of things usually go.

And on that note -- I'm off to bed, for work tomorrow will be busy and hectic and hopefully filled with good news of incoming huge contracts and tons of money and blessings from the fountain. And stuff.

Lileks and the Facts of Life

In Friday's episode of "The Bleat," Lileks writes the following (and I borrow without asking but I doubt he'll mind).

And so it begins:

“Daddy, I’m a little nervous about having a baby in my tummy.”

Well, good. Hold that emotion for about 25 years.

“Why? You don’t have to have a baby for a long long long time.”

“I want to be thin.” Oh. My. “I don’t want to have a fat tummy.”

“But your tummy goes down after the baby.”

“I’m still a little nervous.”

So I explained that she had to go to kindergarten first, then school, then junior high, then high school, then college, then a job, then meet her Prince and get married, and then travel around the world and / or go to the moon as she chose, and THEN she could have a baby. By which time I’ll be about ninety, but I didn’t get into that.

Lileks reminded me of a memory I hadn't thought of for quite some time. I thought I'd share it with you.

I was pregnant with Geoff. Jessica was 4 at the time. She was watching something on Discovery or TLC about a vet in Africa. Poachers had taken down a Leopard. They were spotted! (pun intended) They fled! Someone immediately called the vet, who happened to be closeby. He jumped into his H2! He rushed to the scene to try and save her. But. To no avail. She passed. But! She was pregnant! So he immediately set upon her body to remove her kits.

The vet removed two bloody baby Leopards. Right there -- in the middle of the field. An assistant took each one, cleaned them up. One was not responsive, failed the Leopard APGAR test I guess. They did mouth to mouth on the Leopard baby. He was revived! Huzzah.

The kits survived -- they were eventually zooed somewhere so as to avoid being poached in the future.

I asked Jessica what she was thinking. She looked at the belly, where her little brother was and for the first time in her life to that point, I heard uncertainty and fear come out of her mouth.

"Are they going to cut you open like that to get the baby out?"

I could also hear her saying "Dude, if the answer is yes, I'm SO never having a baby. That sucks!" She wasn't worried about not being thin, like Gnat Lileks, she just thought that was a pretty crazy assed way to take out babies. Let's just say, the vet in the Leopard case didn't do a very gentle C-section. The momma was already passed. He was rough and not very neat and cut a big opening... he had to get the kittens out. Fast.

I explained to Jessica that sometimes women have C-sections, and I explained why. But I told her that my intention was to not need one and to deliver the baby "naturally."

Her mental image of me being sliced hip to hip was vanquished, but then arose the new question. "What do you mean by 'naturally?'"

Well, there ya go. Now I have to explain THIS to her. How a baby gets OUT of the mom's body. So I did. I didn't mince words. I told her and she was really confused. "You pee the baby out?" No honey. There's a different spot. The baby doesn't come out the same pathway as pee. So I explained the other opening. She was quiet. For a long time.

Later that evening she says to me, "Mom? I'm not sure about this. That's an awfully small space. How can a baby come out of that small a spot?"

She told me that she investigated. And really could not grasp how a baby's head ("I've seen how big they are and there is NO way on earth it can come out!") could possibly make it through there.

Sigh. Yeah. Honey. It's difficult but. It works.

"I think I'd rather be sliced open like the Leopard, upon second thinkings. You should too."

But I didn't. And I still laugh about having to explain this to her, and her reaction. Four is a great age. I'm glad Lileks is blogging his experience as they happen -- I didn't have a blog then, so it's all a memory for me.