An open letter to my imaginary, solitary reader, Niamh

Dear Niamh,

Merry Christmas! I know you think my greeting is belated, but I don't care how finnicky you are about a specific date, Christmas doesn't end until Epiphany. Until I wake up on January 7, I consider myself in the season of Christmas.

I hope this winter finds you and your box turtle, Dame Edna doing well. Have you found her a friend, yet? There is a pretty dog named Bruno at the Grinshill Animal Rescue right now. He apparently isn't good around other dogs or cats, but so long as you keep Dame Edna in her terrarium, I'm sure she'll be fine. Plus, he looks like a spirited fellow; I'm sure the two of you would give each other a good run for your monies! Or perhaps you could home Gromit. I know you'd been thinking of a rabbit, as well. AND you have a larger garden than your neighbors, so maybe you could give him a decent size pen to play in. But never mind me. I only want everyone to have menageries because as hard work as animalitos are, they're so good for your health.

Most all is well on the western front. My honey and I are on holiday with the family in more temperate climes, this season. Much as I like to think Christmas must be cold, if not snowy, I have to admit I'm enjoying the respite in the short-sleeved weather. We saw The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe on Christmas day. I loved it. The child who played Edmund was great. I felt more drawn to him in the movie than in the book. Plus, I felt like the movie did a better job of creating dramatic tension than the book did. My only criticism is that there were perhaps two too many pregnant pauses. At one point - and I can't tell which - I remember thinking, wow, didn't they just have a "dramatic moment?" Maybe we could vary it up a little bit more? Christmas day was otherwise quiet.

Anyway, Niamh, have a great week. Don't let the chaps at the pub rib you too much about the jumper your daughter bought for you. They're simply jealous!

Cheers,
Molly

A nibble

Found this on Found Magazine, today. I feel sorry for her. Especially because she's probably Italian. There's something sadder to me when Europeans act like dopey Americans or Australians. We Brittish Empire cast-offs gladly do crap like this. When old-worlders go for this, it just seems a little more pathetic. Regardless, though: I LOVE IT!

An appetizer for Niamh

It looks like I haven't posted in about two weeks. Sorry about that, Niamh. I hope you're having a wonderful Christmas season. (Even with the population of England largely atheist/other these days, y'all still call it Christmas, right? That's what I inferred from "Love Actually.") I'll try to be more faithful with this in the coming days. But in any event, have plenty of figgy pudding for me!

I just thought, today, I'd leave you with a link to some guy's list of worst album covers, ever. It made me laugh so hard I teared up at work the other day. Consider it my stocking stuffer to you, Niamh!

You ruin every Festivus!

So apparently William Donohue and his happy ilk are just Rumplestiltskin-style angry that the President has decided to sign off on his holiday cards with the phrase, "Happy Holidays." But they're not just pissed off about that, they're mad that stores are more often eschewing "Merry Christmas" for it's alliterative vague seasonal greeting. The American Family Association, who could probably give PeTA a run for their money in the "most annoyingly sanctimonious organization" category, have even launched a boycott against Target because the discount store won't hang Christmas-specific banners from their very reverend rafters.

Most of us probably give a big eye-roll to folks so PC they have to call a Christmas tree a "holiday tree." But these guys are pathetic.

Donohue, Wildmon and others feel that removing the word "Christmas" from retail stores and greeting cards somehow takes the "Christ" out of "Christmas." I'll get to the greeting cards later, but first the stores: WHAT? Have these people ever been in a mall at Christmastime? The vast majority of this crap may be wrapped and go under a Christmas tree and be delivered with the line, "Merry Christmas," but I would place money on it that most of the X-Box 360s to be opened this December 25 were purchased with nary a thought of an impoverished Nazarene baby of questionable paternity. In fact, it seems the best way to preserve the dignity of Christ's name is to dissociate it with retail mayhem.

As for the greeting cards: Come off it, jerks. It's their own damned business what cards they pick and how they sign off on them. I tend to vary it up between Merry Christmas, Season's Greetings and Happy Holidays, myself. Sure, they're choice is probably more political than mine, but that's their business. (I can't believe I'm defending anything this president has done.) Some people - obviously not Donohue or his cronies - actually have cherished friends who profess different faiths, or none at all. While it seems a non-Christian chafing at "Merry Christmas" in a card from a Christian friend is a bit hypersensitive, actually recognizing in your salutation that not everyone celebrates what you do, is in itself something of a gift.

(Incidentally, why do none of my Jewish friends give me a Hannukah card? Just because i don't celebrate it doesn't mean I want to be excluded. Every year I buy postage stamps celebrating Eid, Hannukah, Kwanzaa and Christmas - both secular and holy - and none of my non-Christian friends ever responds with a blessing from their tradition. It kinda blows. Note to non-Christians: "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Easter" is actually - despite the "Religious WRong" in this country - meant as a quick sharing of the warm fuzzy we feel at these times of year. OH! I do remember a Jewish coworker this year extolled, "Happy Resurrection" to another coworker of mine. I don't know if she was joking or what, but I assumed she was Christian until I discovered later she wasn't. Why do we never express any measure of celebration for eachother in each other's respective religious traditions? If you hold something dear, and I hold you dear, I should say, "Happy Hannukah" or "Blessed Eid" or whatever. But I digress ...)

Essentially, Donohue, Wildmon, Robertson, Fallwell, all these folks who are more concerned with how the President signs off on his holiday cards than how he signs off on bills, should probably take a knee in prayer. If they honestly believe chiming "Merry Christmas" is more indicative of one's faith in God through Christ than how one spends his or her money, how one treats his/her less fortunate neighbor, or how one governs, then it's no wonder non-believers call Christians hypocrites.

Like a train wreck; Morbid fascination

Did J.K. Rowling ever see this coming?

Melts my heart like lard on a skillet

My dog is a prodigious chewer. Anything fluffy with a squeaker will be eviscerated within minutes when given to her. Hence, we have given her a fire-hose toy with a squeaker to chew. It has taken her about two weeks to really puncture the ballistic materical. So what's so adorable about all that?

When she has the tubular toy propped up and wedged in her mouth and bites into it, her eyes close and she relishes it. She looks like a wisened old jazz man in a smoky club.

I'm going to be late to my show!

Chomsky hates me

... or at least he should. Outside of the basic sentence mobile, I don't "get" syntax at all.

This might be the last meeting of my Syntax class this semester. Our prof arranged the class schedule so that we could end class a week early, or go to the end (next week) if we wanted. As class has a narcotic effect on all of us - including those who thrive on the torture that is syntax - I suspect we'll opt to end it tonight. I still have two more papers to turn in. Luckily he'll be accepting those for a few more weeks. However, I don't know if I have any more brain power to drudge something up for two more papers. This week, I thought I had a topic, an arguement. Then last night I sat down to write it, only to discover I didn't.

I can't wait for this class to be over. Just two more papers and I never have to worry about Case Theory or Binding Theory or anything like that again. My brain can stop being the puddle of snot that it has become in the last 16 weeks.

Got my mind on my money and m'money on my mind

About once a year, my honey and I tally up all the frequent flier points we've accumulated in the previous 12 months on our credit card, and instead of buying a plane ticket or two, we cash in the points for goods we might not normally purchase otherwise. This year, we exchanged them for two sizeable gift certificates to Sears. Sears is by no means our favorite store, but it's pretty practical: sensible shoes, electronics, over-priced and under-classy jewelry. This summer we bought some home entertainment items which we had been delaying the purchase of for years, some Dockers for him and some everyday work clothes for me. We have one gift card left.

Holiday season is upon us.

I'm always a bit conflicted and usually discontented when the hungry retail gods wind up the holiday grinder. I hate that they want to make us their bitches, but by the same token, I do like the idea of having a season of gift giving, so I want to buy things for people that they need and want. I refuse to surrender to the "your loved ones don't know they're loved unless you purchase the newest, shiniest toy" guilt. Bite me, annual gift guides!! I don't have the urge at all, actually. ... but I digress. (And frankly, Niamh, since you live in Shropshire, you don't have Thanksgiving, so you don't know how horrid it is to watch your countrymen turn on a dime from "day of humble gratitude" to "pre-dawn greedy mongrel," so anything I can say on that will be lost on you.)

The point is this, even though we had already agreed to use our remaining gift card to purchase our holiday gifts with, I'm worried about money, these days. Okay: everyone's getting something from Sears, like it or not. Fine. There's free money, I don't have to worry about. But we're also trying to buy a house. And I'm trying to finish up school. And we just got a freaking dentist's bill in the mail the other day for $200. I was supposed to call about it today, but by the time I had time, it was 5, already. Every little penny feels like it stings right now. My parking fine was supposed to be $30 - that's what the ONE ticket I found on my car said. When I went online to pay it today, it turns out they issued me a separate ticket which apparently didn't physically make it to me which drives the price up to $55. When I called about that, the automated message said customer service reps wouldn't be available until mid-December, roughly when my fine is due. I still need new boots for the snow this winter and new windshield wipers. My honey needs some more shirts, and frankly all of my sweaters are too small these days. (I swear it's because my chest has grown, I'm not fattening up!) This would all suck anyway, but it sucks so much harder now that we're trying to buy a house ... in one of the steepest real estate markets in the country. It makes me want to scream.

My one consolation - and maybe it's bizarrely more comforting anyway - is this: I've been broke before, and I've been okay. When I was a teenager and had to live in basically two pairs of blue jeans and had to superglue the soles of my shoes back on because we couldn't buy new ones, I was still okay. In fact, I was more imaginative: I hijacked my mothers' old clothes from the 60s and made them hip again, I'd take my Dad's old clipboards from college, re-vandalize them and voila, I'd have a new school supply. We're not that badly off. I guess after a few years of no longer worrying about whether I'd have enough money for this month's bills and a dinner out with friends, I'd gotten used to it. I was so used to it that I was getting out of the habit of waiting until I desperately needed something before I'd replace it. If I needed shoes soon, I'd go buy them, I wouldn't wait until they fell apart in the rain. Goodness knows I never want to NOT make ends meet anymore, I just have to remember how not to want things anymore.

Ho-ly Shiesse: does it always suck?

So I just started watching Macy's Parade. I guess in the last 10 years or so, i haven't really watched it from beginning to end. I kind of drift in late, catch a few balloons or really cheese-filled ballads being sung by TV stars from the bough of a float shaped like a happy pilgrim on meth. So maybe I shouldn't be so freaked out, but I was; by the opening number "We Give Thanks Today" as performed by the 10 trillion kids from Camp Broadway. The kiddoes were all dressed up in mock-footie pajamas or itchy-looking nightgowns that your mother made you wear until you were 11.

A few thoughts as I watched this:

- ARGH!
- my knee-jerk non-PC high school reaction, "this is SO gay"
- wait a second, no, "this is SO straight" because no self-respecting gay person would abuse children with this crappy song, but suburban moms eat this shit up, as do the dads, though they'd never admit to it
- holy crap those kids' faces must be sore from all that smiling
- I would have given my eye-teeth to be anyone of those brats when I was 10.

Now that Nick and Jessica have split, what have I to be thankful for, today?

As I wait for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade to begin, I found this piece of sad news on CNN.
But I'm not sure what breaks my heart more, that a vapid pop star is now back on the market, leaving Nicky to fend for himself among vapid teenagers eager to define their life's crowning moment by the time they slept with him, or that she thought she should give advice on throwing the perfect wedding. Excuse me: achieving the perfect wedding. I guess if you place all your achievement effort into the perfect wedding, there's little left for the actual marriage.

In any event, here's what I feel grateful for this morning:

1. i have love
2. my dog's snoring
3. i don't have bird flu
4. the snow didn't stick
5. i'm not cooking, today
6. i have a roof over my head
7. i have a job
8. i have an education
9. i have goals - if no clear path to them
10. i have my good friend, TiVo
11. i have an imaginary reader in Shropshire which gets me off my duff to write, if not daily, then at least every few days.

Happy Thanksgiving!

It's Friday: I've had pizza, bad booze and am happily braindead

This is what my beloved can expect under the tree this Christmas, from yours truly.

Who needs fear of terrorists or the demise of Social Security when I have this to worry about?

Apocolypse in 7 years!

Of bi-peds and motorcars

Today is shaping up to be excreable.

It started out nicely enough. I slept in, completed a paper that has been haunting me, took my dog for a walk. Nice enough morning. Then this morning, when I was arriving at work, I found my regular parking lot was filled to the gills. This meant I would have to maneuver through the narrow streets of the city, dodging other cars and pedestrians galore, just to find a two-hour parking spot. This also meant that I would have to move my car after two hours, to avoid the wrath of ticket-happy cops.

I crept through the quaint, crowded streets of the city looking for a spot and found myself the second car stopped at a perpendicular intersection. The light turned green, the car ahead of me swung right, and I was right behind him, inching forward. When I was about halfway around the corner, I saw a group of about 5 or 6 pedestrians crossing the street. They looked to be about halfway through the street, and I was halfway around the corner. I wasn't sure, so I kept going. I straightened up and continued onward. The pedestrians finished crossing and a few moments later, another car was behind me - presumably the same car that waited to turn right, behind me at the intersection.

For those reading this who do not live on the east coast - all none of you, and Niamh, my imaginary Shropshirean reader - allow me to explain the pedestrian-auto relationship that exists in the bustling metropoli of America's Atlantic seaboard. It's dysfunctional. Crosswalks are really only heeded by cars if there is a traffic light for them to follow. Pedestrians regularly begin to cross the street while cars are moving toward them. If a car is nice enough to stop at a non-stop signed, non-traffic lighted crosswalk to let a pedestrian pass, the east coast pedestrian will not acknowledge the courtesy of the car with a nod or even a glance, and will also most likely meander slowly across the street, even if it was evident the car made a point to stop when it really wanted to keep careening. I know legally the pedestrian always has the right of way, and I agree with that morally as well as legally. But it's also illegal to shoot someone; just because it's illegal for someone to shoot me, doesn't mean I'm not going to duck if I see a gun is pulled on me. It's imperative for drivers to drive conscientiously, but it's also imperative for pedestrians to be defensive.

That said, even as I made my right turn, I wasn't 100% happy with my choice, but I also didn't think the pedestrians were in any danger. I've had many a pedestrian BEGIN crossing in front of me while I was travelling at 20mph, and though I think they're idiots, none have ever been hit. I've also witnessed the same phenomenon with other cars and other pedestrians - never a hit. So, I presumed the gaggle crossing the street, at no danger from the cars stopped at the light, would slow their pace as I completed my turn. I was not 30 feet from where I made my turn, when I was stopped at another light, a few cars down. (Damn, I just wanted to find a parking spot.) Then, from between two cars parallel parked beside me, a woman pushing a stroller emerges and looks like she's going to try to cross in front of my car - not at a protected crosswalk. Naturally I make sure I've got my foot on the brake. Nope, she doesn't want to cross in front of me, she wants to talk to me. I crack my window. She places herself and her stroller-riding baby between a parked car on a busy street and me, in an activated car on a busy street.

"You could've killed us!!" she screams at me. She's yelling so fast that I say nothing and it's taking a second for all this to click. Apparently she was part of the group that crossed the street at the turn 30 feet back. "I HAVE A CHILD!! Don't you watch where you're going? You REALLY should be more careful!!" I manage to squeeze out a very humble and sincere "I'm sorry." "Well, you NEED TO BE MORE CAREFUL!" shouts the woman who pushed her baby in front of my idling car on a busy street to make a point. At this point the light had turned and the cars in front of me had driven away. I pulled away carefully because believe it or not, I have no desire to run ANYONE over. She, I presume had to swing her baby away from the ONCOMING traffic which she decided it was a good idea to brave in order to make her point.

I really did feel badly. By east coast standards, I'm a very kind or even pansy driver. When merge lanes are tight, I let the other person in. When a pedestrian is halfway through a crosswalk and I'm coming, I'll stop and let them pass - it's the law, but it's not the custom out here. I actually use my blinker! When you live here, you learn you have to act like no one can see you, because half the time they can't, and the other half of the time, the other driver or even the other pedestrian doesn't give a rat's ass. I'm a pretty courteous driver. I really felt badly. I almost wanted to cry. I could've killed someone. She made me feel like a bad person.

But then I started thinking about it. She just wanted to make a point. She wanted me to feel as bad as she did. That's not necessarily a wrong thing to want. But I'm not sure that poking your baby whose safety you were supposedly so concerned with, into oncoming traffic on a busy street, really displayed a sense of justice-seeking. Her intent wasn't to even express disbelief or anger. (A common pedestrian gesture here is throwing up of one's hands in anger at the stupid driver who almost killed you.) She wanted to make sure I knew I was an unworthy person. I won't give that to her. I apologized. Frankly, no matter how selfish my driving may have been, that's really all I can offer. No amount of money or groveling would erase a bad traffic decision. Her anger is entirely justified; if she had reported me to the cops, I could probably accept that. But when she decided to doubly endanger her child just to make a point, her anger lost a large measure of credibility.

She will be happy to know that karma crapped on me. I finally found a parking spot, and at the two hour mark I dutifully went to my car to move it, only to find a ticket under my windshield. Apparently I front-end parked into a back-end parking only area. (I'd never seen the signs, until I got the ticket, naturally.) Apparently it's worth $30 to the city that I master a ridiculous parking trick. Thirty dollars. A child is priceless, but I'm sure it would pay for the uber-adorable norwegian cap the cosmo-kiddo was sporting.

Excreable day.

World Peace Begins at Home

The animals in my house may one day truly be friends. Until then, they remain antgonizer and antagonee.

Of course, the antagonizer has no idea she antagonizes. She thinks she and the cats - well, the one cat who will grace her with his presence - are playmates. The highlight of my dog's day, aside from her daily walk, is in the evening after supper. We have headed upstairs to play computer games, check e-mail or post meaningless ramblings intended for my imaginary friend in Shropshire (whaddup, Niamh!), and she races up behind us and tends to her evening activity, cat-watching. Our cats live in our bathroom closet. They chose that spot when we moved in a few years ago, and last year when we got the puppy, they saw no need to ever leave, save for eating and eliminating. So the canine child perches herself in the middle of the open bathroom door and gazes into the linen closet where the cats stare back, anxiously.

One cat learned a few months ago that if he just stays still, the dog provides an essentially free spit bath. They have a routine, now. The braver of the twin cats sits on the closed toilet lid and stares at the dog. The dog-baby stares back for a while until she can no longer stand it, and moves to the toilet and noses the cat into a bizarre ecstasy. Someday our cowardly kit will try his luck, I'm sure. Until then, however, he just watches on in his envy, living in his own dry fur.

mmm ... avoidance

I have washed almost all the loads of laundry that have piled up in my bedroom for the last three weeks. They were threatening to unite and apply for their own zip code. Yes, the laundry needed to be done, and I'm very tempted to undertake a massive cleaning and organizing effort in my office as well, but the truth of the matter is, I'm really just avoiding what really needs to be done. I've got many articles to proofead and a take-home quiz for class tomorrow that has yet to see the outside of my backpack, and at some point, I need to get caught up with some short papers I have to write for another class.
The house always benefits from big school projects. Never are the mirrors less spotty, the laundry more clean, nor my office more organized than when I've an annoying deadline looming just days or hours away. Even this, my new blog, benefits from more pressing priorities. Certainly my entry today could wait. But no!
Why, I haven't really anything to write about.
I'm sure I'm boring my one imaginary reader, my hermit in Shropshire, with my nothing-to-write-about-ness. Sorry, Niamh. (I've named him Niamh.)
Incidentally, the tagline for the Shropshire tourist board is, "Can we tempt you...?" That sounds a bit like a sheepish plea, some half-hearted attempt. What do you mean, "can we tempt you...?" Not with an attitude like that! And not with noncomittal elipses trailing at the end of the question. Just get off your duff and tempt me, damnit! "The funniest thing to come out of Shropshire" at first blush doesn't inspire me to shell out the dough for a trip across the big pond the way a chance to participate in a "muy caliente" tomato orgy in Spain would. But to ask my permission to be seduced? What? Seduce, me Shropshire. Show me what you got. However, when I inquire about activities like dining in your area, please refrain from directing me to a site about a syndrome that sounds like the love child of acid reflux and wheat allergy. That is just unappetizing!

The World - or some hermit in Shropshire - is Watching

The blank journal that sits on the nightstand by my bed only beckons me every month or so, as does the word document which I created to serve as a journal, several years ago. Sometimes, I get into a groove and journal daily for weeks or even a month or two on end. But those times are rare. I figured, however, with a blog - even with no one actually reading it; and I may end up being upset if I actually do get hits - I will theoretically have the eyes of the world on me. And as one who hates to displease, the pressure to write daily will be too harsh for me to ignore. So, hello, world.
I begin ...
Last night we watched the movie, Friday Night Lights. I'm not a fan of football, nor really of many sports, nor of sports movies. My main interest was nostalgic. I spent my youth in West Texas, and I remember when the book of the same name was released, in 1989. It was big news, and it was big scandal. The movie seemed to avoid the scandal altogether.
Granted, I never read the book because, well ... I'm not a fan of football, nor really of many sports. What I understood from critics, those who read the book and those familiar with the practices of Permian High School in Odessa is this: Permian High gained a statewide reputation for being a football powerhouse in the 1980s. State title after state title, after state title. At some point, interest in maintaining this upperhand led to practices which were unethical and against the rules of Texas' intermural sports' governing body. (That may have been the University Interscholastic League.) The school's coaching staff was paid ungodly amounts; the players were lavished upon like NFL stars by the community, allowed unseemly behavior which would've gotten the rest of us misdemeanor criminal records or suspended from school, they were routinely given passing grades in school even though some of their academic performances were sub-par, and most shockingly, public high school students were illegally recruited from surrounding towns and out of district to attend PHS so they could bolster Mojo. And if I'm not mistaken, sometime soon after these practices were brought to light, PHS was banned from competing in state playoffs for a few years. It's been 16 years since this all hit the fan. This is the picture that was painted by the state media when the book hit the stands, as I remember it.
The movie was rather good. I was definitely drawn into the personal stories of the players and the coach. And though no real fan of football, it made me long again for a good high school football game on a chilly Friday night. (Sometimes there's nothing better than a too-watered-down hot chocolate in your hand, a leaking box of cheap nachos on the cold metal seat next to you and screaming your lungs out with your friends, seconds to go at the half and just a few yards more will tie up your teams. Sometimes I miss that a lot!) Nonetheless, I was disappointed that none of those scandal aspects, mentioned in the previous paragraph were addressed in the film. As such, the film ended up being mostly a "go-team" football movie. Admittedly probably one of the better, if not best, that I've seen in that genre, but still not the story that one who lived in West Texas in the late 80s, early 90s expected to see played out. It played more like Varsity Blues with grit in its teeth and devoid of an easily marketable soundtrack.
Now, of course, I'm really curious to read the book. If I remember man-0n-the-street interviews from Petroplex news channels correctly, the people of Odessa despised the book before the ink was even dry. I'd be curious how it's received now.
Something that was just barely, barely brushed on in the movie - like maybe just in one line - which I would have liked to have seen explored in more depth, was the social backdrop of the movie. Yes, it's smaller-city Texas and we all know that Texans love football - that's such an easy forgone conclusion for Hollywood to play to. But Midland and Odessa have never been envy-worthy places and in the late 80s was stuck. The oil boom-gone-bust that hobbled Houston in the early 80s had taken the Petroplex out at the knees. No one in Midland-Odessa was high falutin to begin with, those days. The Permian basin was essentially Pittsburgh without the benefit of the Monogahela or any pro-sports teams. Friday night high school football is probably where frustrations could be played out. And if the team took state, by God, that gave a certain notoriety, a public validity to thee town that the general economy seemed to have stripped from it - or never granted it, as is the case in so many small towns across the country.
The story of the Permian Powerhouse throughout the 1980s, with all the glory and seedy underbelly that goes with it, isn't, I suspect, just another story of a football crazy Texas town. I just wish the movie would have communicated that better.

nudging out of the gate

just created this. will post for real, real soon!