The Magic Bus

I was just behind one of those short buses on my way home from yoga and as it suddenly lurched to a stop for no particular reason in the middle of traffic, I read the sticker "This vehicle stops at all red lights and railroad crossings." Well, this was neither and frankly, I'm unimpressed anyway. My vehicle *also* stops at red lights and railroad crossings. I believe that's called "the law." I mean, why don't they just slap a sticker on that says "I pull over for ambulances" and expect a badge for meritorious service? No biggie, pal. I'd much rather see a sticker that says "Caution: This bus flies!" or "Look out! I am magic!" At least that would mean something other than what is obvious. Why not a"Hey! Guess what?! This car is being driven by a human and not a smart monkey or a robot from the future!" No freaking kidding.

Also, aside from its mastery of the obvious, I am annoyed by the implication of this rather smug sticker: that other drivers, as a group, have absolutely no regard for the law and the safety and well being of themselves, their passengers, and other travelers. Sure, many other drivers have absolutely no regard for the law and the safety and well being of themselves, their passengers, and other travelers, but I say that is the exception and not the rule. Do the makers of this sticker really think that hotheads/drunk drivers who are constantly running lights and who are cursing and screaming at their fate of being behind a bus who does obey the law will be soothed by such a sticker? "Oh! Of course! They stop at *all* red lights. How silly of me! Better have another beer while I wait for all the senior citizens to get out at Wal-Mart." Yeah, I don't think so. It's just going to make them madder probably. Although the part about another beer might be dead on. I'm unsure.

There are many obvious bumper stickers out there come to think of it. I can't actually come up with any right now, but sometimes I read them and they say stuff like "I do not hit children with this car and cause them to bleed internally." I think it's safe to say that most of us are anti-vehicular manslaughter. Am I being overly sensitive here? Probably. This is not unlike that time I was so irate about the radio ad of "Brides against cancer." It's like "people who have nothing in common except something that 85% of the population will have in common at some point in their lives against something that pretty much 100% of the population is also against." Thank you, from the bottom of my average heart.

P.S. Maui was fantas-terrific and I have a million things to tell you about it! MRT and I are quite tired. We got in yesterday morning and I am still confused as to what the day is at this time. Once I orient myself, there is much to come!

Maui Christmas, to you and yours

Mele Kalikimaka, friends!

Tomorrow, at the crack of dawn, MRT and I head for our honeymoon and holiday extravaganza on beautiful, lush, wonderful Maui, Hawaii for quite a generous handful of days.

I know not what all pleasures in which we will partake, except for the bike riding down the 10,000+ ft. Haleakala volcano at sunrise (whee!), a history of Hawaii show called Ulalena, a kayak trip on the crystal ocean involving snorkeling (of course!) and many, many, many drinks out of coconuts and pineapples. However, I know they will be many. A massage? Certainly. A visit to a pineapple plantation? No doubt! Relaxing and spending time with my number one best husband? Absolutely!

When I get back, we will discuss new year's resolutions, which include learning to speak Spanish. But for now, the remainder of 2006 will be dedicated to leisure, relaxation, and good cheer.

A Maui Christmas to you all!

Love,
MaryT

Merry Christmas, Mr. Matthews!

Yes, it's true I don't know you, but MRT and I have given you a gift. That gift is called time and you are presumably using it to run from your creditors and relatives. How do I know this? We've had your old phone number for approximately four months. And in that time, we have been consistently awoken by Rent-a-center at 8 am every Saturday and I know not who all else other days of the week trying to get your ass to pay up. I'm not sure if they think we're covering for you when we repeatedly say "For the love of peas, Mr. Matthews does not live here and never has! ARGH! Stop calling us!" or if you just keep on incurring debts using our phone number, but I'll tell you this: it's only a matter of time before I come looking for you myself. Especially since your great aunt who is approximately 1800 years old has called here twice for you. You are a jerk! You didn't even tell your elderly great aunt that you wouldn't be around to receive her holiday wishes? Bastard. She certainly didn't take the news well from us--either time. And your church! They only want to come by and bring you a pie--but no, no, no. You're too busy out there gambling away the good name of our telephone number to think about FREE PIE and Jesus.

No, Mr. Matthews, we don't know you. But now you have not only irritated us with your non-paying shenanigans, you have broken an old woman's heart and shown a total disregard for pie. And we just won't have that. Mr. Matthews, we do not wish to share our phone number with you and were you to come to our house, we would not even allow you to use our phone. That's right. Boo-yah indeed. Enjoy Christmas, Mr. Matthews, because after that, we're going to stop all this and it may involve pie. So watch out.

Unto Us, A Song is Given

This will surprise many of you who think of my spiritual life as little more than a cranky shadow of a former Catholic--but it's just not true. My mom, also somewhat of a marginal Catholic, once told me that "once a Catholic, always a Catholic." And that's for serious. No known prayer/exorcism/atheism/intellectualism combination will ever purge you of the lifelong guilt you, Catholic (and possibly: Jew), rightfully deserve. And that's fine. My guilt and I are pals. But aside from that, I feel kind of like a Catholic, even in the times I so utterly don't--like when I am posting on this blog or having an opinion, for example.

There is a particular work of classical music though, Handel's Messiah, which somehow magically reverses all of my cynicism about the pope and fanatical Catholics of Christmas past who freaked my life out and reminds me of the kinder, gentler Jesus I know to exist and the moments when, in high school especially, I really felt uplifted in my spiritual life. In my spiritual searching, I have become fans of all the prophets--Mohammed, Buddha, Pramahansa Yogananda, etc., but in my heart of hearts, I am really partial to Jesus, a very excellent dude by anyone's estimation.

I can only explain my partiality by the feeling I get from listening to The Messiah. Maybe it's because when the chorus members of For Unto Us a Child is Born in part one explode into "Wonderful! Counselor! Almighty God! The Everlasting Father! The Prince of Peace!" I tear up with joy. I am not joking. I actually feel jubilant and excited about the impending birth of Christ. It does not even pass through my head that it's actually already happened...awhile ago. And then just a bit later when the delicate soprano notes achieve such power in the Air: There were shepherds abiding in the fields, *I* feel afraid and ecstatic all at the same time. It is tremendous!

There is no other piece of music that can do this to me. And I don't know if it's because of my Catholic beginnings or if it's just the most powerful music I have ever had the great pleasure to listen to. Or maybe, I don't know, it is a message from Jesus to stop being so naughty and see the good in things and for pity's sake, be nicer on my blog. Hmm.

Or maybe it's because Handel wrote The Messiah in two days, the first of which: my birthday.

Can anyone, especially non-Christians, weigh in on The Messiah? Or is anyone else obsessed with it?

Strange Bedfellows

I see a lot of things every day that give me pause, but a couple today really caused a serious cock of the head and a "but, wait...no" response from me.

The first was, as I was driving to Tyler, I saw a billboard with a bunch of peoples' heads on it that said "Virginity Rules. We're all in this together." I think the point of virginity is actually that you're *not* in it together. You're all alone there--and that's a good thing. It doesn't seem like a good thing? Well, it doesn't actually rule either... so, you know.

Later, I was at Barnes and Noble with my mom and while looking for some Spanish Language CDs, I happened into the "Writing and Public Speaking" section, the content of which somewhat offends me. Sure, I could sell out and write a book about how to write a book for people who want to write a book, but cannot write a book without my/someone else's help and should therefore: not write a book, in my snobby opinion. But I really feel that the whole "hey! anyone can write well!" approach kind of belittles my craft. I don't believe *anyone* can write well and I don't think everyone should. If they did, I'd be out of a hypothetical job, not to mention out of mind with all the horrible writing I'd have to wade through just to live--and there's already plenty! Uh, yeah, so I was in this section, where it also happens there are books with adaptable templates for heartfelt notes. Yes, heartfelt, generic notes. Whatever. So there was a book about how to write a good novel or "terrific fiction" or some crap like that by the bestselling author Janet Evanovich....ghostwritten by someone else. What? A bestselling author had a ghostwriter for some crap "reference" book?

Seriously Lucy, 'splain me.

I finally have my roller derby name!

I don't want to post it until it's on the official roster though because I swear--those things get sucked up by others and there's just no getting them back. I'll let you know when it's official though.

Another thought I had in my dream state this morning was: how do popes choose their pope names? It's got to be a lot easier than choosing a roller girl name because if someone has already been Benedict or John Paul, which they inevitably have over the long and er, colorful, history of the Catholic church, they can just add a numeral to the end and suddenly its original. I am *so sure* the league would not have allowed me to be Typhoid Mary II. Or Madam Bomb IV or whatever. Though I might consider a Roman numeral for my jersey. Hmmm.

I will say this, my roller derby name does give a bit of a nod to the Catholic church, but kind of in a Scooby Doo way. Oh well.

Where A Kid Can't Be A Kid

I heard this report on marketplace, both at 6:50 a.m. and then again at whatever time they play it (so I know I wasn't dreaming freakishly as in my previous post) about a special elementary school (maybe in Virginia or Maryland?) that is going to be K-6 for kids that are very interested in engineering.

What? What kids are "very interested" in engineering? Even at age 18 or 19 when some of them have to start faking being "very interested"?

Now, I appreciate that every once in awhile you get an odd duck that knows they want to be an engineer from birth, or an even odder duck like me who wanders the Earth their entire lives wondering what in the world they're going to do with themselves. But somewhere in between are elementary school kids, who make papier mache masks, and look forward to pizza day in the cafeteria, and bring things for show and tell. And you know what they don't usually bring? Blue prints for a bridge they might like to build or know specs on. They bring their hamster or their bike or something--because they're KIDS!

The future principal of this place actually said that after their experience at their school, the kids could head on to junior college work if they wanted to. Huh? Now listen to this--I have done some allegedly college-level work that would have been easy enough for an 11 year-old, but I was at least 24 years old, people. Just because you can do that work when you're 11 (or 12 even) doesn't mean you wouldn't rather be working on putting ugly accoutrement on your myspace page or making a slam book or starting a super secret club or dwelling on the shame one of your evil classmates gave you by mocking you relentlessly.

Not to re-hash that ill-written nostalgic jaunt of the 90s kid from that bulletin I posted a few days ago, but what happened to letting kids have childhood before adulthood? When did college admissions start so ridiculously early? And for that matter, when did college become the new high school. And why do I have to get a master's degree if I don't necessarily want one simply because I'm capable? BAH!

Clearly, this has come full circle and is now just a sad and selfish lamentation. Boo hoo.

The Strangest Dream

This morning, I woke up about 7:30, intending to get up (and with a blog in mind--to follow this one), but when I did, I determined I would only have the strength if I stayed in bed until Morning Edition was over at 8. So I got back under the covers and of course fell into a deep sleep until 8:59 a.m. I know the rules of sleep say I can't be having REM in that short span, but I had one CRAAAAZY dream culminating in me riding in the back of a white old-style Volkswagen bug (I don't know what year that makes it) with this tiny woman with kind of ratty features and very curly dark hair doing a dramatic imitation of her drunk aunt at some get-together they had just had. "Thaaa brunch was great, Nina! Thaaa brunch was just great!" That's when I woke up, kind of panicked and immediately got up to make the coffee and take a shower, even though I was dazed. I kept hearing how great the brunch was in the shower in my head. Brrr.

The rest of the dream involved me stowing away in an RV headed to Houston from Katy because my neck was hurting from trying to sleep in LZ and how I kept thinking I would have to get Jen to take me back to my car when she went out to see her grandfather. Also, the old couple who were initially driving this RV at 2 miles per hour and later suffered heat exhaustion in downtown Houston later morphed into Shane's no-account father from The L Word who tired to get me to buy him over $67 in random trinkets, and then this ratty Nina person, who apparently puts on a hell of a brunch.

So, now I can go on with my day, but I seriously doubt Nina makes better brunch than me.

Trans Fat Coma

Ohhhhhh. Yesterday was so incredibly productive for me. I was zipping along with tasks here and there, attended yoga, looked up jobs and wrote a couple of torturous cover letters (despite running my mouth and hands constantly, I find cover letters to be a sometimes insurmountable task), put the clothes in the washer, stood in a ridiculous line at the P.O., sold some stuff on amazon.com and packaged it, cleaned the kitchen, cleaned a spot on the carpet, etc. So after putting together a particularly impressive resume packet, I decided to go out and mail it immediately. MRT came along and for some reason I decided we should stop and get a treat...at McDonald's--something I haven't really done in many years. Of course, I attend chick-fil-a probably two times per month but I always feel it is of above average in the fast food category. I am sure that's incorrect, but let me live with my illusions, eh?

So after a relaxing country drive, plus fries, and a chocolate shake, and a chicken sandwich split between MRT and me, I came home and we both passed out in what MRT later called: the worst trans fat coma ever. It was like, 5 or so when we got home and I slept until 8 through half of roller derby, which started at 7. Crap! Then I was going to attend the last part, only to discover I hadn't put any of my clothes--which consisted of ALL my sports stuff--in the dryer. Argh! What was most surreal though is that even after I woke up, I felt all cloudy. I tried jumping jacks and stretching and stuff, but in the end, I had to comfort myself by reading many pages of The Amber Spyglass and drinking some hot chocolate. Oh, how I suffer!

But the lesson here is: skip the poisonous trans fats. Go straight to hot chocolate and The Amber Spyglass.

The Old Man is Snoring

A note for new readers: Sometimes my blog goes through a dry spell, as the last two weeks, but the reason old readers have stuck by me is because 1)they don't have a lot of better things to do and they're my peops and 2) when it rains here at F-R, it totally pours, as evidenced by this, my eighth post in 48 hours.

Go team.

Get me a basin! Quick!

I know modern peops don't throw up in basins anymore, but I remember this line from a Roald Dahl book (Boy: Tales of Childhood, if you must know) and it left an impression on me to the point that I think of it every time vomit is on the scene.

But anyway...

Tonight, I went to that most evil of all evil web sites TheKnot.com (which, no, I will not make a hyperlink because I simply cannot endorse their special brand of evil) to look for my friend's wedding web site (no, I will not call it a wed site, so I suggest you back off) and I happened upon a web site even more horrible, more dastardly than the Knot.

And I will link it because you just can't believe how horrible it is until you see it for yourself.

It's called The Nest and it's a terrible, no good, very bad place. It's a site for "young marrieds"--a term which fills me with loathe to my very toe tips*-- to surf to once the Knot can no longer generate ad revenue from their clicks. Or more rightly, it is a place for very nervous women, who have invested their entire souls into having a wedding, to go so they can kind of "go off" the wedding business without completely annihilating any remaining will they have to live since they have achieved the apex of their youth and vitality (according to magazines and made-up princess story crap). It has a longer half-life than the Knot, I guess you could say, like taking prozac to go off of paxil. They're both kind of dangerous, but one is a bit more mellow, in theory. But the Nest is actually all the more insidious for its phony mellowness. It is so hideous. Go there now. Vomit. Come back here. We'll hold hands and drink tea. It will be okay! I love you, friends and I'll be here when you get back!

*I am fully aware of the irony that I am both young and married, but excuse me, I am not a "young married". For one thing, I do not believe married is a noun. For another thing, I do not have any of the ten requisite black and white poses in any of the requisite, understatedly elegant (but really: generic) silver frames in my living room. While I enjoyed my wedding very much, I always believe the best is yet to come. And most importantly, MRT and I have souls.

And while we're on the subject of anniversaries...

Today is the 26th anniversary of the death of John Lennon. Sad...I guess. It happened when I was less than four months old. But you know, the loss of anyone talented and rad is a sad thing. The thing is--no one is making it out of here alive, namsayn? Death and taxes and all that.

Keeping that in mind, can Yoko Ono PLEASE just S*T*F*U? Here she is, over two decades post event, polluting My Yahoo! News with the headline that she is still not ready to forgive John Hinckley (sp?) or whomever the gunman on the grassy knoll was. And THIS after she took out a full page ad in the Sunday NY Times a couple weeks ago asking peops to kindly give peace a chance and all. I think the real message in that page is "mortality scares holy hell out of me--PLEASE remember me when I'm dead." I mean, I get the grieving widow bit, but dude: have you considered seeing a therapist? 26 years is a long old time to hold on to something. It's my entire life length and I have found some worthwhile times in that span! There's a whole world out there beyond SoHo and your boho origins, Ms. Ono. (That's a lot of O's going on there.) The 60s have come and gone! If this keeps up, I don't think it would be out of line to shoot her. I mean, in theory, since she seems like she might need to be put out of her misery.

Gift Me Your Attention, Please!

MRT and I have gone back and forth about the alleged verb "gift." Technically, M-W.com agrees with him that it *is* a verb, distinct from give, but I still think that's crap. I happen to also think that people who say things like "Gift him with cashmere this season" sound like pretentious douche bags (is there another kind though?).

Fortunately, Bartleby agrees with me, because there's no one I trust like Bartleby when it comes to usage. And *if* if you asked him to use the verb "gift," he would reply "I prefer not to."

Me too, pal. Me too.

The American Heritage® Book of English Usage.
A Practical and Authoritative Guide to Contemporary English. 1996.
3. Word Choice: New Uses, Common Confusion, and Constraints
§ 142. gift

Gift has a long history of use as a verb meaning “to furnish with a gift; endow” as in “The world must love and fear him Whom I gift with heart and hand” (Elizabeth Barrett Browning). This sense provides a useful distinction from give, for give can sometimes be confusing because it means both “to transfer physical possession” and “to transfer ownership.” Unfortunately, the use of gift as a verb in Modern English is tainted by its association with the language of advertising and publicity (as in Gift her with this copper warming plate). A large majority of the Usage Panel rejected the usage in an earlier survey. When you want clarity, use a substitutes such as give as a gift, bestow, or donate.

Happy Pearl Harbor Day! or Another One for the Oldies

I mean, I guess if you can call such a thing "happy."

My mom and I were discussing this earlier on the phone, because I always think that the anniversary is tomorrow. It is not and my mom always plays the trump card by reminding me that she was alive on December 7, 1941. I am so sure she remembers this event though, being all of like 17 months old. But whatever. My mom remembers everything, so I can't be too sure. Last weekend in Nordstrom, she saw a tailoring ticket for a woman who was her high school classmate 50 years ago and she started rattling off to the saleswoman the ticket person's life story including who she had married and what he had died of. Turns out the woman was standing there and was like "how do I know you?" It was awesome though and it turned out to be a happy reunion. My mom did not say anything mean about this woman, as she liked her, but she did say...a lot. In any case, Muno remembers and knows all, so I was willing to accept that today is the 65th anniversary of Pearl Harbor if she said so.

She also informed me that this year would be the last of the five year reunions that they have for it because all those peops were well into their 80s and 90s. Take my dad for example, who, though a WW2 vet was not yet in the navy in 1941: he is a spry young thing of 80 compared to these granthers and he does not take kindly to taking his shoes off for security at the airport, as it takes him about a half hour to put them back on. I mean, I know airport security can't do any profiling, but what is the likelihood that my dad is hiding a bomb in his special diabetes shoes? I mean, really.

But back to Pearl Harbor: I was reiterating my strategy to Muno of having reunions every year (remember my protestations to The Golden R Fiasco?) for these oldies, so that those of the 500 PH survivors who remain can high five annually to celebrate their longevity. My mom upped the ante by suggesting they hold such reunions daily. Not a bad idea, but there's just no telling how long some of them are going to hang on and that could get pricey (especially, if like the Golden R luncheon nazis, they're charging $25 a plate). Consider that there are still 24 American WW1 veterans left. Holy cow! They're like 11ty billion years old! But I guess they, like the PH peops figured that if they survived trench warfare, exploding ships and such as that, what's a little pansy disease like cancer or heart arrhythmia going to do to them?

With that in mind, I submit that there should not be a cap to these PH reunions. Let the oldies gather, I say! And give them free coconut bras!

Remembering a Radder, More Flannel-y Time

I typically don't do this kind of thing on my blog, but it's a great loss to some of you that you're not myspaceship's friend and will not benefit from this ridiculously sarcastic bulletin I just posted there. There is enough intrusive color commentary by me to make it partially original. But it's not really original. Still though, there's merit. Hope you enjoy. (I think Pinky will especially.) If not, that's really your problem though, isn't it?

---
I read this bulletin my friend Natalee posted and I really got quite a good laugh from it, though I have to admit that I didn't realize that a lot of this stuff was no longer going on. You mean people *don't* record the radio all day to catch their favorite song of all time? We're not all still longing to sit on the big orange Nickelodeon couch and be afraid of the dark? I know I do these things, at least in my heart.

My sister and I used to call Y99 in Tyler to request "Two of Hearts" by Stacy Q and also The Bangles' "Eternal Flame." So I guess I am more in the crack of this post and the "Are you a child of the 80s?" one, caught somewhere between the thrill of thinking I was a maniac, maniac on the floor in the 80s and knowing it was all right, because I was Saved by the Bell in the 90s. To those of you with whom I spent a considerable amount of time in that exceptionally awkward decade, thanks for still associating with me.


You're a 90s kid if:

You can finish this: ice ice, _______

You remember watching Doug, Ren & Stimpy, Pinky and the Brain, and Two Stupid Dogs.

AAAAAAAH Real Monsters!

You've ever ended a sentence with the word "PSYCHE!"

You just cant resist finishing this . . . "Iiiiiiin west philladelphia born and raised . . ."

You remember TGIF, Step by Step, Family Matters, Dinosaurs, and Boy Meets World.

You remember when 2Pac and Selena died.

You remember when it was actually worth getting up early on a Saturday to watch cartoons.

You got super excited when it was Oregon Trail and Reader Rabbit day in computer class at school.

You remember reading "Goosebumps".

You took plastic cartoon lunch boxes to school. This doesn't still happen? Why not?

You remember the craze and then the banning of slap bracelets and slam books. I think the rumor was people were using the bracelets to shoot up drugs or something, but I don't know--this seems a bit far-fetched, even for those neon wonders.

You still get the urge to say "NOT" after (almost) every sentence . . . not . . .

You remember when everything was settled by rock paper scissors...or bubble gum bubble gum in a dish...and even better: daddy had a donkey inky binky bonky.

You remember when we played Hide and go seek until our legs grew numb. Kids don't play this anymore? What a world! What a world!

You used to listen to the radio all day long just to record your FAVORITE song of ALL time.

"Where in the World is Carmen San Diego?" was both a game and a TV game show.

Captain Planet. He's a Hero.

You knew that Kimberly, the pink ranger, and Tommy, the green ranger, were meant to be together. I did not know this, but I think I was too old for those crazy Morphin times, except when M! and I used to hold up our fists, bearing our Rice rings in bars and declare that indeed, it was Morphin time.

You remember when Super Nintendos and Sega Genisis became popular. Heck yeah, dawg. I totally saved my money up to buy a SNES in 7th grade. I [heart] Yoshi!

You always wanted to send in a tape to America's Funniest Home Videos . . . but never taped anything funny. And Bob Saget was never that funny, which makes the whole thing so much sadder.

You remember watching Home Alone 1 and 2 . . . and tried to pull the pranks on "intruders".

You remember watching The Magic School Bus, Wishbone, and Reading Rainbow on PBS.

You remember when Yomega Yo-Yos were cool.

You remember those Where's Waldo books.

You remember when Mortal Kombat Was "Da Bomb!" Or when everything was da bomb for that matter.

You remember eating Warheads.

You remember watching the 1st Batman, Aladdin, Ninja Turtles, and 3 Ninjas movies. They made another Aladdin? Why? I have already seen the world shining, shimmering--splendid!

You remember Ring Pops. They don't sell these anymore? People! The very fibers of our society are crumbling!

You remember drinking Fruitopia, Surge, and Tang.

You remember boom boxes vs. cd players.

Writing M.A.S.H. notes.

Making those little paper fortune cookie things, and then predicting your life with them.

You knew all the characters names and their life stories on "Saved By The Bell". And then some.

The following items are not of my recollection because I was already an impudent young adult:

When they made the new lunchables so that you could make pizza AND tacos.

You played and/or collected "Pogs"

You had at least one Tamagotchi, GigaPet, or Nano and brought it everywhere.

You remember Bewitched, Jump 5, S-Club 7, and that whole period with the boy bands and pop divas.

You remember exactly where you were and what you were doing the first time you saw a Brittney Spears or N'SYNC video.

----

You haven't always had a computer, and it was cool to have the internet. JW and I used to watch the movie Hackers and then pretend we were really like some computer gangstas, hacking away by signing on to AOL, which was totally new and crazy in 1994. Also, the first time someone asked me what my email address was, I gave her my home address, because I had no idea what she was talking about.

You watched the original cartoons of Rugrats, Power Rangers, and Ninja Turtles. Michelangelo is a party dude.

You had a favorite "New Kid on the Block", and you knew all of their names

Michael Jordan was a king.

YIKES pencils and erasers were the stuff!

All your school supplies were "Lisa Frank" brand. And unicorny if I could help it!

You remember when the new Beanie Babies and Talking Elmo were always sold out.

You collected those Beanie Babies.

Growing Pains. Show me that smile again!

Carebears and The Gummy Bear show.

Gak was the coolest stuff invented. Oh heck yes it was! But it left your hands smelling funny. Not unlike junior high.

Lambchop's song never ended.

The old dollar bills. You mean before the color ones were introduced like...a year ago? Yeah...okay sport. I do remember the heyday of $2 bills though.

Silver dollars, which were cool to have. really? I believe I have always found them annoying, though MRT kind of grooves on them.

You remember a time before the WB. But why would you want to? Heh.

You collected all the Troll dolls Yes--and why? So ugly.

You owned a portable tape player.

If you even know what an original walkman is. Even *know*?! What is this, young person? I owned one and even imitation ones when they were still too expensive! I asked Santa for such a one. Even know. Hmph. Get back to text messaging, you fiend.

You remember wanting to sit on the orange Nickelodeon couch.

You've gotten creeped out by "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" Dude, I couldn't watch that show alone. I still remember stories from it that *freaked* *me* *out*.

You know the Macarena by heart.

"Talk to the hand" . . . enough said.

You always said, "Then why don't you marry it!" I did say this. I am sorry. :(

You know the significance of the number 23. Michael Jordan? or is there something else?

You went to McD's to play in the playplace.

You remember playing on merry-go-rounds at the play ground. I only recently discovered that all dangerous toys were missing and this distresses me more than a small child with a dislocated shoulder.

Before the MySpace frenzy...once again--like two years ago.

Before the Internet & text messaging...I do not care to remember a time before the internets. How did we settle bets? In a stupid, rudimentary manner: that's how. I remember getting out my family's copies of the 1972 edition World Book Encyclopedia. Reliable!

Before Sidekicks & iPods...Um, am I a fossil for not knowing what a sidekick is?

Before MIKE JONES...okay, once again all this stuff was within the last three years. Yes, I can remember the Y2K fiasco, too. Woo! Give me a medal.

Before PlayStation2 or X-BOX...

Before Sponge Bob...am I the only person who doesn't find SpongeBob to be funny? He's like a modern cartoon of the Three Stooges. Why bother?

Back when you put off the 5 hours of homework you had every night. Kids don't still put off homework? I find that hard to believe. After all, TV is still around. So is that crazy marijuana stuff.

When light up sneakers were cool.

When you rented VHS tapes, not DVDs. Once again, I present the year: 2002. And maybe after for some peops. That was when I got a dvd player for Christmas from my parents.

When gas was $0.95 a gallon & Caller ID was a new thing. Not to rub this in, but I bought gas for $0.96/gallon about a month ago. Boo-yah. Now it's back up to $2.19, but still. Oh wait, I am thinking of $1.96/gallon. Boo indeed.

When we recorded stuff on VCRs. Ladies and gentlemen: 2002...or now, if you're some people. Not that I know any such people, but um, you know, it would not be bad if people still did this, you Tivo-ing fiends!

When we called the radio station to request songs to hear off our walkmans. Damn straight.

When the Chicago Bulls were the best team ever. And in my heart, that remotely gives a crap about basketball, they still are.

Way back. Oh, you mean like four years ago? Oh what a time of innocence and unemployment before our latest war!

WHEN YOU TRADED POKEMON CARDS FOR A LIVING. I never did this. All of my elementary school jobs were 2legit2quit.

Before we realized all this would eventually disappear. I don't think it has, person in college who feels more like writing an email forward than participating in finals this week. That's fine. This is pretty funny and I applaud all of this, but you were born in like, I don't know, 1988 or so? You don't miss that radness so much. I doubt you even remember it as much as you think you do. I mean, I had leg warmers in the 80s, but I am not convinced I remember them being stylish as much as I remember copying my sister and wanting the full line of LA Gear/ "Get in shape, girl!"--which was far ahead of the childhood obesity epidemic--items. What if we were all still wearing flannel? Would you want that? And I know I don't miss being in middle school. My glasses were tinted blue: wtf?!

Who would have thought you'd miss the 90s so much!!!!! Nah, I have way better hair these days--and less braces.

If you grew up in the 90's you've gotta read this!!! Please feel free to delete the cantankerousness you overly tolerated if you got this far.

Post with the year you were born in. 1980. Woo woo!

Face Off: How the Parade Passed Me By

Oh man, I almost forgot to tell y'all about how, for our very first Thanksgiving together, MRT almost melted his face off. Yes, indeed.

Now, I hate to say "I told you so"* but I really told MRT so. He often enjoys telling me how he is the boss of all machines and the entire universe of physics and all manufactured goods (not to mention the whole month of February), but even *I*, person who makes no claim to be the boss of simple machines or even a half month, know what happens when steam builds up. Or in this case, steam *and* its evil twin: heated grease. Rawr!

Oh, but let me start at the beginning.

It was a beautiful and crisp Thanksgiving morning. After a marathon session of baking the day before, I was enjoying the opening moments of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, per my custom, when MRT suggested we get a-cookin' on our victuals. Okay, I agreed and began work on the oyster dressing (this was delicious by the way--allow me to give you the recipe). So MRT's project was the green bean casserole, which he refused to do ye olde rednecke way (i.e. canned beans, canned soup, French's brand onion things, whee!). So M. Gourmet was first sauteeing some bacon and mushrooms for that "just sauteed" flavor when he put the lid of a similar-sized pot over the pot he was using. The lid was immediately sucked down into a vacuum of steam and doom and nothing, not cold water or deep tissue massage, was going to release it. MRT's brilliant suggestion was to steam it off. Now I do think it's a brilliant suggestion and I'm not just being a facetious bizard because it worked: the lid came off, though in a most violent manner.

Moments before this eruption, I backed away from my oyster-dressing making section of the stove and cowered and whimpered on the far side of the kitchen, citing to MRT my aversion to death by steamed-off lid. Reminding me that he was the boss of all of physics, MRT returned his face near to the pot which immediately exploded in a storm of bacon and grease and pain and horror. Somehow, without opening his eyes, MRT stumbled into the front garden and stuck the hose right into his eyeballs. I am not even exaggerating, as I am wont to do. This would be a nice party trick if death was not on the line

Meanwhile, I began the long and arduous task of cleaning up bacon grease from basically every fixture in the greater Piney Woods region. (A couple weeks later, I was still finding stuff), teary-eyed and blubbering that MRT was maimed or blind and I shouldn't have allowed such shenanigans. (Molly was so terrified, she wouldn't come out of her crate for hours.)

But it all turned out well! I mean, for awhile, MRT seriously looked like a car accident. After showering and aloe-ing the marks, which covered the entire top half of his face, they had nearly faded by the end of Thanksgiving lunch. My mom did look at him funny before she found out what happened, as she thought he'd been in a fight. Unfortunately, they came back with a vengeance that evening, causing the headache of doom and leaving all viewers of MRT over the next two weeks imagining that we were a family that participates in domestic violence.

I am pleased to report that, however awful this might have been, the sun came out after all and we can always say we began our first holidays together with an explosion. Although between cleaning up and nursing MRT and pulling double cooking duty and full clean-up duty, I pretty much missed the whole parade. BOO!

So that's fun. Sorry it took me so long to tell you. I imagine there will be bunches of backlogged items over the next few days.

*Obviously, this is a lie as I derive a true sense of giddiness from it generally, save when it comes to MRT being in mortal peril.

I pulled my groin.

OW!

MaryT in Space

Don't get too jazzy. I haven't been missing from the blogging community to train for human space flight or anything. Nevertheless, I have been in space a bit. A sort of general malaise has come over me to the point that I don't even check email much more than daily (gasp!) anymore. But I am back on the SIN side of life, today. Or is it a COS curve that is positive? I think it is SIN, but it's been a long time, nerd legion. I apologize if I've let you down.:)

I have a few topics to blog about, so I keep wondering which it will be.

Will it be:

-how I spent nine hours yesterday making Christmas cards for many of you wonderful people and how I always say I am going to stop making my own and just write a nice note?

-how a radio station prank offering peops and Xbox 360 in exchange for a few days with their babies (yes, human babies) left some people irate when they found out they couldn't *actually* trade their children for a video game?

-how I really (heart) Nacogdoches sometimes for things I see like a decorated mail box outside the post office that said "North Pole"?

-how new underwear can really change your life?

-how MRT put up an awesome display of holiday festiveness on our house that made my heart sing?

Stay tuned to find out!

P.S. Feel free to vote for the topic you find of interest (if any) in the comments.

P.P.S. Sorry again for the delay, but you will like your Christmas cards hopefully! I've got to get addressing!