State Unfair

Hi. I'm back.
I had a very long and exhausting weekend, except for Sunday. Sunday, I miraculously got out of hanging an exhibit (I was not so lucky Monday night, of course) and escaped with my true love to the State Fair of Louisiana in Shreveport. I had been to this fair before, and I remember it not being as good as the Texas State Fair (obviously), but I was 12 and did not remember that when it comes to state fairs, Louisiana could really use a kick in the Big Tex.

Consider:
-no butter cow (or any type of all butter sculpture)
-no vendors attempting to sell me gadgets that will change my life (such as the potato squiggling device that can be used for making a plate of fried stuff somewhere between fries and chips, or the rubber broom)
-a fair that is 90% Midway and at least 5% exotic meats on sticks
-the car show was like five trucks outside the ONE livestock building
-no musical going on
-no pavilions of wonder and majesty
-not Texas State Fair, and not even: Colorado State Fair (we're not reaching for the stars here, people)

Where were the free notepads? Where were the people to take my blood pressure? Where were the fast-talking dudes with those Britney Spears headset things with amazing cookware and/or jewelry cleaner?

For you loyal Texas fair go-ers, just don't even bother with Louisiana. Hope springs eternal for Texans though and even as we were headed out the gate, I kept saying to Matt "Maybe the cool exhibits are in there!" but no. They're not.

About the only thing the Louisiana fair is good for is, as mentioned above, eating exotic meats on sticks. Fried squirrel anyone? Jerk crocodile perhaps? Or maybe you'd just like some fried coke. Yes, they were selling fried coke. I had it explained to me. I still do not understand it.

As for me and mine, we'll see Big Tex next September.

P.S. I am out of the woods--quite literally--at work. My exhibit Rivers and Backwoods is up! Yay!

Hello, I Have a Job

I work all the time. I have started repeating that cheesy phrase "If you can't get it done in 24 hours, work nights." Someone will want to smash my face in for this. I would if I were not falling into the abyss of self-parody. I am not fun. Instead I am tired. I just finished my work-I-brought-home tonight. I want to curl into a ball. Instead, I will just have haunted dreams about my tomorrow's to-do list until I get up and do it again. I am trying very hard to meditate on the crashing waves on the Maui beach; it's not working so hot.

So this poor excuse for a blog is what you get.

Good news: Matt got the gas turned on today, so we have heat and my feet are not ice blocks like last night. Thrilling, I know.

I am considering getting a life as something new for November. I'll let you know once my exhibit it up. Then again, I am participating in National Novel Writing Month so you can look forward to excerpts from my forthcoming bestseller (!) or you can just maybe not look for me at all.

Geez, I sound like Eeyore. Kick me!

Love,
Resigned O'Tiredpants

As You Wish

If you're as big a fan of the The Princess Bride as I am, you will enjoy this lovely "where are they now" photo sketch from ABCNews in honor of the film's 20th anniversary.

Now a word of advice: Never go against a Sicilian when DEATH is on the line!!!

For the Bible Tells Me So

This morning on my commute, I saw a man taking the Loop 287 exit from 59 S--on foot. But he wasn't alone, of course; Jesus was with him. He had rigged kind of a modified grocery store buggy with a big sign on it that said "The Bible Speaks Plain English!" and then there was an illustration of a book, presumably the straight-talkin' good book. On the side, in smaller letters, another sign said "REPENT NOW!"

So let's just do a quick analysis here to see why this whole incident kind of messes with my mind these few minutes later.

Let's disregard that this man was on foot, proselytizing on a major interstate highway. That's actually not that big of a surprise here in East Texas. I am actually kind of unimpressed that he only had a modified buggy and wasn't also carrying a large cross. And it's not particularly cold out. And he had shoes. Amateur, I say. Those of you that live here or are from here totally namsayn.

It's the signage that really gets me. First, as a past student of several Biblical scholars, and a casual follower of world and domestic affairs, I'd say that the language of the Bible is clearly NOT plain, seeing as how it's spun every which way. Then again, maybe that guy is into stoning his wife and sacrificial lambs and such.

My next question is: plain ENGLISH? I mean, maybe. But how much funnier would the sign have been if it said "The Bible speaks plain Hebrew, people of Lufkin!" It is my understanding that the Bible is available in over 800 languages and English certainly wasn't the original. And Jesus was not a white, Nordic looking dude with blonde hair and blue eyes and participator in orthodontia. Sorry.

And finally, what is the link between the Bible being clear and repenting immediately? If anything, I have learned from the Bible that you can repent at any time darn well feel like it. Look at the prodigal son. Look at Saul/Paul. Look at the alleged hooker Mary Magdalene. They did alright. Conversely, look at Job. Damn that dude had it rough and all he did was listen to God. If anything: repent at the last possible moment. But I guess my real problem with the sign is that this dude on the highway thinks because he has a sign he gets to hand out directives. Well if any crazy person with a grocery buggy and a sign gets bossing privileges, I'll be getting out my list of instructions momentarily.

More Reader Questions Answered!

I usually don't provide this service so often, but my recent visitors made some unusual requests.

Q: What is a heartfelt gift for a grieving widow?
A: A handwritten sympathy note expressing your condolences for the loss of her husband. The value of this is increased exponentially when you include a warm anecdote of the deceased. Also, a casserole is always thoughtful.

Q: How many minutes do I leave a biore strip on?
A: Until it is completely dry, but I warn you, this is a huge waste of time/money. If you really want to know if you have blackheads, look in the mirror. If you really want to get rid of them, get a facial, or actually, just realize that that may never happen and it's cool. Many of us suffer in silence. I am a fan of ProActiv. As is Vanessa Williams, I might add. By the way, the white, papery residue it leaves on your nose is kinda irritating and a lot more harsh to look at than blackheads. (Biore I mean, not ProActiv or Vanessa Williams.)

Q:All I do is boring to me and I have no idea how to snap out of this mess I'm In. So what is the point of even going on? This kid? Maybe not but I really have no choice here, I'm a slave to this kid

A: I'm sorry to hear this. Honestly. Sorrier than I am that I am the number one google result for this search. Maybe a therapist instead of a google search? Call your friends--they'll know what to do. Eat a hot, soft pretzel with your favorite topping. Take a day off. Plan a vacation. Sit in a garden and meditate. Read a book. Take your kid somewhere you'll both have fun. Don't give up. You can do it. All of us here at French-Roast, approximately 39-47 of us a day, plus a fair amount of RSS-feed readers, believe you can do it. One foot in front of the other. We've got your back.

The Last Outpost of Privacy

Well, I've signed up for facebook now. Go ahead and kill me. There is pretty much nowhere on the crazy internets I now avoid out of principle. I could blame Chrissy for leading me down this insidious path, but mostly, I blame myself. Chrissy has the decency to not lure me to facebook.

I feel upset about this. I am going to start deleting one or more of the following accounts. Or is it too late? Am I too far down the slippery slope?

-facebook
-twitter
-myspace
-friendster
-livejournal
-blogger
-xanga
-aim
-craftster
-43 things
-NaNoWriMo
-wists

Privacy? What's this? Who? How?

Reader Questions Answered!: An Occasional Series

If google brings you here again, friend, I aim to help out.

Q: Should I call or write a boy I met on vacation?

A: Yes, but realize that it probably will not work out. Sure, you might make each other a mix tape/cd (do kids still make mixes for one another? sure they do.), exchange a few letters and promises you don't intend to keep, but it won't amount to a hill of beans. It will likely be memorable though, so go for it. If he doesn't write back after one letter, cut your losses.

Q: Hi how are you in French
A: Be resourceful here, pal. There are a million sites on the tubes that could answer this more quickly than my personal blog. But since you troubled yourself to come here,>

Bonjour! Comment allez-vous? (formal or plural)
Allo! Comment as-tu? (singular or informal)
Bonjour! [Comment]Ca va? (more informal)

My apologies for lack of accents. I have a real problem with PCs and accents. Sure, I could look up how to do them, but I don't care enough right now.

Q:French roast beef

While not technically a question, I wonder if you weren't looking for Roast Beef au jus? This means "with the juice." It's very technical for a sandwich dip, no? Or as the French say: non?

See you next time!

A Spoonful of Sugar

In the last few years, I've been worried that I'm aging. Maybe it's because I don't get carded as much. Maybe it's because I read once that at age 26, your body ceases to grow and just begins to age. This is of course ridiculous. Not to be morbid or anything, but isn't there a saying that tells us we've all been "dying since the day we were born"? I think there is.

Anyway, I wouldn't say I'm a hypochondriac per se, but I will read about some type of ailment and determine that I am headed dead into the danger zone for it and become riled and act! Act immediately!

So here are some of the things that I'll do:

-Only one spoonful of sugar in my morning coffee to keep diabetes at bay. When I remember that is. To say nothing of the absurd amount of half and half I enjoy in it.

-To prevent skin cancer or premature aging, I'll be extremely militant about sunscreen...for one week.

-I determine that like most people who "die of old age," my kidneys will cease to function. So to keep them rocking, I drink nearly a gallon of water a day...for three days.

Would that I could consistently be health conscious and remember that a spoonful of sugar is all it takes to turn your bread and water into tea and cakes, which are...wait a minute. Bring on the tea and cakes. I'm in footloose and fancy free mode again.

P.S. As some of you know, I have lately been obsessed with some photos of the progression of a brown recluse spider bite and this morning, I noticed a bite of sorts on my leg. Last night as I was going to bed, I thought I felt something crawl, but I looked and saw nothing. I am now convinced that my leg is going to slowly blacken, decay, and give way to mountains of pus. Although, I am quite disturbed by how exciting I find this prospect. I have a problem.

Excelsior!

In 2000, the U.S. Presidential election was ostensibly a choice of George Bush or Al Gore. The one "we" "chose" has a 36% approval rating, has led us into an unpopular war, and continues to make an ass of himself on a regular basis with many witnesses.

The other was today awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.

Corking job, America!

But then again, we really did actually elect Al Gore that year anyway. So maybe I should say: Well done, Supreme Court!

And to Al Gore I'd like to add: Wow! That was a hell of a powerpoint presentation!

Good Fences

When I get mad, I write a rant on my blog or a sternly-worded letter to the management of an establishment.

But when Matt gets mad, he builds a barbed-wire fence. You might think I'm joking. I'm not.

Sunday afternoon, we arrived home to Nacogdoches from the Jen and Matt Celebration Weekend about 4 or 4:30 p.m. which is about the time Matt began scowling and walking the property line between our house and the construction of doom next door. Apparently, the workers had been bricking all weekend and there was now a fair amount of cement killing our grass, which already looked heavily trodden by steel-toed boots. By 7 p.m. a barbed-wire fence, with three rows of barb and many fence posts stretched from the end of the city easement at the front of the property to just above the creek at the bottom of our hill (maybe 70 yards or so?). "No Trespassing" signs peppered it along the way.

Monday morning, the builder was gnashing his teeth as he realized he would have to restructure his scaffolding so as to--hey, a novel idea--keep his workers from trespassing and keep their butts free of barbs.

We both found this hilarious.

I have no more light to shed after imparting this story except to say: do not make Matt mad. He is a man of action and that can be deadly in combination with his orneriness, which was already piqued by the desk clerk he ended up decrying as a "snotty bitch" in Houston.

Normally, I'm not for name-calling or barbed-wire fence building, but in these cases, Matt was certainly justified and I have to say that our inconvenience that these incidents caused in the first place aside, I am terribly amused. A stern letter just seems so lame now.

Silver Lining

Meeeeh. You can read my archives from past Octobers to see the myriad reasons why I dislike Columbus Day. I think this year I won't dwell on it as much, except to say: I still think we could be celebrating something better.

[your favorite image of Colombo here.]

I know!

Happy 48 hour anniversary, Jen and Matt!

A great number of Awesome Teammates joined together for this joyous occasion which was a rainbow of happiness after the downpour of sadness of last week.

We mourn the loss of friends still, but we can rejoice in the fact that joy and happiness will prevail and add sunshine to our lives.

I don't care if this sounds hokey. Thanks everyone who was around this weekend so we could celebrate together. What a wonderful time in all of our lives!

P.S. Special thanks to all of you who so kindly remembered mine and Matt's anniversary. Flowers? Checks? CAKE?! You're amazing. WOWMOM, as the kids say (at least the cool ones)! Thank you! Matt and MaryT: celebrating one year as husby and wifeby.

In Loving Memory of Tex "Noonan" vZ 1996-2007

Grieve not,
nor speak of me with tears,
but laugh and talk of me
as if I were beside you.
I loved you so --
'twas Heaven here with you.

-Ilsa Paschal Richardson


Best friends: Ginger and Tex c. 1998


Tex with Ginger and Molly T c. 2001

My sister's dog Tex has left us this morning--the original Noonan.

You were a wonderful friend and faithful companion and we all miss you very much. See you in Heaven at the end of the rainbow bridge.

Hi. How Have You Been?

You know, I always forget to check my site meter. It's really not that interesting most of the time. A favorite google search was once "hot roast," (to say nothing of the Shandi Finnessey chronicles) but I only had that once in my last 100 or so hits that site meter shows. For any of you who googled that, I am sorry to inform you that I've no idea what in the world a hot roast is. Also, you will not find Shandi Finnessey naked here. And Lou Dobbs--you vanity googled twice and got me? Weird.

But the times they are a-changin' here. I don't know if F-R has just gotten so boring that most googlers just think "oh why bother?" and click something else, or so riveting because the majority of my hits are now people coming directly to F-R without passing go or being referred by someone else. Thank you...I think.

On the other hand, I have a bone to pick with a few of you and I think you're, as we say in East Texas (or at least what I imagine we'd say in East Texas in old west-type movies)--mighty yellah always checking up on me and never checking in yourself. But it's cool. I have a great life and if you want to share it with me, who could blame you?

And people, if you're looking for French translations, try a bilingual dictionary or translator tools. I swear to God that what they are not teaching young people about using reference resources these days could fill a very large volume, with several colons in the title.

Titles: The Info Before the Colon is Just a Farce

What's the deal with titles these days? It seems like no contemporary book, and especially no contemporary non-fiction book, can just be a title like, oh, "Book about the Galaxy." No, no. It has to include a tremendously far-reaching metaphor, an annoying cliche turned punny, and then a colon followed by an overly wordy explanation of what the hell the book is actually about. Let's see if I can make up an example on the spot. Okay--here we go. Book about the Galaxy might be "Doin' it the Milky Way: Stars, Planets, and Heavenly Bodies on this side of the Asteroid Belt that Start with a Letter Higher in the Alphabet than P."

Do you see what I mean?

As a person working on exhibit with an extensive bibliography, I find this incredibly annoying and time consuming. In short, it is an eye-rolling experience. Actually, if I were going to write a book about putting together an exhibit with an extensive bibliography, I would call it "An Eye-Rolling Experience at Work." But my agent would spin it and it would become "This is the Way Eye Roll: Putting Together an Exhibit with an Extensive and Phony-Sounding Bibliography while Working at a Museum."

Now as I mentioned, this trend is everywhere, but nowhere is it more pronounced than in scholarly writing. For one thing, scholars spend way too much time under flourescent lights in places with few windows and by themselves amassing great knowledge. While this is all well and good, they fancy themselves wits more often than not, but rarely have the opportunity to put this alleged wit into practice. So where do they vomit it out? Their theses and scholarly journals, which in most times past-- thank you Jesus-- have sat undisturbed in the stacks for a period of approximately 900 million light years (yes, I know what a light year is--move on). Unfortunately, there is a new effort to bring scholarly work out of the stacks and onto the coffee table or maybe next to the golden throne. While I applaud the edification of the public with these beautiful, tripey, verbose, existential insights into the tiniest of details, this title thing has now dripped over into my world where for a little heavy reading outside my regular before-bed staples, I mostly like to turn to such academic wonders as People and US Weekly. And even there, now, the proletariat is being recommended books with Titles: That Have Colons.

People, you need to stop this. If *I* am to the point that I am preaching on the necessity of word economy, you know things are out of hand. I, who as a book, am best represented by One Hundred Years of Solitude. I can only thank my lucky stars (but only those which start with a letter before P) that Marquez had the restraint not to have titled his book One Hundred Years of Solitude: Metaphorically Encompassing the History of Colombia and Latin America-at-Large.

But some people: they'll never learn.

Goodbye, Mr. Chips

I found out this morning that as of September 21, the world has lost another brilliant and wonderful human being--and one I knew personally, Dr. Alan Grob.

The press release about this loss is here.

He is eulogized so beautifully there that I will only take a moment to recall my time in his guidance. Aside from being a fantastically lovely person, Dr. Grob was my department adviser at Rice, as well as a faculty associate at my college (Hanszen), and my teacher several times over (all of his classes were brilliant and inspired). Also, *he* was an inspiration. (Please do read his Houston Chronicle Obituary to see how much so.) Despite being an incredible scholar, Dr. Grob was very humble, simply kind, and his office, though it moved several buildings in my time--where I spent a good deal of time not understanding why he had given me such bad grades and listening to his thoughts about my proposed schedule for the next semester-- such a peaceful place.

As an aside, they weren't bad grades. They were perceived bad grades, which I deserved and he always gave me a chance to make up, because I was an impudent youth with too much pride and not enough talent to make up for my laziness. (In my defense, I did gain a reputation for being the fastest paper-writer in all of college-dom. And considering my haste, the quality could certainly have been worse.)

But it was Dr. Grob who let me know this, without being harsh, because he made people feel deep down that he really did believe in them, even if they ate too much pizza and played too many video games. And not even that deep down, I believe that he really did believe in all of us. And he made us feel special and talented and interested in the things he was interested in. As a sophomore, he wrote on my assessment of Twelfth Night, which he gave a B-, that my ideas were "refreshing." And of all the good and bad reviews I have received of my writing in the years thence (many), that one has always meant the most to me. After all, by the time he read my paper, Dr. Grob had been teaching Shakespeare to Rice students for 40 years. He had certainly seen it all. And that my ideas were refreshing to him made me feel like, oh, I might make it after all, if I just got out of bed before 10 a.m. sometimes. I hope he wasn't lying. But the beauty of it was that he wouldn't have been, because that's not the kind of man he was. He was more the type to burst with philanthropy and integrity and poetry. Always poetry.

So friend, it is time to say farewell and speak of what you meant to me--and to all of us lucky enough to know you. You meant a lot in those very critical developmental years--and you still do. Goodbye, Dr. Grob.

P.S. Twelfth Night is still my favorite Shakespearean work and I still have the paper--seven years later.