One Down

Thanksgiving is behind us, and for that I give thanks. The meal itself was good and my mom and I did much better than I expected in the kitchen. In fact, this visit has, across the board, gone much better than any in the recent past. And I'm thankful for that as well.

What I'm NOT so thankful for is the attitude my father gave me when he showed up yesterday. Davy and I had decided that we would eat around 2:30--so that we'd have time to get to the gym and I could prepare our meal in a comfortable time frame. Plus, we knew that Daddy would stay for the Cowboy game no matter what time we ate, so it made since to schedule dinner right before the game. So, we called Daddy and told him 2:30. "Okay, I'll be there at noon so we can do Zoe's birthday," he says. "Hmmm," says I. "I think it would make more sense to celebrate Zoe's birthday after Thanksgiving dinner, since I'll be busy cooking and getting everything ready. Why don't you come around 2:00."

So he shows up at 2:00 and he doesn't say a word to me, only I don't realize that because I'm busy finishing everything up for dinner. As we're getting ready to sit down at the table I ask how he had spent his morning. "I worked," he says, tersely. "You worked?" I replied, not quite *getting* it yet. "Why did you work?" "What else was I supposed to do?" he says. "I wasn't allowed to come over here until 2:00." "Are you pissed off?" I ask, as it finally seeps into my reluctant brain. Oh yeah. He was pissed, and the injustice of it made me so angry I just walked away. And I ate my dinner in silent fury. As I washed the dishes and drank half a bottle of wine, it faded into self pity.

You know, there's no way for me to win in the holiday battle between my parents. And I'm tired of it.

In other, absolutely terrifying news, Tom is very sick. Several of you have heard pieces of the story as I vented to you about his unexpected hospitalization (in Round Rock!) and our unexpected hosting of his rambunctious yellow lab, Boris. The news just keeps getting worse. The procedure they did last week to relieve his jaundice was not effective and will have to be redone on Monday. In fact, the doctor wanted to do it when he saw Tom on Wednesday, but because of the Thanksgiving holiday, he couldn't get the surgery scheduled. All signs point to cancer--and a shockingly dire prognosis if they're right. If his biliary tumor cannot be resected, the anticipated survival rate is less than one year. If it can be resected, the 5-year survival rate is 20%. But that's up from a whopping 0% survival rate 10 years ago. . .

With that elephant sitting in the middle of the table yesterday, I'm not quite sure how Davy was able to find the right words for the Thanksgiving blessing. Tom didn't eat much, and he slept through much of the football game. But he was here. And it is flat-out impossible for me to imagine that next year he might not be.

If this makes you laugh as hard as I did, you need a life, too.

Here is an excerpt from a recent instant message conversation in which I amused myself mightily.

Robyn: Does he still have the super-long hair? I'll be interested to see/hear what/if my girls have anything to say about it.
Innocent Friend: he does indeed still have super-long hair
Robyn: Notice I did not say super, long hair.
Robyn: Because I'm an editor.
Robyn: I pick and choose my punctuation carefully. . .
Innocent Friend: Nice use of the elipses there...
Innocent Friend: My punctuation would probably best be characterised as "random"
Robyn: There will be no mocking of my elipses usage.
Robyn: Although, jumping off my high-horse for a moment, I do note a certain unintended irony
Robyn: "I pick and choose my punctuation caefully. . ."
Robyn: That might be the most absurd sentence I've ever typed.
Robyn: Crap
Robyn: "carefully."
Robyn: Editorially speaking, I just get funnier and funnier.
Innocent Friend: Recursive editorial comedy. Pure gold, that is.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

This morning I'm editing a 2nd grade social studies reader and I come across the following line: "Our president makes important choices for our nation with help from Congress."

It sounds so innocuous when you put it that way.

Add this to the list

In case someone out there is keeping a list of words I hate, please add "pricey" to the list. As in, "the food at [name of restaurant here] is okay, but it's a little pricey" or "those new-fangled electronic toys are pricey, don't you think?"

There are real words to express that idea. You know them. Use them.

Just so we're clear. . .

I hate the holidays. I wake up the morning after Halloween with a pit in my stomach just thinking about what's coming. It's not that I hate the idea of the holidays. Not at all. I hate the reality--of juggling obligations with relatives and knowing that no matter what I do, there's no way to make everybody happy.

I'll exhale again on January 1st.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

This just isn't right. He's old enough to have seen her as baby Michelle on Full House.

Ick.

AWKWARD

So, in the industry (the publishing industry, that is), there's a term for all the stuff that comes at the beginning of a book. You know, it's the stuff on the pages that are numbered with Roman numerals instead of, um, regular numerals*. The term is "front matter." Similarly, the stuff printed in the back of the book, the glossary, the index, anything that comes after the "real" content of the book, is called "back matter." Also prevalent in the publishing industry is the use of alpha-abbreviations (Heh--I just made that word up, but it sounds GOOD, don't you think?) for everything. For example, text that is missing but will be inserted later is marked "TK" ("to come"--go figure). A table of contents is a TOC. And, as you can imagine, front matter is FM and back matter is BM. Unless you have a particularly sensitive client that prefers to use EM (endm atter). Which, apparently, I do.

Today my client pointed out to me that the publisher of a project I'm currently working on would prefer to use the term "end matter" for obvious reasons. Ever the professional, I popped off the following IMHO hilarious e-mail.

I'm disappointed that they're using EM instead of BM. It takes all the fun out of a hard day of work. "Someone is going to have to help me knock this BM out if we're going to make that deadline." "There's no way I'm going to finish this BM by the end of the day." "Could someone run to Starbucks and get me an espresso? I'm only halfway through this BM and I've been working on it for hours."

I could go on and on.

'Cause I'm so mature.

And you know what her response was? Nothin'. Nada. Stony electronic silence.
Man, I hope there wasn't a no-potty-talk clause in my contract, because if there was, I'm screwed!

I think I'll go take that shower now. . .

* Why can't I remember that word? There are Roman numerals and ??? numerals. Aggghhh. Once again, I place blame on the brain damage.

Ode to Dr. Bronner's

Okay, it's not really and ode at all but a declaration of love. I placed my annual Dr. Bronner's Magic Soap order last week, in honor of the cooler weather, and it arrived today. And this year I branched out, too. In addition to the peppermint, my old standby since college, I ordered eucalyptus and tea tree. I'm officially ready for winter and all the upper respiratory crap it wants to send my way, baby. I can't wait for my next shower.

Zombie Kid Likes Turtles

Happy Halloween!

Boring for You = Therapeutic for Me

I spend a little bit of time on a good-sized message board, the focus of which is healthy cooking and lifestyles. The board is frequented, in general, by a large number of intelligent, interesting people from all over the world, several of whom I've met in real life.

For the most part, people behave and are nice to one another, although sometimes discussions will disintegrate into ugly battles. The battles can be pretty entertaining, but sometimes they're just uncalled for. Instead of starting one of those battles, I'm going to vent here about two unrelated topics that have pushed my buttons over the past couple of days.

1) Maybe I'm wrong, it wouldn't be the first time, but I'm pretty sure that when someone with a terminal illness goes in to hospice, the idea is that they're not going to recover. A woman posted this week that her friend with recurrent breast cancer can't take any more treatments and is going into hospice care. She got lots of sympathetic and sweet responses, and one that was just stupid:

I am so sorry to hear about your friend's fight with breast cancer. She
will be a winner with your support and the support of the other supper club members. A positive outlook is key to her recovery. I wish her all the good things that are sure to come her way with your love and support.

While I'm certain the woman who posted this meant well, it makes me want to kick her in the cyber teeth. Did she not read the original post or is she simply ignorant? Either way, something about it annoyed the crap out of me and I just needed to say it out loud.

2) There's a guy who posts frequently and adds a lot to the discussion. He is friendly, helpful, and has a good online demeanor. He lives in San Diego, so he's had a lot to say about the fires in California this week. He's been very helpful to several people who were looking for information about people they haven't been able to reach. He seems to be a truly nice guy. But he posted this today and it really rubbed me the wrong way:

4 more bodies found. Although it sounds like they may have been illegals as border patrol agents found them. News is saying death toll is up to 10 as a result of firestorms. Sad.

"Although"? Although what? Four more people died, although they don't really count because they were here illegally? What the hell?

If it were any number of other people who regularly tick me off with careless shit like this, and I were in the mood for a fight, I'd call him on it. But he's a decent guy, and he CAN'T have meant that the way it sounded.

So, there you have it. I realize it's of no interest to anyone but me, but I had to get those two things off my chest before I got too much more worked up about it.

Now I'm off to eat Thai food with my husband. Anyone want to place bets on what he's going to say to tick me off? I seem to be ready for a fight!

Random Thoughts

1) I have huge respect for people who do this blog thing every day. As I've mentioned before I *thought* I had a lot to say, but I seem to have overestimated my need to express myself. It turns out that the longer you go between entries, the more difficult it is to dive in. It's sort of like when you put off returning a phone call, and then you realize it's been too long, and you can't call now because that would just be weird. . .

2) I've become inexplicably addicted to Dancing with the Stars. There's really no way to explain it. I don't like "reality" programming (well, except for Top Chef and Project Runway, and one other that I absolutely REFUSE to admit to publicly) but I started watching Dancing with the Stars last season with my kids and somehow I got hooked. I'm fascinated by the motivation of the celebrities who agree to do it, and by the skill of the professional dancers. I also love the fact that the show provides a lucrative and public outlet for professional ballroom dancers who have worked their butts off in an area that traditionally provides little (if any?) financial reward or notoriety.

3) Today, thanks to my infidel friend Jake, I've been thinking about toast. I love toast. I love the smell of toast toasting toastily. I love the scritchy scratchy sound a dull knife makes as I spread the butter on across the crumby golden surface. I love the slightly crunchy but still tender toothsomeness that indicates toasty perfection. I especially love a warm piece of nutty whole-grain toast topped immediately with a thin slice of mild white cheese--so the cheese softens slightly but does not truly melt. Toast, in the words of my 7-year-old, rocks.

For Sara. . .

Two things. . .

Today I discovered the fascinating tool that is the Stumbleupon toolbar. Available at stumbleupon.com, this cool toolbar gathers users' interests and offers up seemingly random websites based on those interests. The user then "rates" each site according to whether he or she likes it or not. This, in turn, allows the tool to fine-tune the data and provide more "relevant" sites.

First, let me say that I realize this is a real time killer. Nonetheless, it's oddly compelling. I've spent the last half hour surfing idly through the sites it's given me, and it's been fascinating, to say the least.

Transition now to the following List of unusual deaths from Wikipedia.

My first thought when this popped up was what the hell?? But then I started reading. It's rather like an accident you just can't turn away from. I couldn't make myself stop reading. I have no idea what among my interests lead me to this, but I've learned a lot. I can't decide, though, which are more interesting: the unusual deaths among the early Romans or those of today's men and women. I think this may be my personal favorite--207 BC: Chrysippus, a Greek stoic philosopher, is believed to have died of laughter after watching his drunken donkey attempt to eat figs.[2]

It Would Be a Better World If My Friends Were in Charge!

I just read a journal entry by my friend Jake that is, in my opinion, the best commentary I have read on the Jena 6 controversy. Here, in Jake's words, is my opinion of situation . . .

Drastically reduce the charges against the Jena 6!

Granted, that doesn't have quite the same ring as "Free the Jena 6", but I have difficulty believing the justice is served by freeing six men who are apparently guilty of beating a fellow student. It is my belief that justice is better served by charging, trying, and, if found guilty, sentencing these gents appropriately.

And then going after the authorities who let this happen. Going after them hard.

Let's go back to the start on this one. The tree incident. Or rather, the nooses hanging from the tree. I'm not aware of any cultural context in which nooses hanging from a tree constitutes a welcoming gesture, but in the south, they send a very specific and unmistakable message. I give credit to the school principal for not playing dumb and immediately recommending the expulsion of the three students involved. Unfortunately, he was overruled and the incident was labelled a "prank" by the authorities.

This is precisely the sort of things our hate crimes laws are for. They're not about punishing someone for being a racist or beating someone up because they're gay. Hate crimes are crimes that are intended to terrorise a targeted segment of the population. They send a Message. I think it's safe to say that the nooses sent a message that's so clear that it would be condescending to try to explain it. That's what a hate crime is.

The rest of the story isn't very complicated. Race relations deteriorated and, in every incident, if a white person beat up or pulled a gun on a black person, they were either not prosecuted or else given probation. If a black person beat up a white person or had the audicity to wrestle away a gun that had been pulled on them, the prosecutor threw to book at them. It's really that simple.

And, when I say "threw the book", understand this: The white kid was beaten unconscious. It was not an inconsequential beating, although it wasn't serious enough to keep him from attending a function later that night. However, the prosecutor insisted on trying the men for attempted murder. Aside from the fact that, in a six on one fight, any serious "attempt" at murder is going to be more than just an attempt, the prosecutor had to claim that a tennis shoe was a "deadly weapon" in order to make the charge.

The Jena 6 face decades in jail. Obviously, that isn't right. I'm all for reducing the charge to simple battery, the same thing that the white kid who beat one of the Jena 6 not long before was charged with. Give them probation, or a few days in jail, or what ever is appropriate. That strikes me as more just than just letting them free.

I don't even really care about the noose-hangers at this point. They are effectively damned to their own pissant little lives of fear and stupidity. Sure, they probably should go to prison for what they did, but I'm not certain that's any worse than just letting them be who they are.

But the law enforcement community in Jena? Oh yeah, nail those bastards. One thing that has been made abundantly clear by this episode is that there are two justice systems in Jena, separate but not remotely equal. These folks are entrusted with serving the community and they have failed. They're like a priest who diddles choirboys, or a soldier who changes sides, or anyone else in a postion of trust who abuses and corrupts that trust. There's supposedly a special place in Hell for these types, but I don't have much faith in Hell. I am quite certain, however, that there's a special place in prison for them.

Leonard Pitts, if you ever need a smart white apprentice, I know just the right guy for the job. . .

Thanks, Jake, for letting me quote you.

My Geriatric Moment

This evening I was at a local restaurant with Davy and the girls. The chatty young server (her name was Synthia--with an "S") told us this story about one time when she was at Applebees playing Dungeons and Dragons with some friends. The point of the story is irrelevant, but I was fascinated by the idea of this group of people going to Applebees, of all places, to play D&D. Even more than that, I was surprised by the fact that people were still playing Dungeons and Dragons. And we're not talking about people my age.

So I ask Synthia how old she is. "Twenty-one," she tells me. To which I reply, "Wow. I didn't realize kids were still playing Dungeons and Dragons." KIDS???? WTF? Who am I, George Burns? Next thing you know I'm going to be out on the lawn with my Sansabelts hiked up to my chest, hollering at the neighborhood kids for riding their bikes in my grass.

When, exactly, did I turn 70?

I'm certainly not doing a very good job at keep up with this blog. I'm not a "blogger" by any means. But I'm determined to keep it, and here's why. Every now and then I feel like I have something important to say. Something absolutely worth the effort that I make by posting the entry and the effort that you make by logging in to read it.

Now is not one of those times.

And yet, I continue to type.

The incident that compelled me to post for the first time in a month is that I read a funny word--an insult, actually--on a comment to a blog entry at bravotv.com. In reaction to a blog entry about last night's Top Chef elimination, a viewer referred to a particulary dickish judge as a "jackhole."

Hah! Jackhole.

That made me laugh.

And that, my friends, is the end of this entry. . .

That took way too long. . .

Gonzales Resigns

Although I feel a little bit sorry for him. It's got to blow when you screw something up as badly as he has and everybody knows about it.

Just to get that other post off the top, I have one thing to say. . .

I hate mosquitoes.

The One Where I Talk About My Weight

Yeah. I know. It's the elephant in the room (ha--I'm still so clever, even through this veil of virtual tears). Those of you who know me in person know I busted my ass and lost a bunch of weight two years ago. 63 pounds, to be specific, which is no paltry amount when we're talking about a 5 foot frame. I spent, what, maybe 3 days at my goal weight? And then it started creeping back. I weighed myself yesterday after making the disturbing discovery that very little in my closet fits me. And here's the disappointing truth. Over the past two years, I've gained back 40 of the 63 pounds I'd lost.

Crap!

To anyone who feels compelled to think "Well, duh, if you go back to your old lazy-ass, eat-anything-you-want ways, of course you're going to gain it back," I would like to point out that I have not, in fact, returned to my old, lazy-ass, eat-anything-I-want ways. In fact, I'm still working out regularly and I'm still trying to be aware of everything I eat and make good choices each day. There is no question that I'm doing things better than I was before. But obviously it's not enough.

So, in the inspiring words of Sean (who, I'm quite sure was NOT referring to his weight when he posted these thoughts in his blog):

"hmmm...

what am i doing

i think something needs to change"

Yes, that much is clear. But what?

Figs for Sale!

Fresh, ripe, juicy, drippy figs for sale.

Not really. I'll give them to you for free. Show up with a ladder and help yourself.

Seriously!!!