Whew! Shake it off, walk it out. Thanks for everyone who chimed in and yanked me out of my 'lil self-pity party. That was some seriously interesting delurking there, folks. Carl, who would have guessed you were still hanging around?
Carl is the ex-roommate of a guy I used to know. We used to chat late at night whenever I went shopping in at Miami's 24-hour Winn Dixie, though to be fair, he's on Pacific Time. Still, it's nice to have company when you're buying bread at 2 a.m.
Lauren is the sparkly youngest sister of one of my Brides-Turned-Friend. NO IDEA you were here, girl. :) Welcome.
Anyone else wanna come out of the woodwork? Shannon's having a little delurkfest, too. Go tell her your favorite ice cream flavor. (Ben and Jerry's Vanilla Heath Bar Crunch, or soft serve vanilla/orange sherbet twist.)
Friday, April 27, 2007
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
I bet the Donald doesn't stay up at night worrying.
I think I just fired my first client bride. This has never happened before, ever. She contacted me back in January. We went back and forth with the usual flirtations, and she gave me a verbal thumbs up four months ago.
Since then, we've been trying to meet to sign the contract. She has been sketchy the whole time. When I have spoken with her, she's all YES! You're the one! When can we sign contracts? And I say, how about Saturday, Sunday or Monday night? And she says, "Let me check with my fiancee!" And then I never hear from her. Ever.
Dude, do you have any idea how rude that is? If the shoe were on the other foot, and I was the one who noncommittal about meeting times, unreliable about returning phone calls, inconsistent in responding to emails, unclear about when we would be able to sign a contract, I would have Better Business Bureau reports coming out out of my yingyang. (Yes, I have a yingyang. It comes standard with every Canon camera.)
I finally laid it all on the line I simply must insist that we sign a contract and transact the deposit by May BlahdeBlah, 2007 or perhaps they should reach out to someone else. So far, no response. I'm gonna have a heart attack and die from the surprise.
Meanwhile, I have two other potential clients dragging their feet on decisions about me versus "other options." Why don't they want me? I want everyone to like me! Affirm me! LOVE ME! LOVE MY PICTURES! *sigh* crumbly mumble*
Since then, we've been trying to meet to sign the contract. She has been sketchy the whole time. When I have spoken with her, she's all YES! You're the one! When can we sign contracts? And I say, how about Saturday, Sunday or Monday night? And she says, "Let me check with my fiancee!" And then I never hear from her. Ever.
Dude, do you have any idea how rude that is? If the shoe were on the other foot, and I was the one who noncommittal about meeting times, unreliable about returning phone calls, inconsistent in responding to emails, unclear about when we would be able to sign a contract, I would have Better Business Bureau reports coming out out of my yingyang. (Yes, I have a yingyang. It comes standard with every Canon camera.)
I finally laid it all on the line I simply must insist that we sign a contract and transact the deposit by May BlahdeBlah, 2007 or perhaps they should reach out to someone else. So far, no response. I'm gonna have a heart attack and die from the surprise.
Meanwhile, I have two other potential clients dragging their feet on decisions about me versus "other options." Why don't they want me? I want everyone to like me! Affirm me! LOVE ME! LOVE MY PICTURES! *sigh* crumbly mumble*
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
On Mothers and Daughters
Alissa's mom got married on Friday. I was part of her wedding present. I jumped out of the cake wearing a top hat! I kid, it was a gift of wedding photography. Alissa's mom is so happy, and I'm so glad to see her so in love with a man who so obviously cherishes her. (I am, however, sorry I used the word "so" four times in that last sentence.)
One of the best things, for me personally anyway, was getting to spend six hours photographing her mom. There are so many little things that Alissa does that I never before noticed are so much like her mother, a certain face she makes when she's laughing really hard, the way her lip curves when she's concentrating, the way her eyes light up when she's happy.
I also got to spend a little time with Andrea and Lucy on my way South.
Lucy has such a little personality that I didn't get to see at her baptism, probably because she overstimulated with the other babies' crying and the head-dunking and the line of cooing relatives. She's incredibly sweet, ducking her head to hide in Andrea's neck when I first arrived, playing with her ear while nursing. She loves when you do the Mount WannaHockaLugey chant from "Finding Nemo" (Shark Bait! Boo Ha Ha!) and no one tells you how fun it is to dance around your friend's baby's nursery singing John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt at the top of your lungs.
EDITED TO ADD: You can see the rest of the photos of Lucy here.
And there's my own mom, who had a heart-to-heart with me and played Aggravation and went for a walk around the neighborhood late at night on the first evening it felt like summer. Good times.
One of the best things, for me personally anyway, was getting to spend six hours photographing her mom. There are so many little things that Alissa does that I never before noticed are so much like her mother, a certain face she makes when she's laughing really hard, the way her lip curves when she's concentrating, the way her eyes light up when she's happy.
I also got to spend a little time with Andrea and Lucy on my way South.
Lucy has such a little personality that I didn't get to see at her baptism, probably because she overstimulated with the other babies' crying and the head-dunking and the line of cooing relatives. She's incredibly sweet, ducking her head to hide in Andrea's neck when I first arrived, playing with her ear while nursing. She loves when you do the Mount WannaHockaLugey chant from "Finding Nemo" (Shark Bait! Boo Ha Ha!) and no one tells you how fun it is to dance around your friend's baby's nursery singing John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt at the top of your lungs.
EDITED TO ADD: You can see the rest of the photos of Lucy here.
And there's my own mom, who had a heart-to-heart with me and played Aggravation and went for a walk around the neighborhood late at night on the first evening it felt like summer. Good times.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Let me tell you about the last hour.
Swear to God, I am not making any of this up. I'm blogging to keep from screaming.
At 10:05 p.m., I suggested that Joel and I watch an episode of the West Wing. But first, we had to find the remote. We couldn't find the remote. It was an incredibly frustrating search. We tore the couch apart, looked over, under and in everything in the living room.
And then, we couldn't find the disk. SAY IT WITH ME- We tore the couch apart, looked over, under and in everything in the living room. We checked every laptop, and I'm started to go a little nutty with irritation. It was in the DVD player last night. I personally saw it when I took it out of the DVD player to test DVDs of Lucy's baptism. It's nowhere.
Joel is laughing helplessly at me, because I'm storming around, so I redirect my rage at the fact that he's wearing his big, clompy shoes 1.) in the house that I just cleaned 2.) late at night, which I'm sure the downstairs neighbors love and 3.) near my fragile delicate bare feet, which he steps on. Frequently.
10:12 p.m.
Me: "Please. Please! PLEASE!.... please... Take. Off. Your. Shoes. In about five seconds, I am going to start playing with my eyebrows.... 5, 4-
Him: (helpless laughter)
Me: (playing with eyebrows)
Him: You only got to four!
Me: I want. to find. this disk. WHY ARE WE LIKE THIS?!?
10:17 p.m.
How on Earth did we get rid of the couch that spits people out on the floor, only to get the Couch That Eats DVDs?
Then I remember that last night when I was burning disks of the baptism, I had a few duds. And I threw them away. With the cat litter. And some other stuff. Joel hands me a flashlight.
10:35 p.m. I find the West Wing DVD in the trash.
10:37 p.m. Joel asks me if I'm feeling better now that we found the disk. I tell him, calmer now, that I *really* don't like losing my cool over the small stuff, but with the two of us, there is so much small stuff. So many keys broken while trying to open the door (current count: 3 in four years), so many mugs broken, so many cell phones dropped, lost or otherwise decommissioned. All I wanted was to pop in a DVD and snuggle on the couch with my boyfriend.
10:38 p.m. We get comfy and joke about the fact that something that takes other people 45 seconds takes us more than half an hour.
10:40 p.m. The DVD? Is stuck on French.
Me: What about being in close proximity to dirty kitty litter and a few dud DVDs of a baby's baptism could possibly MAKE THE WEST WING FRENCH?!?
Him: (helpless laughter, pushing buttons on the remote)
The French is turned off! Hooray! Time for snuggling!
10:42 p.m. We've already seen this episode. But the remote is stuck or something. We can't fast forward, go to the main disc menu, nothing. None of it. Nada. I am nearly apopletic with frustration.
10:44 p.m. We're on the right episode! We're watching! We're snuggling!
Quick aside: On the day we got back from vacation, we bought groceries. We got distracted by the fact that our Internet connection crapped out when we were away, and we forgot to put away a bag of food. Bella ate a loaf of bread and nine raw eggs while and I desperately tried to access my assignments for the next day and Joel argued with a customer service woman from our internet service provider in Bombay. She turned into a blast-ended skrewt for a while- shooting fire out of both ends- (Bella, not the cusotmer service woman in Bombay) and in that time period, she puked in her crate. Joel soaked the crate cushion cover to remove most of the filth, but it's sitting in a wash basket, ready to be washed.
10:52 p.m. Fred is sitting in the wash basket with the crate cushion cover. NO! He's PEEING on the crate cushion cover! I literally stand over him, shouting, "WHY? WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS? You have to stop! You have to stop peeing. You HAVE to stop peeing. STOP IT RIGHT NOW!
10:53 p.m. The pee, she is flowing.
I pick up the wash basket, peeing cat and all, and carry it into the bathroom. "You have a litter box! You have a litter box right here!" He finishes, then returns to the place in the living room where the basket was sitting, and starts pawing at the hardwood floor, just pawing at the invisible kitty litter? I think? Who the fuck knows.
Joel, lovely man, says, "We've got to wash this right now." It's true, if we waited until morning, the cat pee smell would take hold and overwhelm the house. Fuck.
I dump the pee out of the wash basket directly into the toilet. Joel carries the pukey, pissy crate cover to the washer. He leaves the door open. Fred runs down the stairs to rub his head on his mistress, the Bike. Fair thee well, demon from Hell.
10:54 p.m. Joel, love of my life, accidentally got a strong whiff of the cat pee smell. He runs back upstairs, gagging, and vomits. He does not make it to the toilet in time. There's puke on the floor, the toilet, and my personal favorite, the clean white bath rug.
Did I mention I just cleaned yesterday?
10: 55 p.m. He apologizes, so sincerely and sweetly, that it stops me from tearing off my own arm so I have something to beat myself with. He promises to clean it up, and using logic that mystifies me, grabs a dozen dinner napkins, wipes up the puke and tosses them all in the toilet. Our rickety, charming old plumbing isn't going to flush that shit (metaphorically), so WE HAVE TO FISH THE PUKEY DINNER NAPKINS BACK OUT OF THE TOILET.
I find myself longing for the part of this hour when the TV was merely stuck on French.
11:05 p.m. Exactly one hour after we started this Greek tragedy, this Oresteia of TV watching and attempted snuggling, we have achieved our goal. I hear.. slurpiness. But Bella's water bowl was empty. I know it was. I almost tripped over it carrying Fred the Peeing Whackjob to the bathroom.
Joel jumps up and finds that the slurpiness is Bella drinking out of the toilet.
Him: I think I want to kill myself.
Me: I'm so blogging this. You know that, right?
At 10:05 p.m., I suggested that Joel and I watch an episode of the West Wing. But first, we had to find the remote. We couldn't find the remote. It was an incredibly frustrating search. We tore the couch apart, looked over, under and in everything in the living room.
And then, we couldn't find the disk. SAY IT WITH ME- We tore the couch apart, looked over, under and in everything in the living room. We checked every laptop, and I'm started to go a little nutty with irritation. It was in the DVD player last night. I personally saw it when I took it out of the DVD player to test DVDs of Lucy's baptism. It's nowhere.
Joel is laughing helplessly at me, because I'm storming around, so I redirect my rage at the fact that he's wearing his big, clompy shoes 1.) in the house that I just cleaned 2.) late at night, which I'm sure the downstairs neighbors love and 3.) near my fragile delicate bare feet, which he steps on. Frequently.
10:12 p.m.
Me: "Please. Please! PLEASE!.... please... Take. Off. Your. Shoes. In about five seconds, I am going to start playing with my eyebrows.... 5, 4-
Him: (helpless laughter)
Me: (playing with eyebrows)
Him: You only got to four!
Me: I want. to find. this disk. WHY ARE WE LIKE THIS?!?
10:17 p.m.
How on Earth did we get rid of the couch that spits people out on the floor, only to get the Couch That Eats DVDs?
Then I remember that last night when I was burning disks of the baptism, I had a few duds. And I threw them away. With the cat litter. And some other stuff. Joel hands me a flashlight.
10:35 p.m. I find the West Wing DVD in the trash.
10:37 p.m. Joel asks me if I'm feeling better now that we found the disk. I tell him, calmer now, that I *really* don't like losing my cool over the small stuff, but with the two of us, there is so much small stuff. So many keys broken while trying to open the door (current count: 3 in four years), so many mugs broken, so many cell phones dropped, lost or otherwise decommissioned. All I wanted was to pop in a DVD and snuggle on the couch with my boyfriend.
10:38 p.m. We get comfy and joke about the fact that something that takes other people 45 seconds takes us more than half an hour.
10:40 p.m. The DVD? Is stuck on French.
Me: What about being in close proximity to dirty kitty litter and a few dud DVDs of a baby's baptism could possibly MAKE THE WEST WING FRENCH?!?
Him: (helpless laughter, pushing buttons on the remote)
The French is turned off! Hooray! Time for snuggling!
10:42 p.m. We've already seen this episode. But the remote is stuck or something. We can't fast forward, go to the main disc menu, nothing. None of it. Nada. I am nearly apopletic with frustration.
10:44 p.m. We're on the right episode! We're watching! We're snuggling!
Quick aside: On the day we got back from vacation, we bought groceries. We got distracted by the fact that our Internet connection crapped out when we were away, and we forgot to put away a bag of food. Bella ate a loaf of bread and nine raw eggs while and I desperately tried to access my assignments for the next day and Joel argued with a customer service woman from our internet service provider in Bombay. She turned into a blast-ended skrewt for a while- shooting fire out of both ends- (Bella, not the cusotmer service woman in Bombay) and in that time period, she puked in her crate. Joel soaked the crate cushion cover to remove most of the filth, but it's sitting in a wash basket, ready to be washed.
10:52 p.m. Fred is sitting in the wash basket with the crate cushion cover. NO! He's PEEING on the crate cushion cover! I literally stand over him, shouting, "WHY? WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS? You have to stop! You have to stop peeing. You HAVE to stop peeing. STOP IT RIGHT NOW!
10:53 p.m. The pee, she is flowing.
I pick up the wash basket, peeing cat and all, and carry it into the bathroom. "You have a litter box! You have a litter box right here!" He finishes, then returns to the place in the living room where the basket was sitting, and starts pawing at the hardwood floor, just pawing at the invisible kitty litter? I think? Who the fuck knows.
Joel, lovely man, says, "We've got to wash this right now." It's true, if we waited until morning, the cat pee smell would take hold and overwhelm the house. Fuck.
I dump the pee out of the wash basket directly into the toilet. Joel carries the pukey, pissy crate cover to the washer. He leaves the door open. Fred runs down the stairs to rub his head on his mistress, the Bike. Fair thee well, demon from Hell.
10:54 p.m. Joel, love of my life, accidentally got a strong whiff of the cat pee smell. He runs back upstairs, gagging, and vomits. He does not make it to the toilet in time. There's puke on the floor, the toilet, and my personal favorite, the clean white bath rug.
Did I mention I just cleaned yesterday?
10: 55 p.m. He apologizes, so sincerely and sweetly, that it stops me from tearing off my own arm so I have something to beat myself with. He promises to clean it up, and using logic that mystifies me, grabs a dozen dinner napkins, wipes up the puke and tosses them all in the toilet. Our rickety, charming old plumbing isn't going to flush that shit (metaphorically), so WE HAVE TO FISH THE PUKEY DINNER NAPKINS BACK OUT OF THE TOILET.
I find myself longing for the part of this hour when the TV was merely stuck on French.
11:05 p.m. Exactly one hour after we started this Greek tragedy, this Oresteia of TV watching and attempted snuggling, we have achieved our goal. I hear.. slurpiness. But Bella's water bowl was empty. I know it was. I almost tripped over it carrying Fred the Peeing Whackjob to the bathroom.
Joel jumps up and finds that the slurpiness is Bella drinking out of the toilet.
Him: I think I want to kill myself.
Me: I'm so blogging this. You know that, right?
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Monday, April 16, 2007
I don't like Mondays
In addition to the state of emergency we've got going on here from the Nor'easter, the unbelievable tragedy at Virginia Tech, I've been to three flood sites, a house fire and as I write this I'm waiting outside a house where an armed gunman is barricaded inside with a number of weapons. His hostage is probably dead.
Tell me why
I don't like Mondays
Tell me why
I don't like Mondays
Tell me why
I don't like Mondays
I want to shoot
The whole day down, down, down
Shoot it all down
And now the playing's stopped in the playground now
She wants to play with her toys awhile
And school's out early and soon we'll be learning
And the lesson today is how to die
And then the bullhorn crackles
And the captain tackles
With the problems and the how's and why's
And he can see no reasons
Cos there are no reasons
What reason do you need to die, die, oh oh oh
And the silicon chip inside her head
Gets switched to overload
And nobody's gonna go to school today
She's gonna make them stay at home
And daddy doesn't understand it
He always said she was good as gold
And he can see no reasons
Cos there are no reasons
What reason do you need to be shown
Tell me why
I don't like Mondays
Tell me why
I don't like Mondays
Tell me why
I don't like, I don't like
I don't like Mondays
Tell me why
I don't like, I don't like
I don't like Mondays
Tell me why
I don't like Mondays
I want to shoot
The whole day down
Tell me why
I don't like Mondays
Tell me why
I don't like Mondays
Tell me why
I don't like Mondays
I want to shoot
The whole day down, down, down
Shoot it all down
And now the playing's stopped in the playground now
She wants to play with her toys awhile
And school's out early and soon we'll be learning
And the lesson today is how to die
And then the bullhorn crackles
And the captain tackles
With the problems and the how's and why's
And he can see no reasons
Cos there are no reasons
What reason do you need to die, die, oh oh oh
And the silicon chip inside her head
Gets switched to overload
And nobody's gonna go to school today
She's gonna make them stay at home
And daddy doesn't understand it
He always said she was good as gold
And he can see no reasons
Cos there are no reasons
What reason do you need to be shown
Tell me why
I don't like Mondays
Tell me why
I don't like Mondays
Tell me why
I don't like, I don't like
I don't like Mondays
Tell me why
I don't like, I don't like
I don't like Mondays
Tell me why
I don't like Mondays
I want to shoot
The whole day down
Reason # 9784 that Joel and I want to buy a house here.
The town of Nyack voted to impeach President Bush. Sort of. My video from the event is here.
(If the video doesn't pop up immediately on your browser, scroll down and click on the one with the guy holding the "impeach" sign.)
At one point, people are actually booing AND hissing. I knew people booed, but I didn't think people actually hissed. It's true.
(If the video doesn't pop up immediately on your browser, scroll down and click on the one with the guy holding the "impeach" sign.)
At one point, people are actually booing AND hissing. I knew people booed, but I didn't think people actually hissed. It's true.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
New Content
The photos from Lucy's baptism are online here.
All of my photos from the Jackson trip are online here.
I also have a few new slideshows online at work, with links in the Audio Slideshows sidebar. Working on this particular story was kind of surreal.
All of my photos from the Jackson trip are online here.
I also have a few new slideshows online at work, with links in the Audio Slideshows sidebar. Working on this particular story was kind of surreal.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
A Few Additional Things
We're home! Just a few things I worked on during the long ride home. First up, a YouTube video of our adventures that I edited on the plane. It's less two minutes long and features Joel and me dancing like idiots.
(I will post a flickr slideshow of all the nature photographs tomorrow.)
Second, an entry I wrote during the flight...
Joel and I decided to rent bikes one day and ride out through the National Elk Refuge. Sounds simple and easy enough, no? Um, did you forget whose blog you're reading? :) The man at the sporting goods rental place was super enthusiastic about getting our credit card number.... and then he disappeared "in the back" for about ten minutes. The other employees were miffed when we were like, "Um, what? Should we just... pick out bikes?"
And then I revealed my Nature Girl prowess by PUTTING THE BIKE HELMET ON BACKWARDS, like HELLO, just kill me now. I had to ask how to lower the seat, and I thought the guy was going to piss his pants laughing when I asked about a kick stand. Oh, I'm sorry, I guess I missed the Universal Badass Outdoorswoman Seminar.
Grr. Anyway, we were Determined! To have! The Fun! After a wobbly ride through town, we reached the elk refuge trail. And we did have The Fun. It was hard, at first, particularly because of the high altitude, but also because I haven't properly ridden a bike since, oh, the day I got my driver's license? Also, pedaling through suburbia for a Slushey and biking around a National Park are not the same thing.
AT. ALL.
We ended up doing ten miles total. We each carried 18 pounds of camera gear and wouldn't you know it? We didn't take a single picture. At that point, most of the elk had migrated north out of the preserve. We had a little picnic and all was idyllic until I laid my head in Joel's lap to look up at the puffy clouds. When we got up to ride back, Joel lovingly pointed out that I had been laying on top of an anthill. I now have ten special red bumps on my lower back where my sweatshirt must have ridden up. Their names are Larry, Moe, Jack, Curly, Shemp, Itchy, Scratchy, President Bartlett, Zoe and Bobo the Clown.
We also went skiing, and as much as I'd like to keep you all hunched over at your desks snorting coffee out of your noses, I had an amazing day. I couldn't believe it. I used to ski when I was 12, just as an intermediate. I had a really bad experience where I got in over my head on an icy hill at Ski Roundtop. It was an ABC After-School Special type experience where I learned a Very Important Lesson about peer pressure and not relying on Rinny Gogers' judgment and advice. After Kim Hope died in similar circumstances a few years later, I never got back out there.
Until Saturday. I spent six hours with a thorough instructor named Chris at Teton Village. By the end of the day, he had me skiing on three different runs, turning, stopping, shushing, using poles and best of all, consistently getting off the ski lift without making a total ass out of myself. By far, one of the best days of the trip, of 2007 so far.
Tomorrow it's back to the usual bump and grind.
(I will post a flickr slideshow of all the nature photographs tomorrow.)
Second, an entry I wrote during the flight...
Joel and I decided to rent bikes one day and ride out through the National Elk Refuge. Sounds simple and easy enough, no? Um, did you forget whose blog you're reading? :) The man at the sporting goods rental place was super enthusiastic about getting our credit card number.... and then he disappeared "in the back" for about ten minutes. The other employees were miffed when we were like, "Um, what? Should we just... pick out bikes?"
And then I revealed my Nature Girl prowess by PUTTING THE BIKE HELMET ON BACKWARDS, like HELLO, just kill me now. I had to ask how to lower the seat, and I thought the guy was going to piss his pants laughing when I asked about a kick stand. Oh, I'm sorry, I guess I missed the Universal Badass Outdoorswoman Seminar.
Grr. Anyway, we were Determined! To have! The Fun! After a wobbly ride through town, we reached the elk refuge trail. And we did have The Fun. It was hard, at first, particularly because of the high altitude, but also because I haven't properly ridden a bike since, oh, the day I got my driver's license? Also, pedaling through suburbia for a Slushey and biking around a National Park are not the same thing.
AT. ALL.
We ended up doing ten miles total. We each carried 18 pounds of camera gear and wouldn't you know it? We didn't take a single picture. At that point, most of the elk had migrated north out of the preserve. We had a little picnic and all was idyllic until I laid my head in Joel's lap to look up at the puffy clouds. When we got up to ride back, Joel lovingly pointed out that I had been laying on top of an anthill. I now have ten special red bumps on my lower back where my sweatshirt must have ridden up. Their names are Larry, Moe, Jack, Curly, Shemp, Itchy, Scratchy, President Bartlett, Zoe and Bobo the Clown.
We also went skiing, and as much as I'd like to keep you all hunched over at your desks snorting coffee out of your noses, I had an amazing day. I couldn't believe it. I used to ski when I was 12, just as an intermediate. I had a really bad experience where I got in over my head on an icy hill at Ski Roundtop. It was an ABC After-School Special type experience where I learned a Very Important Lesson about peer pressure and not relying on Rinny Gogers' judgment and advice. After Kim Hope died in similar circumstances a few years later, I never got back out there.
Until Saturday. I spent six hours with a thorough instructor named Chris at Teton Village. By the end of the day, he had me skiing on three different runs, turning, stopping, shushing, using poles and best of all, consistently getting off the ski lift without making a total ass out of myself. By far, one of the best days of the trip, of 2007 so far.
Tomorrow it's back to the usual bump and grind.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
So Much To Say
Joel and I have been in Jackson Hole, Wyoming for five days now. Every day, I think of things I want to blog about. We banter back in forth ideas for entries, although my initial impulse to pen a version of "Mein Kampf" and consider a final solution against vomit-soaked children on airplanes was summarily rejected by my own moral conscious and Political Correctness Meter. (imagine a blaring alarm and blinking sign) NOT FUNNY! NOT FUNNY!
Still, though, dude. If your child, bless him, vomits all over himself on the plane, not one time, but in a continuous pattern of FIVE wet, gargly heaving episodes of vomitlicious stench, is it not time for pediatric Dramamine? No? Well, do you have a spare t-shirt for him perhaps? Ah, maybe next time. Can I offer you a wet nap? Can the rest of the plane pass a hat and offer you our collective forty wet naps? Can you at least keep him from standing in his seat and leaning over the back of it to invade our minuscule personal space? No, no! Please don't misunderstand! I'm a jolly, experienced air traveler! I've played many a game of peekaboo with kids on planes! Silly Face-Offs! I ROCK at Silly Face-Offs! It's the flecks of vomit that are precariously close to dropping on to my snack tray I object to.
Ahem. After we landed, we learned that the south entrance to Yellowstone (the one that leads to Old Faithful and Other Highly Photogenic Geological Places) was still blocked by snow. Boo! Ironically, the snowfall here in Jackson has been at record lows, so all the dog sled tours and snowmobiling are finished! finito! caput! for the season. We DID check all this online, by the way, before we booked this trip. The National Parks website was all, "Come to Yellowstone! The South entrance is TOTALLY open and stuff!" While the winter sports companies' websites all said, "We have snow 'til JUNE! Whee!"
LIES. ALL LIES. We've been finding plenty of ways to entertain ourselves, however.
Me: Knock, knock.
Him: Who's there?
Me: A Moose that just doesn't seem give a shit about us standing here, 10 feet away.
Him: Knock, knock.
Me: Who's there?
Him: A moose that, all of a sudden, really does care that we're here. Quite a bit.
Me: Uh, yeah.
We've been driving around with Aaron Copland coming out of the iPod, and it just seems so fitting and right and beautiful here. There are herds of free-roaming buffalo and elk, and it makes me want to fight so hard for conservation and ecologic activism. If it's still this gorgeous, and wild, and clean, then all hope isn't all lost. We can still make it right. Make Al Gore proud!
We're passing all kinds of signs for landmarks I mostly know about thanks to a fourth-grade obsession with the old computer game
Oregon Trail, like Snake River, and it makes me want to "hire a Shoshone guide" instead of "caulking the wagon to float it across" and "stop to rest" because "Joel has cholera." (Joel doesn't really have cholera. There's always tomorrow. I'll keep you posted.)
Seriously, though... there are enough historical sites and landmarks that I can't help but think about the people who settled the West. The mountains are so imposing, the weather so unpredictable. We hike to crumbling barns, pass through turn-of-the-century ranches, take the mountain pass road with its "CAUTION: Drifting Show May Make Roads Unpassable" signs over to Idaho to go to a microbrewery, and I think of the pioneers and DAMN do they deserve our respect.
Of course, it doesn't take much to get my panties in a twist thinking about the mass genocide of indigenous people who lived and ruled this great land of ours long before the Mayflower landed at Plymouth Rock. My liberal, bleeding heart flinches at every cigar store Indian for sale here, all the "authentic" Indian souvenirs. A 360 degree turn in downtown Jackson Hole can boggles the mind with its carnival of stereotypes: the noble savage, the doe-eyed squaw, the bloodthirsty demon, the friendly native, hey! It's all here!
Oh, my politics never go on vacation, do they? The truth is, there is another kind of manifest destiny at work here. The bend-over-backwards pandering to the tremendously wealthy is kind of overwhelming. There are three Thai restaurants, at least four places to get sushi. The general store boasts a big sign "ESPRESSO" and the bulletin boards all encourage wealthy tourists to "Come to the Jackson Hole Athletic Club for Spinning Classes!" when there are hundreds of bike trails and at least seven places to rent bikes. There are three tanning salons, and the decidedly upscale shops downtown seem better suited in Stepford than in a place where the moose keep a wary eye on the outgoing flights.
And yet... overpowering all the analysis and over-thinking is peace.
Joel and I have been out shooting quite a few times, overwhelmed by thousands of migrating elk, an elusive beaver, all incredibly photogenic, if it weren't for decidedly sucky light, or too many miles between the herd and ourselves that even our most telephoto lenses can't compensate for it. And so we find ourselves unable to capture it in pictures. We pause and say: "This may be one of those moments we just have to enjoy for what it is."
I've been surprised, though. I want to share this one last photograph with you. I'd have to really blow up on my screen for you to appreciate the life teeming within it. I didn't see it all when I clicked the shutter. Yes, I saw a few of the cranes on the riverbanks, but it wasn't until I got back to the hotel that I saw all eight. I could see the elk moving swiftly along the horizon line, (those itty bitty brown dots,) but it wasn't until I got back to the hotel that I saw the miniscule wolf that was keeping them moving. (Actually if you click on the photo below, an enlargement will load on your screen. You can see the cranes and the elk, but you really have to strain to see the wolf. He's low to the ground, facing the elk, between the eighth and ninth elk from the left.)
Still, though, dude. If your child, bless him, vomits all over himself on the plane, not one time, but in a continuous pattern of FIVE wet, gargly heaving episodes of vomitlicious stench, is it not time for pediatric Dramamine? No? Well, do you have a spare t-shirt for him perhaps? Ah, maybe next time. Can I offer you a wet nap? Can the rest of the plane pass a hat and offer you our collective forty wet naps? Can you at least keep him from standing in his seat and leaning over the back of it to invade our minuscule personal space? No, no! Please don't misunderstand! I'm a jolly, experienced air traveler! I've played many a game of peekaboo with kids on planes! Silly Face-Offs! I ROCK at Silly Face-Offs! It's the flecks of vomit that are precariously close to dropping on to my snack tray I object to.
Ahem. After we landed, we learned that the south entrance to Yellowstone (the one that leads to Old Faithful and Other Highly Photogenic Geological Places) was still blocked by snow. Boo! Ironically, the snowfall here in Jackson has been at record lows, so all the dog sled tours and snowmobiling are finished! finito! caput! for the season. We DID check all this online, by the way, before we booked this trip. The National Parks website was all, "Come to Yellowstone! The South entrance is TOTALLY open and stuff!" While the winter sports companies' websites all said, "We have snow 'til JUNE! Whee!"
LIES. ALL LIES. We've been finding plenty of ways to entertain ourselves, however.
Me: Knock, knock.
Him: Who's there?
Me: A Moose that just doesn't seem give a shit about us standing here, 10 feet away.
Him: Knock, knock.
Me: Who's there?
Him: A moose that, all of a sudden, really does care that we're here. Quite a bit.
Me: Uh, yeah.
We've been driving around with Aaron Copland coming out of the iPod, and it just seems so fitting and right and beautiful here. There are herds of free-roaming buffalo and elk, and it makes me want to fight so hard for conservation and ecologic activism. If it's still this gorgeous, and wild, and clean, then all hope isn't all lost. We can still make it right. Make Al Gore proud!
We're passing all kinds of signs for landmarks I mostly know about thanks to a fourth-grade obsession with the old computer game
Oregon Trail, like Snake River, and it makes me want to "hire a Shoshone guide" instead of "caulking the wagon to float it across" and "stop to rest" because "Joel has cholera." (Joel doesn't really have cholera. There's always tomorrow. I'll keep you posted.)
Seriously, though... there are enough historical sites and landmarks that I can't help but think about the people who settled the West. The mountains are so imposing, the weather so unpredictable. We hike to crumbling barns, pass through turn-of-the-century ranches, take the mountain pass road with its "CAUTION: Drifting Show May Make Roads Unpassable" signs over to Idaho to go to a microbrewery, and I think of the pioneers and DAMN do they deserve our respect.
Of course, it doesn't take much to get my panties in a twist thinking about the mass genocide of indigenous people who lived and ruled this great land of ours long before the Mayflower landed at Plymouth Rock. My liberal, bleeding heart flinches at every cigar store Indian for sale here, all the "authentic" Indian souvenirs. A 360 degree turn in downtown Jackson Hole can boggles the mind with its carnival of stereotypes: the noble savage, the doe-eyed squaw, the bloodthirsty demon, the friendly native, hey! It's all here!
Oh, my politics never go on vacation, do they? The truth is, there is another kind of manifest destiny at work here. The bend-over-backwards pandering to the tremendously wealthy is kind of overwhelming. There are three Thai restaurants, at least four places to get sushi. The general store boasts a big sign "ESPRESSO" and the bulletin boards all encourage wealthy tourists to "Come to the Jackson Hole Athletic Club for Spinning Classes!" when there are hundreds of bike trails and at least seven places to rent bikes. There are three tanning salons, and the decidedly upscale shops downtown seem better suited in Stepford than in a place where the moose keep a wary eye on the outgoing flights.
And yet... overpowering all the analysis and over-thinking is peace.
Joel and I have been out shooting quite a few times, overwhelmed by thousands of migrating elk, an elusive beaver, all incredibly photogenic, if it weren't for decidedly sucky light, or too many miles between the herd and ourselves that even our most telephoto lenses can't compensate for it. And so we find ourselves unable to capture it in pictures. We pause and say: "This may be one of those moments we just have to enjoy for what it is."
I've been surprised, though. I want to share this one last photograph with you. I'd have to really blow up on my screen for you to appreciate the life teeming within it. I didn't see it all when I clicked the shutter. Yes, I saw a few of the cranes on the riverbanks, but it wasn't until I got back to the hotel that I saw all eight. I could see the elk moving swiftly along the horizon line, (those itty bitty brown dots,) but it wasn't until I got back to the hotel that I saw the miniscule wolf that was keeping them moving. (Actually if you click on the photo below, an enlargement will load on your screen. You can see the cranes and the elk, but you really have to strain to see the wolf. He's low to the ground, facing the elk, between the eighth and ninth elk from the left.)
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Introducing Lucy
Man, this whole friends having kids thing is fantastic. Aiden, Gaby, Lucy, Luke, Melanie, Zak, (and Andrew, always in my heart) bring so much fun into my life, I can't even tell you.
Lucy belongs to Andrea, my friend from college whose baby shower I had a little trouble finding, and she is fantastic. She was baptized on Sunday, so Joel and I went down to the Greater Philly area to meet the baby, take pictures, and go to the party because- not gonna lie- Andrea's mom always puts out a fabulous spread. I kid! (sort of)
Andrea is an awesome mom. She is doing a great job. Lucy is in that deliciously chubbaloo bebe phase. I must confess; I totally munched on her head. She was baptized in a special service with nine other babies. The deacon was, um, verbose, and believe me, coming from me, that's saying something.
Lucy wishes the deacon would hurry up with the frame by frame description of the "Lion King."
Lucy was so good, hardly crying except for a little during the head-dunking bit.
But the other babies? OH THE CRYING. I grew up Catholic, and let me tell you, by the time the deacon used the word "exorcism" for the ninth time (which, what? I suppose he meant it in the general "Cleansing of Original Sin" sense) the sanctuary was like the old "cry room" at St. John Neumann's on CRACK.
Click below to hear a five second sample of the final moments of the service. I rest my case.
Joel and I are leaving for Jackson Hole in the morning. I will post a full flickr set and proper YouTube video of the baptism sooner or later, but perhaps not until after the 9th, depending on Wifi in the Grand Tetons. Happy Easter and Passover! Be good.
Final thought: Congrats, sweet girl. Your mom and dad love you so much. I can't wait to show you, through pictures and stories, just how proud of you we are, Lucy Goose. (Just for future reference, I will always have gum in my purse. After you grow teeth.)
Lucy belongs to Andrea, my friend from college whose baby shower I had a little trouble finding, and she is fantastic. She was baptized on Sunday, so Joel and I went down to the Greater Philly area to meet the baby, take pictures, and go to the party because- not gonna lie- Andrea's mom always puts out a fabulous spread. I kid! (sort of)
Andrea is an awesome mom. She is doing a great job. Lucy is in that deliciously chubbaloo bebe phase. I must confess; I totally munched on her head. She was baptized in a special service with nine other babies. The deacon was, um, verbose, and believe me, coming from me, that's saying something.
Lucy wishes the deacon would hurry up with the frame by frame description of the "Lion King."
Lucy was so good, hardly crying except for a little during the head-dunking bit.
But the other babies? OH THE CRYING. I grew up Catholic, and let me tell you, by the time the deacon used the word "exorcism" for the ninth time (which, what? I suppose he meant it in the general "Cleansing of Original Sin" sense) the sanctuary was like the old "cry room" at St. John Neumann's on CRACK.
Click below to hear a five second sample of the final moments of the service. I rest my case.
Joel and I are leaving for Jackson Hole in the morning. I will post a full flickr set and proper YouTube video of the baptism sooner or later, but perhaps not until after the 9th, depending on Wifi in the Grand Tetons. Happy Easter and Passover! Be good.
Final thought: Congrats, sweet girl. Your mom and dad love you so much. I can't wait to show you, through pictures and stories, just how proud of you we are, Lucy Goose. (Just for future reference, I will always have gum in my purse. After you grow teeth.)
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Tics, Tic-Tacs, Toes
Shannon tagged me for the Six Weird Things About Me Meme, so here they are. It is, indeed, an Idiosyncratic Life.
1. I don't really like chocolate that much. Sure, I'll go for chocolate-covered pretzels and the occasional chocolate-covered strawberry at the beach. I won't say no to chocolate cake with peanut butter icing, but I'm MUCH more of a cheesecake, carrot cake, vanilla, red velvet kind of girl.
2. I talk to myself. Out loud. Often. You know about my crazy memory, right? And I've written before about my ability to relive embarrassing moments in my life as intensely as if they were happening all over again for the very first time... You add those two instances of weirdness together, and you sometimes get me saying either "Shut up!" or "F*ck!" (here's the weird part) OUT LOUD to the people in the memory or the memory itself.
Even weirder, this frequently happens when I'm deep in thought or doing something time-consuming and mind-numbing, like scrubbing the bathtub. Whenever College Roommate Jo would hear me at it, she would just call out, "You tell those voices in your head who's boss!" :) Miss her.
(It's not Tourette's, by the way. I mean, it's definitely some kind of weird verbal tic, for sure, but I don't have any of the other neurological disruptions that come part and parcel with Tourette's syndrome.)
One time I was walking Bella around 2 p.m. on a week day. It was my day off, and I was still in my pajamas. As I was walking along, I remembered something that made me angry, and I did my little involuntary tic-y thing. A man saw me, and based on where he was standing, I couldn't even pretend I was on a cell phone with an ear bud on the opposite side.
Of course I am MOR.TI.FIED, so when he said, "Are you okay?" I kind of nodded, speechless with embarrassment. He was clearly looking at my pajama pants with concern (remember it's the middle of the afternoon) and trying to figure out what exactly was wrong with me and which mental institution I may have wandered out of. You know, with a dog! Or someti He asked, "Do you live around here?" He was somewhat of a sketchy character himself, so I kind of gestured vaguely to my street and prayed for the grou nd to open up and swallow me. Then I pulled out a poop bag for the dog, knowing in my heart of hearts that this would become one of those embarrassing memories at which I would someday curse out loud. Le sigh.
3. Speaking of wanting the earth to swallow me up, I had an elaborate imaginary escape world in elementary school. I used to imagine that I had similar powers to the girl in "Out of This World,"a cheesy short-lived TV show in the '80s. The protagonist could stop time by pressing her index fingertips together and unfreeze anyone she wanted by placing her hand on his or her shoulder.
If I didn't want to do something, like take a math test, I would imagine myself freezing the class and entering an elaborate underground hideout under my elementary school. I had an imaginary bed where I could take a nap, a pool to swim in, snacks, etc. As I got more self-conscious about my looks (this was directly related to a bad haircut I got in sixth grade that briefly earned me the nickname "Fro-ette"), I had an imaginary hair stylist in my imaginary hideout.
There were entrances to my imaginary escape world all over the school, mostly located in places where I was likely to be embarrassed- the cafeteria, the gym, the baseball diamond
(I was practically the valedictorian of the Duck 'n Scream School of Athletics).
4. I have a nervous habit of tugging on my eyebrows. It started ten years ago during my freshman year of college. My first roommate was a girl named Holly, who was incredibly cute and incredibly vain. She was always freshly coiffed, plucked, waxed, shaved, showered, polished and pedicured. She came to college with her high school boyfriend in tow. On the nights he slept over, she washed her hair, blew it out and curled it with hot rollers RIGHT BEFORE BED. By contrast, I was oblivious about my looks. On more than one occasion, I was surprised to see that I had walked around all day wearing two completely different sneakers: one Adidas with green stripes on the right, one Nike with a gray swoosh on the left. Then again, her high school boyfriend threatened to throw her TV out the window when she dumped him. The zaniest thing most of my high school boyfriends did was start dating guys after I dumped them.
Anyway, the one grooming habit I picked up from Holly was an unusual preoccupation with my eyebrows. Compared to her over-plucked arches, I looked like I had two caterpillars crawling across my forehead. I started plucking and waxing, but I didn't realize I had started tugging on them worriedly until I helped Kelly apply for colleges over winter break. We had a marathon session at my parents' kitchen table over Christmas. She used my laptop to crank out one application essay after another while I repeatedly typed her name, address and social security number on various forms. Every now and then, she'd read me a paragraph, and I'd think and rethink it, all the while playing with my eyebrows. It got to the point where I'd look across the table, only to see Kelly watching me and tugging on her own eyebrows. You know, mocking me. In a loving way. (Mwah!) The habit stuck. I still do it.
5. I can only eat Tic-Tacs in even numbers.
6. I was running late for school in 9th grade, and I tripped over a pair of dirty jeans on my bedroom floor. My big toe caught on the zipper fly, and my toenail cracked in half. Blood everywhere. My toenail has never been the same.
I've got to tag four others now, right? I choose Lauren, Annie, Gwen, and Kelly. Go HHS grads. :)
1. I don't really like chocolate that much. Sure, I'll go for chocolate-covered pretzels and the occasional chocolate-covered strawberry at the beach. I won't say no to chocolate cake with peanut butter icing, but I'm MUCH more of a cheesecake, carrot cake, vanilla, red velvet kind of girl.
2. I talk to myself. Out loud. Often. You know about my crazy memory, right? And I've written before about my ability to relive embarrassing moments in my life as intensely as if they were happening all over again for the very first time... You add those two instances of weirdness together, and you sometimes get me saying either "Shut up!" or "F*ck!" (here's the weird part) OUT LOUD to the people in the memory or the memory itself.
Even weirder, this frequently happens when I'm deep in thought or doing something time-consuming and mind-numbing, like scrubbing the bathtub. Whenever College Roommate Jo would hear me at it, she would just call out, "You tell those voices in your head who's boss!" :) Miss her.
(It's not Tourette's, by the way. I mean, it's definitely some kind of weird verbal tic, for sure, but I don't have any of the other neurological disruptions that come part and parcel with Tourette's syndrome.)
One time I was walking Bella around 2 p.m. on a week day. It was my day off, and I was still in my pajamas. As I was walking along, I remembered something that made me angry, and I did my little involuntary tic-y thing. A man saw me, and based on where he was standing, I couldn't even pretend I was on a cell phone with an ear bud on the opposite side.
Of course I am MOR.TI.FIED, so when he said, "Are you okay?" I kind of nodded, speechless with embarrassment. He was clearly looking at my pajama pants with concern (remember it's the middle of the afternoon) and trying to figure out what exactly was wrong with me and which mental institution I may have wandered out of. You know, with a dog! Or someti He asked, "Do you live around here?" He was somewhat of a sketchy character himself, so I kind of gestured vaguely to my street and prayed for the grou nd to open up and swallow me. Then I pulled out a poop bag for the dog, knowing in my heart of hearts that this would become one of those embarrassing memories at which I would someday curse out loud. Le sigh.
3. Speaking of wanting the earth to swallow me up, I had an elaborate imaginary escape world in elementary school. I used to imagine that I had similar powers to the girl in "Out of This World,"a cheesy short-lived TV show in the '80s. The protagonist could stop time by pressing her index fingertips together and unfreeze anyone she wanted by placing her hand on his or her shoulder.
If I didn't want to do something, like take a math test, I would imagine myself freezing the class and entering an elaborate underground hideout under my elementary school. I had an imaginary bed where I could take a nap, a pool to swim in, snacks, etc. As I got more self-conscious about my looks (this was directly related to a bad haircut I got in sixth grade that briefly earned me the nickname "Fro-ette"), I had an imaginary hair stylist in my imaginary hideout.
There were entrances to my imaginary escape world all over the school, mostly located in places where I was likely to be embarrassed- the cafeteria, the gym, the baseball diamond
(I was practically the valedictorian of the Duck 'n Scream School of Athletics).
4. I have a nervous habit of tugging on my eyebrows. It started ten years ago during my freshman year of college. My first roommate was a girl named Holly, who was incredibly cute and incredibly vain. She was always freshly coiffed, plucked, waxed, shaved, showered, polished and pedicured. She came to college with her high school boyfriend in tow. On the nights he slept over, she washed her hair, blew it out and curled it with hot rollers RIGHT BEFORE BED. By contrast, I was oblivious about my looks. On more than one occasion, I was surprised to see that I had walked around all day wearing two completely different sneakers: one Adidas with green stripes on the right, one Nike with a gray swoosh on the left. Then again, her high school boyfriend threatened to throw her TV out the window when she dumped him. The zaniest thing most of my high school boyfriends did was start dating guys after I dumped them.
Anyway, the one grooming habit I picked up from Holly was an unusual preoccupation with my eyebrows. Compared to her over-plucked arches, I looked like I had two caterpillars crawling across my forehead. I started plucking and waxing, but I didn't realize I had started tugging on them worriedly until I helped Kelly apply for colleges over winter break. We had a marathon session at my parents' kitchen table over Christmas. She used my laptop to crank out one application essay after another while I repeatedly typed her name, address and social security number on various forms. Every now and then, she'd read me a paragraph, and I'd think and rethink it, all the while playing with my eyebrows. It got to the point where I'd look across the table, only to see Kelly watching me and tugging on her own eyebrows. You know, mocking me. In a loving way. (Mwah!) The habit stuck. I still do it.
5. I can only eat Tic-Tacs in even numbers.
6. I was running late for school in 9th grade, and I tripped over a pair of dirty jeans on my bedroom floor. My big toe caught on the zipper fly, and my toenail cracked in half. Blood everywhere. My toenail has never been the same.
I've got to tag four others now, right? I choose Lauren, Annie, Gwen, and Kelly. Go HHS grads. :)
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