So I'm kind of a spacey smartass

I thought this was so funny tonight, I laughed and laughed. I had tears, and I would have fallen out of my chair had I not already been sitting on the floor, so I just fell forward on the floor laughing, and then sat up again, and then fell over backward, wiping the tears from my eyes the whole time.

And yet, I am sure - SURE - that there is no way I can tell this story and it will be funny.

As a preface, it is helpful to know - and yet not helpful enough - that my husband is not Catholic. And that he is a physicist. Those things are technically unrelated, but still. He is pretty much a Protestant, probably the version his parents are, although I don't think I've seen him actually darken a church door of his own accord. It is fair to say he's Not Catholic. I, on the other hand, am Catholic. But that's not really related to the story at all.

The other thing that's helpful to know is that I go through the mail. I own the mail. I don't know why. I've even written about that here. Those are the three factoids that are actually pertinent to the story.

Oh wait, one more thing that's helpful to know - every once in awhile, something comes in the mail that is specific for Spousal, and I give it to him. Not a bill that I'll be paying, or generic junkmail. But, basically, junkmail targeted right at him, and I think it's kind of funny to pass it on. Really there's no point to it.

Usually, it's from some school he went to. What his college is doing, or how they need money, or how he can buy a sweatshirt to support them.

But tonight it was something different. There was a postcard with a statue of a weird-looking little guy, a little pewter statue, and the card said the weird little guy is named Alec, and that Alec is the Patron Saint of the school of engineering, and that for some small amount of money Spousal could acquire said tiny pewter version of the Patron Saint and support his university.

I could have just chucked it, but I don't know. As I said, I think it's funny to give him these things.

So I hand it to him, from the floor there, as he walks over to talk to me, or possibly to watch a minute or two of the rerun of Becker I had on and I say, Here.

What's this? he says.
It's a card, I say. You can buy a little statue of Alec, the patron saint of engineering.
Pause.
But I don't know why you'd buy a patron saint, I said. You're not even Catholic.

Throw it away, he said, dropping it back towards the floor. I'm not even an engineer.

------
And I laughed and I laughed. I know; I doubt you're laughing at all. I guess I think it's funny that I noticed the mis-match on the religion thing, but not on the most obvious part - the whole Job Description - School He Went To - What He Does kind of thing. How did I miss that? Oh, I had to wipe the tears.

(And then later I realize - Alec is not really even a Patron Saint. I don't think any school of engineering has some license from the Vatican to be sainting anyone. I think there's even a trademark issue here with the whole "patron saint" dealio - but again. I've digressed.)

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So maybe Verizon's color should be blue?

We went off to West Texas for Thanksgiving. Literally the cell phone service did not work there. When we got back, I found six mesages - all from our office manager at work. (With escalating annoyance - I have a message for you. Calling again. Hello? Call back? Okay, I'm calling again. HELLO WHERE ARE YOU?)

When I got back, I called her that night even though she was at home - it was only like 6pm. I knew she'd want a call. Where have you been?! She says. West Texas, I say. Ah! she says. As if, mystery solved!

(Like being in West Texas is an excuse for being totally out of touch. It's not - technically - like being in Tangiers or Macedonia or I don't know, I can't think of somewhere else that sounds really far away and may or may not have Verizon cell phone service...although they probably do.....)(And my thought is - Hello? Verizon? West Texas! Part of the Union now! Think about it!)

(And, technically speaking, it just didn't work out in the sticks and in Midland - although I hear they claim certain politicians from there - maybe Verizon is not patriotic enough?)

What I meant to say in this post was - we had a lovely Thanksgiving, the cousins had a great time running around together, and I hope everyone else here in the States - whether Verizon considers where you are part of the US or not - had a nice Thanksgiving. And if you're not from here, I hope you had a nice week.

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The Chinese believe they bring good luck - they never mentioned the karma . . .

(Picture of the mesas looking out from our town. Los Alamos is built on mesas just like these. Only behind you.)

When I was a kid, I had this thing for crickets. I liked them. I read whole books about them. I could tell you anything about them – which were girls (three spikes out their butt), which were boys (two spikes); how to know if the girl was pregnant (middle spike has a bulge at the end); where their ears are (in their knees); why the boys chirp (a mating call); how useless it is (the girls have no ears). (Ummmm - a harbinger of later dating? Wait, I’ve digressed again.)

Anyway, it was all pretty fascinating to me.

And before you get all grossed out, I only liked the black crickets. The ones I considered, you know – classic. Not those grey, disgusting, who – can – look – at –them, pokey, ugly, other kind. Ewwww.

And then I would go out, and capture a bunch (of the cool kind), and put them in this lovely glass cage I made for them – replete with plants I thought they would like (wasn’t sure, on that one), a little pond, some rocks to crawl on, the mesh net across the top to keep them in their happy home. It was perfect!

I had no idea I was torturing them.

The other day I went to a lovely brunch with some girlfriends – granted, we had to drive almost an hour to find a lovely place to go to brunch. And on the way home, one of them . . . called our fair town “the city in the sky.”

This was such a perfect description. (Well, except for the whole “city” part.) The town we live in is set on the top of a flat mountain, high up in the clouds. All around it is pretty desolate land – national forest on the back side, as the mountain continues, and tribal lands all around the rest, below. The land all around the mountain is rolling, sandy, pinon tree - spotted, mostly unpopulated – there is a reason they chose this remote part of the country to invent the atom bomb.

It hasn’t changed that much in the last sixty years, in terms of remoteness. Well, I suppose it has if you were here back then – there’s a paved two-lane road up here now, as opposed to before. But still – it’s pretty isolated.

I’m conflicted about being conflicted about it. Surely I should like it. It’s fairly safe (the plants), good schools (the little pond), an interesting and international populace (the little rocks). But still it’s just a little – artificial (the whole glass jar, mesh-ceiling thing). (And what is it doing in that girl’s bedroom? Oh wait, I’ve carried the analogy too far.)

I was a philosophy major. I bought into the whole Aristotle – the Politics – the city as a naturally occurring phenomenon for humankind to organize itself and get things done. That’s why suburbs bug me. They’re so – contrived. And now here I am. In one of the most non - spontaneous, created – for – only – one – purpose, non-naturally occurring communities almost ever.

One thing I can say about those crickets. They certainly have strong karma. I’m thinking they got me back. Good.

The good kind of cricket:



It's a girl!



The gross kind:


Eww!

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Fake post just to move things along here

Oh Good Lord! I can't take it anymore! Someone get that woman and her fake horse off my blog!

Oh yeah, that would be me.

Hang on, I'm sending this NOW.

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People who have way too damn much money

Okay. So you see that lady? And you see that horse?

Yeah. She had him MADE.

For a mere $150,000!!

Seems she's a huge barrel racing champion from her youth. (Earned more money than any woman ever in barrel racing, $2 million.)

And she just LOVED that horse she rode on.

So, she had him cloned.

I'll admit I know nothing of horses. I know it's an expensive hobby. Maybe it costs that much to buy one. (Does anybody know?)

And this is America. It's her damn money, I guess.

But, wow. There's probably a whole lot of other perfectly good horses in the world.

This just seems wrong to me. (In the big, moral sense of the word. Like, there's not better ways for humankind to spend time, effort, energy and $150,000?)

And, also, ridiculous.

If you don't believe me - by chance, I could make this up? - here's her website: Charmayne James

And an article in the Albuquerque Journal (Note: she's not from New Mexico. (She's from Texas.)): ABQ Journal article (you may have to watch an ad to read this; sorry)

(Wouldn't it be great if this were just a joke? A spoof, and someone planted the article and made a fake website...? But it's not.)











Cloned horse thinks, "Hey, deja vu!"


technorati tags:
Charmayne James, Scamper, cloned horse,
people with way too much money

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Now this is cool

Well, I followed link after link - actually, I think I only went two stops - but then I found this.

Are you one? Do you have one? Would you pose?

(I think I would. But I'm sure I don't. Just like those who do.)

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They really notice the dishes

So. When Spousal and I got married, some six years ago, I decided to go wacky with my dinnerware.

Prior to that, I had white. All white. I loved white! It was neat, it was clean, it always looked good. I had this very delicate little set - meaning thin and curved and pretty - from Pier One. At the time I got it - middle of law school - it was a HUGE splurge for me. And in all the years I had it - which were many - not a single piece ever cracked or split or broke.

Then I get married. I thought I could do with a change. I may have been somewhat influenced by a few family members who turned up their noises at my white dinnerware and pronounced it "Boring" (only to buy a very similar set when the white dinnerware rage rang through a few years later.)

So I thought if I was going to get color, I'd go fun.

So I got this:



And this:



And also this:



See! Fun! It's mix and match! That was even the point of them - the general collection is called Choices. Get it? Choices! Every day! Mix and match!





(I still remember the moment my mom and sister were helping to unwrap some of the wedding presents, and as they unwrapped some dinnerware, their voices dropped to a whisper as one held up a bowl to the other. I could only imagine the conversation: Um - does she know they don't match? Yes - she wanted it this way. (raised eyebrows))

Yes. I did. I thought it was fun.

I really didn't give my dinnerware much thought after that. It moves from place to place with us. When I set the table, I reach in and take out whatever. That's the beauty of the mix and match! It's crazy and fun!

And then a couple months ago, as I was setting plates on the table, Little BIg Girl burst out with "We match!"

Apparently she and I actually had the same style dish that night.

Then it became kind of a Thing. Anytime any two people happened to get the same pattern, LBG would yell out "We match!" or "You match!"

Even Tiny Person started to get in on the game. Any time any two plates at all were set on the table, she'd call out: We match!

It took her a little while to get the gist. (LBG was helpful: No, sis. You don't match. Look, see, you match with Dada! Etc.)

Now it's even gone to the food. I scoop some peas on Tiny Person's plate, and some on LBG's, and they both yell out - regardless of plate style: We match!

You never think what kids will notice, especially when you're picking out dinnerware some six years beforehand.

And on other dinnerware fronts - that stuff is heavy. And thick. And yet? Though I never broke a single one of my delicate little Pier One all-white set? We're running out of bowls. Several of the plates are chipped. A couple salad plates? Gone.

Next time I may go back to my pretty little white ones.

But I'll still miss: We match!

(And, for the mildly curious, here's the essential look of my past - and future - set:)

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Thank you, America

Things are finally right with the world. After all the stolen elections, voter fraud, voter disenfranchisement, and other totally un-democratic things forced upon us, not to mention monster (and illegal) gerrymandering - and the fact that all those things were probably in play again yesterday as well - DESPITE all that, common sense has finally returned to the American public and we have thrown those bums out once and for all.

Now if we can only get rid of the fraudster at the top of the heap - guess we'll have to still wait a couple years.

I don't care if they get nothing done so long as they stop doing all the horrible things they were doing and had planned.

It will take a long time to unravel all the bad works - the destruction of our national forests (in the name of "Healthy Forests"), polluting of our rivers (in the name of "Clean Water") - not to mention the deficit, pissed-off world, and oh yeah, an untenable, unnecessary, illegal and, by it's common definition, apparently unwinnable war - we'll be back where we were some twenty years ago and can start over from there.

But at least it's a start.

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One part unpremeditated, mostly unsubstantiated neuroses, one part cute baby stories

There's something weird about living in a small town.

There's also somethings great about it - like our little Halloween, where we went to a friend's neighborhood - mostly because it has flat streets, lots of houses and was rumored to have lots of kids - and trick-or-treat not only with our friends, but to see other friends in the other groups, and know half the people in the houses. Okay, that part was kind of cool.

But back to my complaining.

It's also kind of weird to think you should live in a big city and live in a small town.

Wait, I diverted again. Hold on.

(breath) (I'm going to try again.) There's something weird about living in a small town, blogging, and hearing that a few people - in particular - read your blog, run into them, and have them act like THEY DON'T ACTUALLY KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

I don't know. There's just something weird about that. That makes me not really know what to say here. Because I really don't know what to say there. That's just weird.

Alright, enough about that.

(But, you know - isn't that kind of weird? Don't you think? I totally think it is.)

Now that I sound like a Valley Girl, I will go on.

I missed more days of blogging than I ever have. I missed my own What's For Dinner Wednesday, again. And I'm going to blame all of it, this time, on that. Above.

Wait, I said I would go on. I just find that - so weird. (Don't you?)

Anyway, this is what I was going to write: Tiny Person's repertoire of words is expanding! Now when she learns new phrases, she likes to tell me about them. And where they came from. Sometimes it's from someone with a name, like Doe. "Doe say Never Mind, Mommy. Haha! Never mind!" (And I'll say, Where do you know Doe from? And she'll say: (pause) Doe on TV.

Alright. We won't dwell on that part.)

Anyway, her new phrases are: Oh Well, Never Mind, and Anyway.

She will start complete sentences, a propos of nothing and totally out of the blue, with the phrase, Anyway. She'll turn her little head sideways and look at me and say, Anyway. I want a banana. (Or whatever.)

I find it hilarious.

And Never Mind is used in the context of, essentially - No. As in, Honey, come to dinner now. (Continues to play.) Sweetie, really. Come sit down for dinner now. (Continues to play.) Tiny Person, I mean it. Please come over here now. Finally responds: Never Mind. (Continues to play.)

And Oh Well? Like this: Mama, wanna candy. Not right now sweetie. Oh Well. (More common response: MAMA WANNA CANDY!!! I prefer the former when I can get it.)

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