Galley Wench

DO SOMETHING for Pete's sake!

2010-07-12T17:17:00.000-04:00

Oil Spill Timeline from RightChange on Vimeo.

A touching story

2010-03-16T06:26:00.000-04:00

As a bagpiper, I play many gigs. Recently I was asked by a funeral director to play at a grave-side service for a homeless man. He had no family or friends, so the service was to be at a pauper's cemetery in the Kentucky back-country.

As I was not familiar with the backwoods, I got lost; and being a typical man I didn't stop for directions. I finally arrived an hour late and saw the funeral guy had evidently gone and the hearse was nowhere in sight.

There were only the diggers and crew left and they were eating lunch. I felt badly and apologized to the men for being late. I went to the side of the grave and looked down and the vault lid was already in place. I didn't know what else to do, so I started to play.

The workers put down their lunches and began to gather around. I played out my heart and soul for this man with no family and friends. I played like I've never played before for this homeless man.

And as I played "Amazing Grace" the workers began to weep. They wept, I wept, we all wept together. When I finished I packed up my bagpipes and started for my car. Though my head hung low, my heart was full.

As I was opening the door to my car, I heard one of the workers say, "Sweet Mother of Jesus, I never seen nothin' like that before and I've been putting in septic tanks for over twenty years."

Courtesy Neal Boortz:

Happy Valentines Day - our home movie

2010-02-14T14:30:00.000-05:00

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let's talk billion

2009-12-07T18:30:00.002-05:00

The next time you hear a politician use the word 'billion' in a casual manner, think about whether you want the politicians spending YOUR tax money.

A billion is a difficult number to comprehend but putting that figure into some perspective:

(A) A billion seconds ago it was 1959
(B) A billion minutes ago Jesus was alive
(C) A billion hours ago our ancestors were living in the Stone Age
(D) A billion days ago no one walked on the earth on two feet
(E) A billion dollars ago at the rate our government is spending was only 8 hours and 20 minutes ago

working thru my inbox

2009-11-11T06:15:00.004-05:00

My penpal Dewey sends me the very best stuff, but sometimes it takes me ~~forever~~ a few days to catch up with my emails when things get particularly busy. And they've been crazy busy lately. We worked until 8 PM last night if that's any indication of how crazy it is around the office these days. Crazy.

Anyway, he sent me this one a couple of days ago but I only got around to watching it this morning at 4 AM. How cool is this?

By the way, he currently has a video posted on his blog of a singer named Iris Dement whom he introduced me to a few months back (her music, not her personally) (just thought I'd clarify that).

I got hooked on her music in general and in particular the song she's singing in the video. It always reminds me of England--not because she's English or the song has anything to do with England, but because I heard it for the first time just before we went to England back in the Spring and the song was stuck in my head the whole time we were there. Listen to Iris sing "Let the Mystery Be" .

Angel Earl - Part 1

2009-11-04T07:09:00.037-05:00

After we left the marina a few weeks ago as we headed to our favorite cove to spend the weekend, we got an urgent phone call from one of our dock friends. He wanted to let us know we had discharged some diesel fuel into the water when we pulled out. And when I say "some" what I mean is "quite a bit". As in, a lot of diesel fuel. As in, so much diesel fuel that some people had to leave the dock because they couldn't stand the fumes.

This was bad news on a number of levels: not only do we have an instinctive aversion to throwing away diesel fuel at $5 gallon, but it is generally considered bad form to asphyxiate your dock neighbors or to leave a layer of pink petroleum on top of the water. Clearly something really bad had happened with our engines which meant something really bad was getting ready to happen to our checkbook.

To make matters worse, one of our dock neighbors decided to make a stink ("a stink", heh) over our unintentional fuel discharge. He just happens to be in law enforcement and thus just happens to know that discharging fuel into the water can get you slapped with a fine of up to $10,000. And over the course of the weekend while we were away he (allegedly) repeated this several times to other neighbors and (allegedly) vowed to personally insure we received the maximum fine. And he (allegedly) complained so much that everyone on our dock was (allegedly) ready to cut his lines while he was asleep so he would drift off to some other dock where unneighborly types might be better received.

Anyway, when we were ready to come home at the end of the weekend a friend made the 45 minute trip to meet us at our cove so he could follow us home to make sure we made it okay. Our engines started just fine and there was no more fuel discharge, and as for the mood back at the dock, we returned to find our neighbors had sorted themselves into two camps: (1) the one guy who thought we deserved a $10,000 fine and (2) all our other neighbors who thought the guy in category #1 was a jackass.

So, on to the point of this story. Engine trouble. We immediately got our friend and mechanic Steve on the scene, and over the next week he replaced all our fuel lines--all 100 feet of them.

In addition, I posted a cry for advice on an internet forum for people who own boats like ours. I got several immediate responses, almost all suggesting we needed the tender loving care of a guy called Earl International. Earl is a mechanic who specializes in our specific brand of diesel engine and travels all over the country working on them. In the world of diesel mechanics, Earl is a rock star with a large number of very devoted groupies.

Lo and behold, a day or two later Earl himself contacted me. He said he'd be in Atlanta in early November and would be happy to figure out what the problem was, and of course we immediately said yes for the same reason you'd say yes if Chet Atkins offered to tune the guitar you bought at a yard sale for $5.

Last Wednesday Earl International showed up right on schedule and immediately started digging around in the BUB examining the engines and the hoses and other important looking pieces-parts that I have no idea what they do or what they are for.

He had the calm self-confidence of a surgeon and I had the sensation of being the distraught, worried family member watching a loved one being biopsied right before my eyes.

To be honest, watching Earl root around in the bowels of the BUB gave me the exact same feeling I had during Morley's rectal tumor scare a couple of years ago. Now that I think about it, the process was very much the same except the BUB didn't make those funny faces when Earl stuck his hands up its sensitive bits (if you know what I mean) and there was a lot less limping afterwards.

Anyway, the patient is now resting comfortably and next time I'll give you the report from Earl.

Brrrr and BUB progress report

2009-10-19T08:26:00.004-04:00

It is cold here in Atlanta. Before I could come to work this morning I had to dig out a sweater and long slacks, and man up with some pantyhose--oh wait, wrong expression--and some shoes other than sandals, and top it off with a trenchcoat before I could brave the cold air between the garage and my car. This is wrong, so very wrong. It isn't even November yet.

This global warming is a killer, man.

In other news, it just occured to me that we've now owned the Butt Ugly Boat for a bit more than a year. A fifty gallon drum of teak oil and who knows how any dollars later (actually I know how many dollars, I just don't want to think about it right now), things around the BUB look a little different. I've posted some "then" and "now" shots on my website here.

PS And if you don't know the history of our Butt Ugly Boat, a good place to start is here.

You peeps are joking, right?

2009-10-16T16:31:00.007-04:00

Memo to the President and Members of Congress:

The U.S. Post Service was established in 1775. You have had 234 years to get it right and it is broke.
Social Security was established in 1935. You have had 74 years to get it right and it is broke.
Fannie Mae was established in 1938. You have had 71 years to get it right and it is broke.
War on Poverty started in 1964. You have had 45 years to get it right; $1 trillion of our money is confiscated each year and nothing has changed since the so-called War on Poverty started. It is broke.
Medicare and Medicaid were established in 1965. You have had 44 years to get it right and both of them are broke.
Freddie Mac was established in 1970. You have had 39 years to get it right and it is broke.
The Department of Energy was created in 1977 to lessen our dependence on foreign oil. It has ballooned to 16,000 employees with a budget of $24 billion a year and we import more oil than ever before. You had 32 years to get it right and it is an abysmal failure.

You have failed in managing every government program under your control, while overspending our tax dollars and wasting our money on pork programs that do nothing more than help with your next reelection.

And now you want Americans to believe you can be trusted with a government run health care system?

Uh, not so much.

One a day is all he can handle

2009-10-14T11:59:00.005-04:00

I'm not sure everyone knows about this, but recently Morley volunteered to work with a local animal rescue group intent on saving the rare Georgia antelope.

He had his first day of rescue work last week, and of course I went along to video him in action:

we're groovy, baby

2009-09-09T10:02:00.002-04:00

One of the guys at the office had this waiting in my email this morning. How did he know that's what we did last weekend? Eerie...

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marital flashback

2009-09-04T05:40:00.018-04:00

Every morning this week I've awoken thinking about what I was doing on the same day one year ago.

It was wedding week and things were hopping around here--the main thing hopping being my nerves as I scrambled around taking care of final details such as caterers and flowers and ministers and bagpipers and out of town guests.

Which I could have taken care of sooner except we had gone on a mission trip to Nicaragua the week before our wedding.

Because my nutjob husband-to-be had pursuaded me was a fabulous idea.

Because there is nothing that says "romance" like cleaning rats and chicken dookie out of barns, or standing in the scorching sun in a third world country ten minutes from the Equator painting a building instead of doing something lame like staying home and having someone paint my nails.

At the time I had murderous thoughts towards my beloved groom, but now I'm over it. Now I look back on it and laugh. Hahahahaha. See? I'm laughing.

Anyway, in the year since our wedding the events of that crazy week have formed a blurry memory of laugher and family and friends, and being insanely busy from morning until night. It was utterly exhausting and totally exhilarating, and we loved every single moment of it.

My BFF Carol was never more than ten feet from my side all week. She made sure the wedding train ran on time all week long and just about wore herself out in the process. (I later thanked her with All About Carol Day during which I had her pampered senseless at the spa, and being the good friend that I am, I had the exact same treatment just to make sure the quality of service was up to snuff).

There was a group shopping expedition where we accompanied my darling sister in law Carol to Nordstroms so she could stock up on cute shoes which she can never find in England. Watching someone else spend a butt load of dough on cute shoes was almost as much fun as us doing it ourselves.

There was the day that the two Carols, my girls, my son in law, and my grandsons helped clean up the Butt Ugly Boat. We had bought it just days before we left on the mission trip and it needed a serious defunk-ifying before we could spend our wedding night on it.

Then there was my bachelorette party and wine tasting on the Butt Ugly Boat which was a total blast as best as I can remember. Mommy had way too much medicine that night.

And there are so many other unforgetable memories packed into that week:

Like the memory of picking up the shipment of flowers from Hawaii that made the whole boat smell of orchids, and converting our friend Mike's houseboat into the world's largest floating florist chiller so the reception centerpieces wouldn't croak in the ungodly heat.

And the memories of our dock friends scurrying about taking care of endless last minute errands and making Morley and me feel like a million bucks.

And the party at Big Creek Tavern the night before the wedding where we partied like rock stars with our out-of-town family and friends. Our friend Tommy performed for us and we stayed up way past our bedtime that night. Also, we had way too much medicine.

And memories of Dennis being the greatest Best Man who ever lived. And being with family and friends on such a joyous and much anticipated occasion. And so on. And so on. And so on.

But mostly we remember this moment:

universal

2009-08-31T16:28:00.005-04:00

This ad isn't in English but you'll understand it anyway.

PS. Once again, my penpal Dewey comes through with the best stuff.

why crackheads shouldn't sing at funerals

2009-08-26T11:05:00.005-04:00

Let's just say after this performance--especially that big finale--the deceased was probably grateful to be dead.

birthday boy

2009-08-24T07:46:00.000-04:00

Elvis and MJ are ALIVE!!

2009-08-21T12:40:00.005-04:00

PS Once again my penpal DEWEY comes thru with the very best stuff.

Thank you, thank you very much.

nicaraguan birthday

2009-08-21T09:04:00.008-04:00

Morley's birthday is Monday, which reminds me of this time last year when he talked me into not rescheduling our mission trip to Nicaragua the week before our wedding. Ahem.

Anyway, here's a little home movie at his 60th birthday party in Chinandega, Nicaragua:

Happy birthday, Morley. Love you long time, and I promise not to ~~torture you this year~~ give you a pinata for your birthday. This year.

Ronald Reagan on socialized medicine

2009-08-14T10:46:00.002-04:00

We need another one just exactly like him.

ninja deer

2009-08-10T07:00:00.017-04:00

For weeks we've been looking forward to this past Friday when Bratley and Tammy would arrive to spend the weekend with us on the boat. I phoned him Thursday evening as he was driving home from a factory tour in Kentucky with one of his dentist clients to make sure he remembered the schedule, so when the phone rang early Friday morning I figured he was calling to tell me they were on their way.

But the news was the schedule had changed and he was going to be several hours late because he had gone deer hunting the night before. He had some things to do before they left.

As I administered an imaginary thrashing upon my brother--the preferred method I had employed during in childhood to communicate to him my dissatisfaction with his behaviour--he cheerfully asked if I wanted to buy some cute little deer antlers. I responded with something along the lines of him being an compete idiot, followed by a demand to know why for the love of God he'd decided to take up deer hunting on the very night he should have been home packing.

His response was to helpfully inquire if I wanted him to bring deer meat for weekend grilling and an offer to throw into the deal two deer eyeballs about as big as saucers. I responded with something along the lines of him being in desperate, desperate need of a thorough psychiatric evaluation.

Finally, after ~~wasting more of my time and patience~~ he explained he'd hit a deer with his car the night before and needed to file the insurance report and drop the car off at the repair shop before he left town. And not that I don't take everything Brad says as gospel truth, he offered to email me photos to prove it:

He assured me it was not an ordinary deer, but a Ninja deer that one moment was nowhere near the road and a nanosecond later transported itself right in the middle of the road where it richoted off his fender and bounced down the entire passenger side of his car.

That deer was fast, he said, but not fast enough.

I immediately ~~made a snarky remarked about him brutally murdering Bambi in cold blood~~ expressed my deep condolences over the damage to his car.

And it was right then that I noticed some writing in that last photo. So I zoomed in to see it better:

My brother needs meds. Seriously, seriously strong meds.

Me and Bratley

2009-07-28T06:26:00.010-04:00

We grew up together, me and Bratley, the two youngest kids in a family of six. The age gap between the two of us and our four older siblings was such that the older kids weren't interested in playing cars or cowboys and Indians with us--they were more into activities such as dating and driving---so Brad and I pretty much had each other for company for most of our childhoods.

Brad had a speech impediment when he was little. Although I understood him perfectly almost no one else could, so I was not only his playmate but also his interpreter:

Stranger: "Why, what a cute little boy you are! What's your name, little one?"

Bradley: "Bbbwwwaaawwwey"

Stranger: "Huh?"

Bradley gives me an elbow to the ribs

Me: "His name is Bradley"

Stranger: "And how old are you Bradley?"

Bradley gives me an elbow to the ribs

Me: "He's three"

Stranger: "Well Bradley, you sure are cute with your blue eyes and those big dimples"

Bradley gives me an elbow to the ribs

Me: "He says thank you"

Stranger: "Would you like some candy, Bradley?"

Me: "He says no thank you and please give his candy to me"

Bradley gives me an elbow to the ribs followed by a karate chop to the throat

Brad eventually got his speech fixed thanks to a nice speech therapist at the university, but it took me ~~another fifty years~~ a little while to get used to not doing all his talking for him.

Bradley says thank you for all the birthday wishes*.

And he says he forgives me completely for forgetting his 50th birthday.

Also, he says I'm the coolest sister ever and way smarter and funnier than he is. Also he says I can have his new car, his uber cool Bluetooth headset, his GPS that does more tricks than mine, and a $30,000 check.

* Bradley: GO HERE to see what the heck I'm talking about. And you really should get in the habit of checking my blog more often, you know.

A sad tale about brothers and birthdaysAlso, I need a favor, bad

2009-07-21T13:36:00.031-04:00

As you may have guessed by the lack of riveting new material posted here, I've been working long and hard lately. And because I've been working so long and hard I've let a few things slip.

Things such as remembering my youngest brother Bratley's, er I mean Bradley's, fiftieth birthday for example. I can't believe I let such a big event slide by me, but I did and I let it slide BAD. It was last week.

But as you can see, he has maintained his boyish good looks (look at that, will ya? his leather jacket from high school still fits!) so you can understand why it just didn't dawn on me that the dude is getting old*.

*he's not as old as me, but still.

Anyway, so here's where I really need your help. I'm ~~sucking up~~ throwing a little belated birthday party here to make up for ~~my forgetting I even had a brother~~ the rather subdued 50th birthday festivities of last week and I would really appreciate it if you would leave Bradley a happy birthday comment.

Don't worry if you don't actually know him--he'll never figure it out and besides, he can't afford to be all that picky about who his friends are. (Oh wait, that didn't sound right. I wasn't referring to you, my dear and faithful readers, all four of you).

What I was trying to say is that it doesn't matter who wishes him happy birthday just so long as somebody does since his own durn sister forgot all about it. The goal here is to have 50 people wishing him a happy 50th Birthday.

My brother Bratley is special *cough* *cough* to me and I love him dearly. And I'm really truly deeply sorry that I forgot all about his 50th birthday. Also, I'm really banking on this shameless act of sucking up to get me out of his dog house. So lay it on thick, okay?

Love,
Sis

PS. If you think you might actually know Bratley but aren't sure, here is a photo of him back when he had hair:

PPS: And while we're at it, I'm also really sorry about last year when we left him stranded all night on a disabled houseboat with no food or water or luggage in 100 degree weather. But I can only make up for one Bad at a time.

PPPS: When you leave your Happy Birthday comment, can you please mention where you are from so he won't accuse me of leaving 50 anonymous wishes myself? (and if you happen to be in Tucker, Georgia just make up some another city--he'll never know the difference.) (He's so suspicious, that guy. I can't imagine why.)

Coming Soon to this Space: Something I Actually Write Myself

2009-07-15T13:32:00.004-04:00

In lieu of me posting anything that remotely resembles original material or otherwise filling this space with something--anything!--that requires more than a nanosecond of my time to slap up on the internet, here's an uber cute commercial to entertain you.

(I'm not slacking, I swear, just working.)

ObamaCare explained in Legos

2009-07-07T17:45:00.011-04:00

My penpal Dewey (who always sends me the best, most thought provoking stuff) sent me this video. You really need to watch it.

Seriously, watch this short video and then think long and hard about what those out of control politicians in DC are trying to ~~shove down our throats~~ sign us up for.

Independence Day

2009-07-04T04:18:00.000-04:00

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Ho, Ho, Ho

2009-06-24T05:51:00.034-04:00

No matter what your calendar says, all the calendars in this family say this is Christmas week--time to spend a few days with the whole family eating too much delicious food, talking, laughing, hanging out with each other, and playing the diabolical games that I've laid awake at night plotting for them (more about that later). *evil laugh*

An adventure somewhere fun is what we now give the girls and their families instead of the video games, pajamas, sweaters, and other terrible (and utterly forgettable) gifts we used to come up with back in the days when we were trying to be "normal" with our Christmas gifting.

Once I figured out we were clueless in guessing what teenage boys really want or in keeping track of everyone's favorite color and/or current clothing size, we decided to bail on the concept of being normal. Instead we now give them a one-size-fits-all present: good memories of being together.

It has proven to be one of my best ideas ever....well, except for last year when we rented a houseboat that lost it's power in the middle of a stifling hot night and left the kids with no running water, working toilets, lights, air conditioning or human comforts of any kind. That year we had more of a Survivor/Gilligan's Island type adventure than the kind of adventure we had in mind. But that's beside the point. We made memories. It's all good.

Anyway, here's the video we sent them last Christmas announcing where this year's adventure would be:

You'll note that the video said we were going in July, but getting these kids together is like herding cats. We had to switch the dates around so everyone could make it--everyone, this is, except Kurt and Julia who learned at the last minute that they had to stay behind due to work obligations. Wahhhh! *sniff* *sniff*

So we're in the woods for the next few days. I'll tell you all about it after we get home Sunday.

Love

2009-06-18T09:22:00.004-04:00

Who loves you more--your husband or your dog? Here's a simple way to find out:

Lock your husband and your dog in the truck of your car, then leave them there for an hour. When you open the trunk, which one is really happy to see you?

addiction

2009-06-10T07:44:00.009-04:00

I was looking through the 1,496 photos I took last weekend (okay, I'm exaggerating but not by much) and this one caught my eye.

I took it early one morning when I was sitting in the cockpit sipping coffee and soaking up the tranquility that comes early in the day before the lake came alive with activity. Who wouldn't want to wake up to see a sunrise like that?

Unless you are more into sunsets, in which case you'd see this:

I took that one while I was sitting in the cockpit sipping a glass of wine, grooving on the tranquity that comes late in the day when most boats are back in their slips and things settle down to a peaceful, slow pace. You can smell the delicious aroma of distant charcoal grills and hear the soft sounds of far away laughter and easy conversations as they come floating across the water.

It's addicting, this boating thing.

Joy

2009-06-08T05:34:00.006-04:00

Seas the Moment officially has new owners. Or more precisely, she'll have new owners as soon as the buyers' marine surveyor looks her over to make sure there are no ugly surprises (there aren't) and a few minor details--such as a somebody handing over a check--are taken care of.

Not only are we looking forward to owning one boat instead of two, we're glad she will have new owners who will take her out to play. She hasn't really been happy playing second fiddle to the Butt Ugly Boat these past few months and is excited to be Numero Uno again.

tap tap Is this thing on?

2009-06-06T08:23:00.024-04:00

Contrary to what you would reasonably think, there's no need to collect up money to pay our ransom. We have not been kidnapped by aliens. We are alive and well and still among the living, we've just been deep in the weeds and half nuts.

We came home after our two week trip to England to find business finally picking up after a few months of eerie, worrisome calm. Everything--and I do mean everything--demanded our immediate and undivided attention, which, of course, means nothing got any more attention than we could throw at it on the fly as we careened from one screaming priority to the next. May was a blur around our house.

Here's what we did the entire month of May: we worked. A lot. Thanks for asking.

But it wasn't just ordinary work, it was in-your-face, frustrating as the ever lovin' bejeebers, GET OFF MY BACK ALREADY kind of work where one annoying thing after another happened.

This past week is the perfect example: we dragged home Monday after a rare night at the boat followed by a particularly frustrating day at the office to discover our fridge had gone to Appliance Heaven over the weekend. The timing couldn't have been worse either because for once it was crammed full of newly purchased groceries (vs our typical food supply which would pass for a light lunch in Somalia). Ack! About $600 worth of fresh food and frozen meat went straight into the dumpster.

So Tuesday we peeled ourselves away from the chaos and mayhem we fondly refer to as "our jobs" to go appliance shopping, and by Thursday this baby was sitting in our kitchen:

I love it. It has lots of room inside too, mainly because all that's inside it at the moment is a bottle of steak sauce and a shaker of parmesean cheese, the only food items we could salvage after the tragic demise of our old fridge.

So back to the one-thing-after-another bit, yesterday (Friday) we had to be at the lake by early afternoon to meet a delightful couple who were driving up from Alabama to look at the boat we're trying to sell. Yes, alas, the Carver is still floating two slips down from our new boat, flying her "for sale" sign and patiently awaiting a new owner while feeding off our bank account at an alarming rate and with a loud sucking sound. But I digress.

When the time came to head for the lake Friday afternoon , I had to stay behind to finish off a couple of proposals so Morley went on without me to keep our appointment with the Alabama couple.

He arrived at the boat an hour or two before me. And he found the fridge on our new boat had accidentally been turned off.

For a week.

In hot weather.

And it was at that exact moment that our official family motto became "Son of a #$#%, what next!?!?"

So we cleaned out that fridge too, tossing out another $200 or $300 worth of food and frozen meats. And now we have two perfectly clean refrigerators, each containing precisely one bottle of steak sauce and one shaker of parmesean cheese.

On the brighter note, there are signs that our month of mayhem is finally petering out: we have not one but two potential buyers for the Carver, one firm offer in hand, and high hopes that another offer will follow any minute from the couple from Alabama. Bottom line, it appears the Carver will soon have a new family to love and our bank account will finally get a break from too much boat love.

And we have two immaculately clean refrigerators and all the parmesean cheese we could possibly eat, plus the looming adventure of the Mother of All Grocery Shopping Trips to look forward to.

So that's what we've been up to. And now don't you feel bad about all those disparaging things you thought about me when I was a bit remiss in posting to my blog? Heh.

Q & A

2009-05-14T07:06:00.010-04:00

I can't believe a whole week has flown by without an update here. To answer your burning questions:

(1) No, it wasn't worth it. Taking off for a two week vacation is absolutely fabulous, but coming home to a two week backlog of reality and a desk covered with paperwork screaming for attention is brutal.

(2) Heck yeah, we'd do it again. Probably next year at the same time.

(3) The wedding in England was wonderful. Actually it was more intimate and sweet than the original, and getting hitched in a castle is romantic beyond words. Plus it was fun meeting all of Morley's old college buddies--I only wish we'd had more time with them.

(4) It was a blast. Hanging out with our pals Les and Roz was toooooo much fun. We stayed with them for two days and ate like pigs, had too much wine one night, and laughed our heads off the whole time we were there. We came home determined to trick out our backyard to look more like theirs, which looks like it ought to be the centerfold in an English gardening magazine. At this moment our garden definitely does not look like something out of an English gardening magazine--it looks like something out of a farming magazine, specifically the issue devoted to out of control weed infestations. We'll start whipping it into shape after we slay our desk dragons (see item #1 above), but by all means will have made progress with it before they come visit us this Fall.

(5) Yes, I have. My cellphone which wandered off into oblivion the week before we left for England has now been replaced with an identical model, except the new one is red so I can see it without my glasses on. I still believe with all of my heart the old one is lying around here somewhere and will someday be returned to me by the merciful angel of Lost Cellphones.

(6) (a) No, I haven't. I'm still missing about 200 telephone numbers (literally) that were stored in my old cellphone so I'm collecting phone numbers like crazy. Actually I'm a phone number ho. I'm jones'ing real bad for some phone numbers. See that? My hands are shaking--that's how bad I need a phone number fix. So sad.

(6) (b) Yes, I so totally agree that only a dumb ass would fail to keep a back-up of all the phone numbers stored in their cellphone.

(7) Well, yes and no. The Butt Ugly Boat is looking pretty good on the inside, but now that warm weather is here the outside demands some serious attention. A good buffing and waxing session--or two--or ten--is in order. Y'all come visit, okay? And don't forget to bring your buffer.

(8) No, not one ounce. My earlier resolve to weigh less than a Buick station wagon by the time swimsuit season arrived was temporarily put on hold so I could ~~stuff as much English food as humanly possible down my throat~~ enjoy our vacation without being picky about my diet. Thus, not only have I not lost weight I think may have gained ~~about fifty pounds~~ an ounce or two.

(9) Nunyer business, thank you very much. Didn't your mother tell you it wasn't nice to ask a lady's weight? Sheesh, the nerve of some people! And while we're at it: as a matter of fact this is my natural hair color. Sorta. Kinda.

(10) Yes, I will. Photos of England, Les' and Roz's garden, Kurt's wedding, our wedding, the Butt Ugly Boat, and our beautifully tended *ahem* England-inspired garden will be posted as soon as possible.

Lawyers

2009-05-08T10:35:00.006-04:00

Okay, I realize I've been a little slack in the blogging department since we returned from vacation, but hey! I'm busy. Fortunately, my penpal Dewey sends me some of the best emails which I post here for your amusement:

These are from a book called Disorder in the American Courts, and are things people actually said in court, word for word, taken down and now published by court reporters that had the torment of staying calm while these exchanges were actually taking place.

ATTORNEY: This myasthenia gravis, does it affect your memory at all?
WITNESS: Yes.
ATTORNEY: And in what ways does it affect your memory?
WITNESS: I forget.
ATTORNEY: You forget? Can you give us an example of something you forgot?

ATTORNEY: Do you know if your daughter has ever been involved in voodoo?
WITNESS: We both do.
ATTORNEY: Voodoo?
WITNESS: We do.
ATTORNEY: You do?
WITNESS: Yes, voodoo.

ATTORNEY: Now doctor, isn't it true that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn't know about it until the next morning?
WITNESS: Did you actually pass the bar exam?

ATTORNEY: The youngest son, the twenty-year-old, how old is he?
WITNESS: He's twenty, much like your IQ.

ATTORNEY: Were you present when your picture was taken?
WITNESS: Are you shitting me?

ATTORNEY: So the date of conception (of the baby) was August 8th?
WITNESS: Yes.
ATTORNEY: And what were you doing at that time?
WITNESS: getting laid

ATTORNEY: She had three children, right?
WITNESS: Yes.
ATTORNEY: How many were boys?
WITNESS: None.
ATTORNEY: Were there any girls?
WITNESS: Your Honor, I think I need a different attorney. Can I get a new attorney?

ATTORNEY: How was your first marriage terminated?
WITNESS: By death.
ATTORNEY: And by whose death was it terminated?
WITNESS: Take a guess.

ATTORNEY: Can you describe the individual?
WITNESS: He was about medium height and had a beard.
ATTORNEY: Was this a male or a female?
WITNESS: Unless the Circus was in town I'm going with male.

ATTORNEY: Is your appearance here this morning pursuant to a deposition notice which I sent to your attorney?
WITNESS: No, this is how I dress when I go to work.

ATTORNEY: Doctor, how many of your autopsies have you performed on dead people?
WITNESS: All of them. The live ones put up too much of a fight.

ATTORNEY: ALL your responses MUST be oral, OK? What school did you go to?
WITNESS: Oral.

ATTORNEY: Do you recall the time that you examined the body?
WITNESS: The autopsy started around 8:30 p.m.
ATTORNEY: And Mr. Denton was dead at the time?
WITNESS: If not, he was by the time I finished.

ATTORNEY: Are you qualified to give a urine sample?
WITNESS: Are you qualified to ask that question?

ATTORNEY: Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: Did you check for blood pressure?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: Did you check for breathing?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: So, then it is possible that the patient was alive when you began the autopsy?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: How can you be so sure, Doctor?
WITNESS: Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a jar.
ATTORNEY: I see, but could the patient have still been alive, nevertheless?
WITNESS: Yes, it is possible that he could have been alive and practicing law.

Children's Books That Didn't Make it...

2009-05-04T17:15:00.003-04:00

You Are Different and that's Bad
The Boy Who Died From Eating All His Vegetables
Dad's New Wife Robert
Fun Four-letter Words to Know and Share
Hammers, Screwdrivers, and Scissors: An I-Can-Do-it Book
The Kids' Guide to Hitchhiking
Kathy Was So Bad Her Mom Stopped Loving Her
Curious George and the High Voltage Fence
All Cats Go to Hell
The Little Sissy Who Snitched
Some Kittens Can Fly
The Magic World Inside the Abandoned Refrigerator
The Pop-up Book of Human Anatomy
Strangers Have the Best Candy
You Were an Accident
Things Rich Kids Have, But You Never Will
Pop! Goes The Hamster, And Other Great Microwave Games
Your Nightmares Are Real
Places Where Mommy and Daddy Hide Neat Things
Daddy Drinks Because You Cry

DR. SEUSS Category:
One Bitch, Two Bitch, Dead Bitch, You Bitch
Herbert The Pervert Likes Sherbet
Fox In Detox
Who Shat In The Hat?
Horton Hires a Ho
Your Colon Can Moo - Can You?
Zippy The Rabid Gerbil
The Cat In The Blender
Marvin K. Mooney, Get the Hell Out!

Home

2009-04-30T06:34:00.009-04:00

We're back home after two wonderful weeks in England, the highlight of which being the fantasy wedding at Banwell Castle that my darling sister in law conceived, planned and implemented to perfection.

I highly recommend getting married in a castle because it is indescribly romantic and comes as close as you can get to feeling like Cinderella, or Cinderfella as the case may be. Since this is our first day back I don't have time to tell you all about it because I have to go to work and see how many inches of paperwork are covering my desk. However, here are a few photos to show you what a beautiful day we had.

Here's a shot of the castle--exactly as advertised, except better. Much, much better:

And here's a photo of the wedding party. You'll note that the groom is not wearing a tie or belt. This is because the groom forgot to pack them which he didn't realize until he started to get dressed an hour before the ceremony:

We had a pre-ceremony reception in the castle's drawing room so everyone could mingle and get to know each other. We also enjoyed a pre-ceremony cocktail which went a long way towards calming Cinderella's and Cinderfella's nerves:

By the way, the drink we call "mimosas" are called "Buck's Fizz" in England.

I highly recommend Buck's Fizz. Buck Fizzes. Whatever.

After the reception we moved to the gatehouse which had been beautifully decorated with flowers and candles and had our ceremony. I would show you photos of the ceremony but I was too busy at the time to take any; however, I can report that it was touching and romantic and my groom read a very sweet reading to me that made me all misty eyed.

And after we were hitched for the second time--two ceremonies on two continents makes us good and truly married I reckon--we enjoyed a feast:

Later on our wedding night we got the opportunity to try out the English health care system. The groom started running a fever early in that morning which only got worse as the day went along, plus he started having a hard time catching his breath.

Since there are no "doc in a box" clinics in England we called the local health service and they sent a very nice English doctor around to pay us a ~~housecall~~ castle call. He arrived at Morley's bedside a little after midnight, and after examining him the doctor loaded him up on antibiotics and recommended that he rest and stay warm for a day or two.

"Staying warm" is easier said than done in a castle--that stereotype about castles being drafty and hard to heat? True. Here's the groom the next day camped out in bed waiting for the meds to kick in, wearing all the bedcovers we could find plus his sweatshirt.

I might mention that if you have to put in a couple of sick days while on vacation, you could do worse than spending them holed up in a suite in an English castle with a guy named William bringing you trays of hot tea and freshly baked scones all day. I'm just saying.

And in case you are wondering, we don't believe my groom has swine flu. At least I hope it isn't swine flu because I started coming down with the same thing on the flight home last night.

And now I'm off for a shower and the office to uncover my desk, and unless a nice English doctor rings my doorbell, visit a "doc in the box" to get some meds of my own.

More soon.

Married. Again.

2009-04-26T04:43:00.005-04:00

We're getting married again today at this place, Banwell Castle, in a traditional English service.

I believe the way it works over here is first an evil knight locks me in a tower and throws away the key. Then I cry out for help and Morley hears me and vows to rescue me. So I let down my golden tresses and he climbs up my hair, squeezes thru the little window in the tower where I am being held captive, and we share a passionate kiss.

Then we suddenly realize that now both of us are trapped in the tower forever and ever, with no possible means of escape. Allegorically speaking.

Or maybe we just have a nice ceremony followed by a big lunch and a few drinks. I'm not exactly sure how it works but I'll let you know.

Concorde

2009-04-25T05:55:00.002-04:00

Morley's hometown has a very special relationship with the Concorde: the facility where these amazing aircraft were built is just minutes from Morley's mum's house and many people in the area, including Morley's dad, worked there.

After one of the Concordes crashed outside Paris in 2000, the decision was made (by the wimpy French) to retire the entire fleet. On the last day of service every Concorde in the world made one last flight, arriving in London at the same time to land one right after the other. One of them paid special tribute to Bristol on its way to London by flying over the facility where they had been built and wagging its wings in salute to the Bristolians gathered below to pay their last respects.

Morley's mum is very attached to the Concorde. She tells great stories about the days when she would stand in her back garden watching it in test flight overhead, but she had only seen them from afar, never up close and personal. So on her 80th birthday we fixed that--we arranged for her to tour the Concorde that had been donated to the Bristol area for a museum that is in the works (it might be open by now for all I know).

She had no idea where we were taking her but as soon as we pulled up to the Filton facility she guessed what we were up to. She was delighted.

The volunteers who gave her the tour made a big deal of it being her birthday. They ceremoniously waved her onboard where she had it all to herself for a few minutes to soak up the swanky leather smell and luxurious interior, then they invited her to have her photo taken in the seat by the Mach 2 sign that used to light up when the airplane broke the sound barrier.

The volunteers who take care of the Concorde keep everything exactly as it was when the plane was in service, right down to the fine linens and china dinnerware. There was no "first class" service on Concorde--every seat was "supersonic class".

By the way, the bathrooms looked like normal airplane bathrooms except for fresh flowers and marble countertops--but how often do you get to take a whizz going faster than the speed of sound?

What I'm craving by now

2009-04-24T04:58:00.005-04:00

Ordinary, nothing special, drip grind American coffee. Don't get me wrong--English brew is delicious but it just isn't the same.

By the time this post shows up we'll have been in England for over a week and I bet I'm craving a pot of plain old American coffee.

Also, email.

Also, the internet.

Also news, most especially the Drudge Report.

Also, Survivor and American Idol.

Also, you.

middle of nowhere

2009-04-23T05:00:00.003-04:00

Once we were driving aimlessly through England as we typically like to do when we spotted this ancient footbridge out in the middle of nowhere.

We pulled to the side of the road to take a closer look and to walk across a stone bridge that untold generations of Englishmen before us had crossed.

Then we found a rock to sit on and so we could enjoy the peace and quiet and watch this bird admire himself in the stream...

...and make plans to have watercress sandwiches with our afternoon tea.

Doors, and houses with names

2009-04-22T04:47:00.002-04:00

Every house in England has a beautiful front door and every house has a name.

When we get home I'm going to give our house a name.

I think I'll call it Rodney.

The Moors

2009-04-21T05:00:00.004-04:00

England has several areas known as moors. I'm not exactly sure what makes a moor a moor, all I can tell you that one minute you can be driving through the lush, verdant countryside that is so typical of England and the next minute you are in a place that is utterly different--a moor.

They are empty, almost arid vast stretches of land that extend as far as the eye can see. Moors are slightly eerie yet oddly compelling places.

There are no people living in the moors but lots of sheep call them home.

And there are no fences to keep the sheep in any particular part of the moor--they pretty much have the place to themselves and go wherever they please.

Q. Why did the sheep cross the road?

A. To get a starring role in Morley's home movie.

"I'm ready for my close up, Mr. DeMille. Just don't shoot my baaaaaad side."

career dilemna

2009-04-20T04:20:00.003-04:00

Although the opportunity was tempting, I quickly calculated that would only allow me to buy 168,000 sticks of rock, which is not nearly enough sticks of rock to get by on.

PS I have no idea what sticks of rock are but since they were being sold in a sweets shop I assume it is some sort of candy. But it sounds like something you'd buy in an ally from some guy wearing a hooded sweatshirt and sunglasses.

PPS Any American store advertising sticks of rock would get a visit from the popo

Beer

2009-04-19T05:00:00.004-04:00

One day as we were driving around going nowhere in particular, we spotted a village named Beer on the map. So we headed off to find Beer.

You know we had to go there....just so we could say we had a beer in Beer. We stayed overnight at this hotel:

Thus, we can truthfully say we have slept in Beer.

PS: there is a little creek that runs through Beer.

Corn Exchange

2009-04-18T06:56:00.006-04:00

Back in the days of merchant ships, the Corn Exchange in Bristol was where the big boys went to cut big deals. The outside of the building positively reeks of power and big deals. Its a huge building that almost fills a city block and the architecture is spectacular.

Back in the olden days, merchants gathered there to buy and sell staples of European life--things like spices, silks, and grains. Today the Corn Exchange is where tourists gather to buy wheatgrass smoothies and refrigerator magnets shaped like English phone booths.

I took a pass on the wheatgrass smoothie but I had to have one of those magnets.

Tomorrow: the night we slept in Beer

villages by the sea

2009-04-17T04:34:00.003-04:00

We love them, can't get enough of them, crave the very sight of them.

As soon as we land on British soil we head for ~~a pub~~ the sea and a quick fix of ~~Old Speckled Hen~~ fresh salt air and natural beauty.

Hey! How did that one get in there?

Planning ahead

2009-04-16T05:19:00.006-04:00

By the time you read this we'll be across the big pond and will have already chowed down on our first traditional fry up. My bad cholesterol will have started the slow, steady ascent that will peak in exactly two weeks when my head will explode and cooking oil will shoot out of my ears.

Also, I will be having the first of 14 consecutive bad hair days. My American hair appliances and English electricity do not play nicely together and I've never mastered the use of my English substitutes (the daily rain shower doesn't help matters either). People here assume I fix my hair each morning not with a comb and brush, but by sticking a fork in an electrical outlet.

Also, I'll be showing the first sign of microchip withdrawal. I won't have access to my laptop, or the internet, or my cell phone, or any other of my favorite technologies for fourteen whole days. This might kill me. Kids, don't try this at home--leave it to us trained professionals.

On the bright side, I have planned ahead to keep you amused while I'm away. I hauled out of bed especially early the week before we left to do some advance blog work just to keep you entertained while I'm away goofing off.

So tally ho for now and we'll see you tomorrow.

Tea

2009-04-15T04:25:00.002-04:00

Teabag photo by Tomasz Sienicki

Today is your day to show your displeasure with the insanity and wild spending going on in Washington. There are tea party protests scheduled all over America--find the one in your area and go. Please. And wave a sign for me while you're there.

Also, today is the day we fly to England (ironic, yes?) to begin our vacation. I've arranged a little surprise around here while we're away--you'll just have to come back tomorrow and see.

(Most of) Britain's Got Talent

2009-04-11T23:04:00.051-04:00

I am hooked on watching BBC partly because I live with an Englishman and partly because the Brits come up with different shows than the same old junk that is on American TV.

One of my favorite shows on the BBC is "Britain's Got Talent", a talent show where ordinary people compete for the chance to perform for the Queen. I knew from reading the UK newspapers online this week that there was buzz about the new season that started tonight--particularly about a frumpy unemployed 47 year old woman from Glasgow named Susan Boyle.

Susan wants to sing for the Queen and she might get to do just that. Here's her audition that aired tonight in the UK:

Note: YouTube has disabled the ability to embed the video on outside websites (boo, hiss!) but you can watch it here

Yowsah. She's good. And if you're up for watching another performance, here's Paul Potts. He was a mobile phone salesman from Wales who knocked my socks off in a previous season. He won the competition and sang for the Queen, and then went on to get his teeth fixed and become a popular singer in Europe:

This video still works.

However, lest I've given you the mistaken impression that every contestant on the show is a singer with the voice of an angel, I give you Fabia Cerra:

Fabia is a dancer who, tragically enough, had an unfortunate wardrobe malfunction last night when one of her tassels fell off during her performance. But she picked it up off the stage, stuck it on her head, and soldiered on with her dance routine. Because obviously Fabia is a classy broad.

You just don't see stuff like that on American television. I'm just saying.

Anyway, English judges know raw artistic talent when they see ~~them~~ it: Simon Cowell told Fabia he adored her, and Piers Morgan told her if he had his way she'd be in the finals right there on the spot. And despite the judges not being 100% sure that Fabia's particular form of artistic expression is the Queen's cup of tea, they voted her and her behemoth boobehs through to the next round anyway.

I can't wait to see what she comes up with next week, and for once I'll get to see the full version of the show live on the telly and not just snippets on the internet.

Oh, you know you want to see it:

Note: YouTube has also disabled external embedding of this video but you can trek over to YouTube (boo!) and watch Fabia here

PS: while the Queen was somewhere in the palace petting her corgis and cleaning out her purse--or whatever she does on a Saturday night--I bet Prince Phillip was glued to his telly. And here's $20 that says he was rooting for Fabia.

1934

2009-04-10T16:55:00.016-04:00

I got a great email from my penpal Dewey containing this cartoon published in the Chicago Tribune back in 1934:

..close ups so you can read it better:

and the comment in the email:

"The more things change, the more they stay the same! Those who fail to heed the lessons of history are doomed to repeat them. A review of the economic history of the 1930’s demonstrates that Roosevelt’s spending programs failed to turn the economy around. Unemployment temporarily dropped and then rose again in the late thirties to more than 15%. It took World War II to reverse that trend."

I think Americans are getting very impatient with politicians in general, and in particular with politicians who think it is perfectly okay to vote for the largest spending bill in the history of mankind without even reading it which pours billions--trillions!--of dollars we don't have into programs that have nothing to do with economic recovery. We're in a recession and our politicians have decided its a great time to install a swimming pool in the back yard and buy an Italian sportscar. They've lost their damn minds.

Washington politicians are out of control. They're on the mother of all shopping sprees and they're paying for it with their Capitol One Visa, also known as "loans from The People's Republic of China". And why shouldn't they enjoy splurging on every social program, every agenda they can dream up? After all, they don't have to pay back all those borrowed trillions--our great grandchildren will have to do that.

May I interest anyone in a nice cup of tea?

Things that are harder than they look(and this looks hard)

2009-04-07T10:20:00.004-04:00

Music for those who, unlike me, can walk and chew gum at the same time:

Ode to England

2009-04-02T06:07:00.031-04:00

It is just under two weeks until we head to England for a fortnight (that's two weeks) (I am just that hip with English lingo), and we can't wait. In addition to the chance to see family and have a second wedding in a castle and enjoy some relaxation, there are a few things in particular that I am looking forward to:

1. Teeny, tiny, itsy bitsy cars

We don't rent one because our luggage is approximately the same size as the vehicle itself, but I love watching them zip around. They make me feel like I'm living in a cartoon--every time I see one I expect Roger Rabbit to leap out of it and plant a big one on Jessica's sexy red rabbit lips. And parallel parking? Ain't no thang if you're driving one of these little beasties.

2. Old Stuff:

England has it going on when it comes to old buildings. I once made the mistake of mentioning one of America's historic buildings to an Englishman and got a bemused look like the one you'd give a three year old--one of those "kids say the cutest darn things" looks. England has grocery stores older than any of our so-called "historic"' buildings. Seriously.

3. Crazy tides

When the tide goes out in England, it goes out. Like, out to France or somewhere. I am fascinated by the sight of a harbor full of boats sitting on the ground waiting for the ocean to come back. One minute a beach and an hour later a deep harbor. Crazy.

4. Cream Teas

We are extremely lucky that America has no equivalent to English clotted cream. It is the crack cocaine of dairy foods and if it was available in this country we would all be hopeless addicts with butts as big as buses. It isn't easy to describe but try to imagine a combination of creamy full-fat ice cream, fresh butter and whipped cream and you'd have the general idea. You slather a thick layer of it on a freshly baked scone and add a little dab of strawberry preserves on top, then wash it down with a pot of tea. Then you unzip your pants because you have gained an instant twenty pounds, then you waddle out to your teeny, tiny car and squeeze your fat self in. (Not that I am speaking from personal experience, I've just seen it happen to me someone else). This stuff is seriously, wickedly, addictively delicious.

5. Dogs in ~~Bars~~ Pubs
6. Old Speckled Hen ale

Which, when enjoyed in combination, do not make for the best photography >hiccup<

7. Lambs, lambs, and more lambs

Lambs are the cutest animals in God's creation and England has endless fields of them. Sometimes we pull over and get out of the car just to watch them frolic and play, or listen to their plaintive little cries that sound just like human babies when they venture too far from their mums. But let's get real: oh sure, I might enjoy watching them romp about flicking their cute little tails, but when I see a cute little lamb frolicking in the meadow what I'm really thinking is "dinner". I can just taste how good they're going to be with mint sauce and a side of roasted potatoes. I'm ba-a-a-a-a-d.

8. English People

English people are utterly delightful with their distinctive dry humor and a self deprecating wit that pulls you right in. I love all of them in general and these two in particular. When I get within fifteen feet of these guys I start laughing and I don't stop until they are well out of earshot. And later I'll have flashbacks to something they said and start giggling all over again. They live near London and we're going to spend a couple of days hanging out with them. And laughing. And maybe petting dogs in pubs. And sipping pints of Old Speckled Hen. And eating lamb covered in clotted cream.

Well, maybe not on the bit about lamb covered in clotted cream.

Text THIS, big man

2009-03-30T17:08:00.005-04:00

My brother Bratley has a Blackberry and he knows how to use it. He can whip out the entire text of War and Peace in about the time it takes me to peck out the following message: :-)

As my text crazy family will attest, I suck at text messaging but even Bratley would have a hard time here:

It is time

2009-03-27T22:41:00.003-04:00

Why Men Don't Write Advice Columns

2009-03-24T14:43:00.006-04:00

Dear Norman,

I hope you can help me here. The other day, I set off for work leaving my husband in the house watching the TV as usual. I hadn't driven more than a mile down the road when the engine conked out and the car shuddered to a halt. I walked back home to get my husband's help. When I got home I couldn't believe my eyes. He was locked in an embrace with the neighbor's daughter. I am 32, my husband is 34, and the neighbor's daughter is 22. We have been married for ten years.

When I confronted him, he broke down and admitted that they had been having an affair for the past six months. I told him to stop or I would leave him. He was let go from his job six months ago and he says he has been feeling increasingly depressed and worthless. I love him very much, but ever since I gave him the ultimatum he has become increasingly distant. He won't go to counseling and I'm afraid I can't get through to him anymore.

Can you please help?

Sincerely,
Shelly

Dear Shelly:

A car stalling after being driven a short distance can be caused by a variety of faults with the engine. Start by checking that there is no debris in the fuel line. If it is clear, check the vacuum pipes and hoses on the intake manifold and also check all grounding wires. If none of these approaches solves the problem, it could be that the fuel pump itself is faulty, causing low delivery pressure to the injectors.

I hope this helps.

Norman

Butt Ugly Boat Update

2009-03-23T06:25:00.008-04:00

Jim brought the furniture home on Saturday and what a difference! Here's a little before/after shot to show you just how far we've come.

There are a few more photos on my website right here. A couple more small projects still to go, and then the interior will be put on the back burner while we attack our list of projects for the outside.

PS It involves polishing compound and lots of wax.

PPS This is where you come in.

PPPS I'm looking at you, Matt.

How to lose your job on TV

2009-03-22T17:44:00.006-04:00

This is an old clip but still ridiculously, painfully funny. If you have a job on a TV talk show, don't do this if you want to keep your job.

Seriously, don't do it.

Please, for the love of God, buy this boat

2009-03-19T08:03:00.005-04:00

The deal is we own one boat too many, so in case you know anyone looking for a sweet Carver 350 Mariner that has been maintained in meticulous condition by an anal rententive engineer, we just happen to have one for sale. Go here for a video tour. We just reduced the price and are ~~desperate~~ open to offers.

PS Did I mention we are motivated to sell?

Salute to St. Patty

2009-03-17T15:29:00.015-04:00

Here is your official Irish test: Ireland Quiz. I got most of them right which tells you how much useless crap is stuffed into my brain when I can hardly remember where I put my car keys.

Anyway, moving on with our St. Patty's theme, here is a photo of an authentic Irish leprechaun:

Okay, so that's not really a leprechaun. It's my husband after a quick trip through PhotoShop. But it is an accurate representation of what you'll feel like tomorrow if you drink too much green beer at the St. Patty's party tonight. So don't do that.

And finally, here is your official Irish Joke of the Day.

IRISH JOKE OF THE DAY:

'Hallo, Mr. Sarkozy!' a heavily accented voice said. 'This is Paddy down at the Harp Pub in County Clare, Ireland. I am ringing to inform you that we are officially declaring war on you! We voted to reject the Lisbon treaty!'

'Well, Paddy,' Sarkozy replied, 'This is indeed important news! How big is your army?'

'Right now,' says Paddy, after a moment's calculation, 'there is myself, me Cousin Sean, me next door neighbour Seamus, and the entire darts team from the pub. That makes eleven!'

Sarkozy paused. 'I must tell you, Paddy, that I have 100,000 men in my army waiting to move on my command.'

'Begoora!' says Paddy. 'I'll have to ring you back.'

Sure enough, the next day, Paddy calls again. 'Mr. Sarkozy, the war is still on. We have managed to get us some infantry equipment!'

'And what equipment would that be Paddy?' Sarkozy asks.

'Well, we have two combines, a bulldozer, and Murphy's farm tractor.'

Sarkozy sighs amused. 'I must tell you, Paddy, that I have 6,000 tanks and 5,000 armoured personnel carriers. Also, I have increased my army to 150,000 since we last spoke.'

'Saints preserve us!' says Paddy. 'I'll have to get back to you.'

Sure enough, Paddy rings again the next day. 'Mr. Sarkozy, the war is still on! We have managed to get ourselves airborne! We have modified Jackie McLaughlin's ultra-light with a couple of shotguns in the cockpit, and four boys from the Shamrock Bar have joined us as well!'

Sarkozy was silent for a minute and then cleared his throat. 'I must tell you, Paddy, that I have 100 bombers and 200 fighter planes. My military bases are surrounded by laser-guided, surface-to-air missile sites. And since we last spoke, I have increased my army to 200,000!'

'Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!' says Paddy, 'I will have to ring you back.'

Sure enough, Paddy calls again the next day. 'Top o' the mornin', Mr. Sarkozy! I am sorry to inform you that we have had to call off the war.'

'Really? I am sorry to hear that,' says Sarkozy. 'Why the sudden change of heart?'

'Well,' says Paddy, 'we had a long chat over a few pints of Guinness and packets of crisps, and we decided there is no way we can feed 200,000 prisoners.'

(make vaudeville sound such as ba-domp! domp! here)

....And thus concludes our St. Patty celebration. Unless, of course, you want to drop by the house tonight with a six pack of Guinness beer, in which case the celebration can rock on until 7:30 or 8 PM when we tuck in for the night.

Signed,
Your O'Web Empress

PS. I think the joke might be funnier if you happen to be English

PPS. I think a certain Englishman is going to kick my butt when he sees that photo of himself looking like an Irish leprechaun.

PPPS. Just kidding about going to bed at 7:30. I'll stay up til 8:30 if you show up with the Guinness.

the best sister a girl could ever hope for

2009-03-16T06:25:00.009-04:00

PS I love you to bits.

we get a bailout

2009-03-12T18:01:00.001-04:00

Try JibJab Sendables® eCards today!

Landing in the Hudson

2009-03-10T17:15:00.003-04:00

Sent to me my my email buddy, Dewey who always comes up with the very best, most interesting stuff:

"It's amazing what computer graphic artists can create. Attached is a re-creation of the US Air flight that made an emergency landing in the Hudson River, takeoff to touchdown with ATC radio transmissions. This gives you a perspective of how quickly the US air crew had to react to realize the outcome they experienced.

Note the tail of smoke which indicates the pilots began making very quick decisions long before they landed in the Hudson--when you realize they were supposed to fly over the Hudson not down the Hudson."

Odd Body

2009-03-06T06:49:00.006-05:00

My daughter Michelle found a website where you can put your face in odd bodies. For example, here are the girls as Coneheads:

...and here are Michelle and Tony decked out in some royal threads from the Medievel times:

Very sexy, yes? And since Michelle has been kicking my butt at our mutual goal of getting in shape for summer, she actually looks exactly like this photo. Brat.

...and here's Morley with Prince Charles' hair and me with Camilla Parker BowWow's double chin. Oh wait, that's my double chin. My bad.

But I would like to point out that is definitely Camilla's size 44 waistline. I just wanted to clear that up in case you wondered.

Was that a trick question, Officer?

2009-03-05T19:38:00.002-05:00

Snow in Atlanta

2009-03-02T06:38:00.013-05:00

Disclaimer to relatives living in places where snow is normal: we don't get much of it down here so humor me while I talk about snow as if it was the rarest thing ever.

So. It snowed in Atlanta. It snowed a lot--about five inches worth. And what was really strange is it was a "thunder snow". The weather on Saturday was warm and balmy so when the cold front rolled through we had thunder and lightening...and snow. Thunder snow is very odd, indeed.

Shelby was fascinated by it. She had no earthly idea what that stuff was and kept sniffing at it and licking it and trying to eat it to figure it out. And then she made us a nice patch of yellow snow.

It was really cold too--not fit for man nor beast outside.

So I sent Morley out into the cold and snow to gather firewood. That's just what women do when it snows--send the men and beasts outside to gather firewood.

Every kid in Atlanta was outside making snowmen which they only have a chance to do a couple of times during their entire childhoods. It was great.

Of course the only reason we love snow is because on the rare occasions we get any of it, we know it won't hang around long enough to make life inconvenient. The weather will start warming up to normal today (its 20 degrees lower than is typical right now) and temps will be in the mid 70's by next weekend. If we had to put up with it for days or weeks at a time, we wouldn't be nearly as enamored by the white stuff.

Okay, I'm finished talking about snow now. Thanks for indulging me.

working amongst engineers

2009-02-26T13:49:00.003-05:00

Most offices would just post a note reminding you to make another pot if you drink the last cup of coffee.

Dewrinkled

2009-02-24T06:25:00.018-05:00

Last weekend my sister and brother in law came down to pick up the Butt Ugly Boat's furniture so Jim can take it back to his shop and reupholster it.

He wanted to see how all the parts and pieces fit together in their native habitat and how they attach to the hull, so we paid a quick visit to the BUB. Unfortunately it was too darn cold and windy to take a cruise, not to mention the boat is currently a total wreck--we're having new shifters and cables installed in the pilothouse and flybridge and there are boxes and hatch doors and wires and boat parts scattered everywhere. It really is a disaster area these days. Egads.

So while the guys hung out admiring loose wires and gaping holes on the BUB, my sister and I paid a little visit to my favorite spot in Buford, the Blue Lotus Spa, where we signed up for facials and reflexology treatments.

The facial lady took Loretta first, so I headed back with the reflexology therapist to a room with dim lights, soothing music and a fluffy soft table with piles of cozy warm blankets. For the next hour she massaged my feet and ankles, putting pressure on specific points on the soles of my feet that stimulated various organs.

"This point will stimulate your pituitary gland"

"Ahhhhhhhhh....mmmmm"

"And this is your heart"

"Ahhhhhhhhh...mmmmm"

"And this is your thorax"

"Ahhhhhhhhh...mmmmm"

"And this is your right ovary"

"mmmmm....." (I don't even have a right ovary but I was totally going with the flow by this point)

"And this is your left ear canal"

".....purrrrrrrrr....."

...and so on until I was a puddle of buttah lying on that table. After an hour it was time for Loretta and me to switch places, so I lumbered off the reflexology table and slithered across the hall to the facial room while Loretta slithered in the opposite direction on her way to the reflexology room.

As I struggled to stay awake on another soft fluffy bed with warm cozy blankets, the facial lady slathered me with all sorts of creams and wonderful smelling lotions. After awhile she brought out a big magnifying glass to inspect my skin on the cellular level.

She pondered my skin for a couple of minutes and then suggested a Glycolic mask to tighten up my pores and smooth out my wrinkles. By that time I was so relaxed that I would have agreed to an amputation of the limb of her choice, so I roused from my stupor long enough to say okay. And as she disappeared into another room to prepare the mask I laid there in a dream-like, semi-conscious state, a boneless mass of mellowness with my mind drifting about in outer space.

Soon she returned with her magic bowl of Glycolic wrinkle-removing goodness and commenced to applying it to my face. The mask immediately felt wonderfully cool and tingly. And then it felt quite refreshing and slightly invigorating in a tingly kind of way. A moment after that, it felt tingly in an insistent, slightly disconcerting way. And then that tingly feeling morphed into the sensation of having a thousand bumblebees jacked up on crystal meth stapled to my face and neck. HOLY MOTHER OF GOD.

My mind instantly returned from its leisurely orbit around the planet Saturn and snapped into high gear as I excitedly mumbled from underneath the blankets something about being burned alive in a vat of searing acid. The facial lady chortled and said Glycolic acid is acid, silly, and the burning sensation is what would excite my skin and remove my wrinkles.

Oh. I see.

My face was under chemical attack but I was being de-wrinkled. Whole different perspective. So I laid there with my face on fire and silently ordered my pesky brain to knock it off with the urgent telegrams about imminent death and disfigurement.

Later after she had removed the acid and applied a few more creams and lotions, and after my adrenalin level and heart rate had returned to normal, she handed me a mirror to inspect my skin. It looked soft and smooth and noticeably less wrinkled.

She asked me if the pain had been worth it and I said yes--no pain, no gain. The facial lady commented how funny it was that my sister had said the exact same thing.

Shea and Sean Hannity

2009-02-23T13:28:00.007-05:00

Be sure to listen to Sean Hannity's radio show today--my neice Shea is going to be on the air with him talking about...well, I'm not exactly sure what she'll be talking about but I know it will be wonderful and interesting and the best part of the whole show. You're a great American, Shea.

PS: Sorry, I couldn't resist the chance to say that

PPS: I hope you get a LobsterGram

stimulous nightmare

2009-02-22T13:38:00.002-05:00

Bravado

2009-02-19T07:03:00.011-05:00

I was on my way to Kroger after work yesterday ~~because the only food in the house is a can of beanie weenies and a jar of Karo Syrup~~ to buy a few final ingredients for the gourmet dishes I will be serving when my sister comes to visit this weekend when my husband phoned me.

He told me to head home because there was a big storm headed our way and he didn't want me to get caught in it. Although I was disappointed to miss out on grocery shopping (snicker), I turned the car around and was home within a couple of minutes.

A minute or two after that, the storm hit. We got pelted by hail stones:

...big 'uns:

As it rained and hailed like crazy outside we were glued to the TV and Channel 2 with its fascinating new technology that gives a dimensional view of storms. There were tornado warnings issued for the counties south of us--always exciting to watch--but the weatherman was making a really big deal of how much hail was inside the storm (the white part of the photo below).

I joked about how freaked out people here get over a little wimpy hail storm compared to the real hail storms we experienced in Texas. I regaled Morley with stories about those big storms with hail stones the size of watermelons and how blase we former Texans are about big storms. WIMPY GEORGIA WEATHER, I MOCK THEE.

I was very cool and sophicated in a knowledgeable, world traveler kind of way as I passed the time snapping photos of Shelby and the cats staring out the window at the hail coming down, and scoffing at the wimpy Georgia hail storm.

And then the storm outside suddenly intensified and the sound of hail beating down on the house was almost deafening. And then this message came on the screen:

Tornado warning. For our exact neighborhood.

So I dropped that sophisticated world traveler bullcrap and shot towards the foyer like a missil headed for Bagdad and huddled in this closet until the big scary Georgia storm passed.

Consensus

2009-02-18T04:25:00.008-05:00

Morley told me he wanted to have input on the choice of new chairs for the Butt Ugly Boat. So I woke him up about 4:00 AM one morning, shoved the laptop in his face, and asked him if he liked this chair. He mumbled something that sounded like "huh? wha? sure. nice. what time is it?" and then he rolled over and fell back asleep.

So I took that as his thumbs' up on the new direction for the boat's decor and ordered some. Is he ever going to be surprised when they get here.

Pushing up daisies

2009-02-17T05:56:00.029-05:00

So. The reason I haven't posted an update recently is because last week my beloved computer--my main computer, the mothership computer, the one where all the good stuff lives--passed away peacefully in her sleep. I was with her at the end, gently stroking her mouse and assuring her it was okay to walk towards the light, and when her BIOS screen slowly faded to black and the monitor went dark for the last time I wept bitterly. And then I tried to reboot her sorry ass but this time she is good and truly gone. She's in a better place.

Anyway, my husband who is still hyperdiligient about gift opportunities following the regrettable forgotten birthday incident last month has generously offered to spring for a new one and I, who am still milking the situation for all its worth, graciously accepted.

The problem is I can't just get a new computer and immediately hunker down to computing on a newer, faster machine like normal people do. If only. First I will have to transfer over the three hard drives from my old machine.

Because I am ~~too lazy~~ concerned about losing vital data, I never got in the habit of transferring the contents of the old hard drive onto the new drive when I replaced my computer. I just added the old drive(s) as a slave(s) to the new one(s) and kept going. Over and over.

For example, I still have "Piglet", the 8 gig hard drive from my old ITMG computer in my current PC. It is so old it has dinosaur dookie on it but I cling to it because I just never know when I might need to refer to spam received in 1999, or like last week, want to take a trip down Memory Lane by reading websites I published on R&B in 2000. And I have "Good Stuff", the 40 gig hard drive from the PC I bought in 2001. It stores photos I took with my original digital camera in breathtaking 1 megapixel resolution which was amazing technology back in the day. Plus it archives my vast assortment of animated gifs that were lovingly collected back in the stone age when every website needed a moving cartoon character or two. And so on. Basically important, vital, irreplaceable, earth shatteringly critical stuff.

And so like the crazy cat lady who hoards old newspapers, cardboard boxes and plastic bags until she can no longer find her sofa under the piles of garbage, I kept adding hard drives, one after another, over and over, for a decade. And the last time I went computer shopping I found it very difficult to find a PC with enough slots to house all those hard drives along with the other peripherals which I must possess in order to live another day on this planet. And now I find it impossible to find a PC that will hold it all. Gah! So we're talking custom build here, plus a weekend or three peforming ten years' worth of deferred maintenance. Also, possibly some soul searching to decide if I really need to archive cigar jokes dating back to the Clinton administration.

Point is, until I get the new computer up and running I'll make do with my laptop and the data contained on Hard Drive #4 (codename "Rodney"), a 500 gig external hard drive with back up copies of my 2,000 MP3s, my stash of 50,000 or so photos, and most of my data.

What? You think I'm nuts? Of course I backed up all that stuff to an external drive. But it just isn't the same as having ancient hard drives running Windows 98 hanging around like little tiny time capsules of ten year old emails and useless software applications that you just can't find anymore. Sheesh.

Hello, my name is Susan and I am a geek.

All together now

2009-02-13T07:50:00.004-05:00

If you're in a bad mood, here's the perfect antidote:

Snow in England

2009-02-06T08:15:00.006-05:00

My darling sister in law Carol emailed these photos she made from her front window this morning. England doesn't usually get much snow, but what with Global Warming and all, they are covered up with it. Go figure.

Looking at these photos makes me want to wear fuzzy slippers, make a pot of soup, and curl up by a crackling fire to read a Charles Dickens' novel.

Butt Ugly Boat ...not so much

2009-02-03T07:06:00.012-05:00

The blue carpet is gone. Hallelujah. Here are a few photos of the amazing transformation when the new carpet went in last Saturday.

This is a "before" shot of the salon looking towards to steps to the pilot house--except we'd already hauled off a few dozen dock carts full of junk so it is really a "during" shot:

...then the carpet guys pulled out the blue carpet and it looked better immediately:

...and now it looks like this. Mo bettah.

Note my husband coming up the stairs carrying a vacuum cleaner. I'd like to take this opportunity to mention that one of life's great pleasures is watching your husband use a vacuum cleaner.

The BUB has a central vacuum system which would have been a better choice for sucking up the little pieces of carpet fluff that were everywhere, but we blew a hole in our last filter bag about five minutes into the clean up so we had to use the little one and empty its teeny tiny little dust bag about a thousand times.

Here's a shot of the pilothouse with its new floor. It looks three feet bigger without that gross blue carpet, seriously.

And here's a "during" shot of the salon. We'd already hauled off loads of junk by the time I took this shot, plus we'd carried off the massive, oversized, klunky, ugly, beat-up wood table left by the previous owner. We put the table on our friend Mike's houseboat. Mike loves that table. Mike is a bachelor who can decorate to please himself.

And here's the salon now. We've ordered some really pretty leather and as soon as it comes Jim is going to recover the sofa for us.

Obligatory butt crack photo of carpet installer. Sorry, I couldn't help myself.

Here's the companionway that leads to the bedrooms, office and bathrooms. It had always looked like a dark, gloomy cave but the very minute they pulled out the blue carpet it lightened up like crazy. The guys spent about half an hour scraping the old padding off the floor.

And here's the companionway now. Much, much, much mo bettah:

We still need to update the lights with more modern versions that will really light up the area, but at least we can now find our way to bed without getting lost in the dark hole.

It was such a morale booster to see the new carpet installed--you just can't imagine how much we had been looking forward to this day. I'm thinking it won't be long before we'll have to think of a new name for the Butt Ugly Boat.

misunderstanding

2009-01-31T04:00:00.000-05:00

Child's homework:

Note sent to teacher the following day:

Dear Mrs. Jones,

I wish to clarify that I am not now, nor have I ever been, an exotic dancer. I work at Home Depot and I told my daughter how hectic it was last week before the blizzard hit. I told her we sold out every single shovel we had, and then I found one more in the back room, and that several people were fighting over who would get it. Her picture doesn't show me dancing around a pole. It's supposed to depict me selling the last snow shovel we had at Home Depot.

From now on I will remember to check her homework more thoroughly before she turns it in.

Sincerely,
Mrs. Smith

a deadly cup

2009-01-30T06:21:00.026-05:00

6:00 AM Rustle through pantry to find something for breakfast. Observe the cupboards are bare, then remember that my last trip to the grocery store was approximately three weeks ago. Make mental note to man up and buy groceries soon. Find banana and call it breakfast.

10:00 AM Still hungry. Hit the drive-through window at Wendy's for a large chili and call it more breakfast.

10:45 AM Notice funny rumblings and vague churning sensation coming from my nether regions.

11:00 AM Realize that the thought "hurling might feel good" suddenly pops into my head in the middle of other thoughts. For example:

"Hi, I'm calling about our invoice which is 30 days overdue. When can we expect ~ it might be good to hurl ~ your check?"

"I wonder why this bank ~ it might feel good to hurl ~ statement doesn't balance"

11:05 AM: Hit the ladies room

11:15 AM: Hit the ladies room

11:45 AM: Hit the ladies room

12:05 PM: Hit the ladies room. Save time and energy by staying there. Determine there are precisely 3,284 little holes in the ceiling tiles of the ladies room.

2:30 PM: Bravely exit ladies room and collect bank deposit from desk. Announce I am going to bank to make deposit and shall not return

2:40 PM: Stop at gas station on way to bank. Inspect restroom.

2:50 PM: Make deposit. Count holes in ceiling tiles of bank restroom.

3:15 PM: Arrive home and set up camp in half bath downstairs. Catch up on reading six months' worth of magazines. Learn that Wii game consoles are predicted to be in short supply for Christmas giving.

4:00 PM to 6:15 PM Realize decor of downstairs half bath has been sadly neglected. Spend the next few hours in focused planning for new decor. Flip through old magazines for ideas.

6:45 PM Stare at junk crammed in bathroom vanity just beyond my reach. Realize vanity has apparently become something of a junk repository. Make plans for future decluttering project once it is safe to venture more than three inches from throne.

7:00 PM: Gingerly consume one-half can of tomato soup prepared by spouse.

7:05 PM: Marvel at how efficiently my digestive system processes tomato soup.

9:15 PM: Begin planning firebombing at the home of person responsible for cooking chili at the Wendy's on Jimmy Carter Boulevard. Calculate odds of doing hard time for the crime and determine there's not a jury on Earth that would convict me.

11:45 PM: Determine that I have successfully drained every ounce of fluid and food from my body, including fluid and food I haven't even consumed yet.

11:46 PM: Crawl in bed. Fall into instant exhausted sleep. Dream about shoving a perky kid with freckles and red pigtails into a boiling vat of bacteria-infested chili and holding her there until she dies a horrible and painful death.

taking Butt Ugly to a whole new level

2009-01-26T07:34:00.005-05:00

Assuming the weatherman is accurate in his forecase of a rainless weekend with mild temperatures, the new carpet on our Butt Ugly Boat will be installed next Saturday. We wanted to get the messy work finished before the new carpet goes in so we spent the last two days ripping out the horrible carpet on the walls and removing the salon furniture which Jim will be reupholstering soon--as soon as we figure out what fabric we want him to use.

The salon as it looks today:

The salon we started with:

The master stateroom today:

What we started with:

The guestroom now:

...and before:
We have a lot--a lot--of work ahead of us.

What really caused that plane to crash into the Hudson River:

2009-01-23T13:38:00.008-05:00

Here's your sign

2009-01-23T04:00:00.005-05:00

To those Southerners who grit their ~~tooth~~ teeth in frustration because the rest of the country often makes jokes about us being morons, this video sent to me by my penpal Dewey might provide some insight:

People think Southerners are morons because, frankly, sometimes we are.

the 30th Point of Compatibility

2009-01-22T05:26:00.036-05:00

Five years ago this week I had my first date with the first of three prospective husbands I purchased off eHarmony*.

*In case you live on another planet with no television, eHarmony is an online dating service that matches couples on the basis of 29 points of personal compatibility.

Bachelor #1's name was Don, and in the photo he provided of himself he looked pretty darn good: a tall, nice looking guy with thick brown hair and a nice smile. After we got to know each other a little via email and phone conversations we agreed there seemed to be potential so we arranged to meet in person.

Being the savvy, street-wise chick that I am, I chose a restaurant in his part of town and not mine and assured him it wasn't necessary to pick me up, that I'd meet him there. It was always good to have your own wheels in case your date turned out to be (choose all that apply) a schizophrenic serial killer / stalker / rapist / wierdo / boring.

I immediately got a very good feeling about Don when we met that first time. He looked just like his photo--always a nice surprise when it comes to online dating--and as we chatted easily over dinner we discovered we really did have a lot in common.

Eventually our conversation turned to the attack of 9-11 and what we did that day, which is particularly handy information to have about your date. By knowing how they acted when the world was crazy, you get a good idea of how they would act if they get the gig as your Significant Other and down the road you find yourself in trouble and calling on them to save your ass.

I told my story first: there I was, all alone and trapped in Washington, walking the dark streets of an evacuated city with snipers on the rooftops and tanks in the streets, watching the Pentagon burn from my hotel window just three blocks from the White House, and flying home on the first plane out of DC when the airport eventually reopened. I told him how proud I was to be one of the thousands of Americans who flew that first day to show those terrorist cowards they didn't intimidate us one little bit.

And then I sang a few bars of God Bless America and recited the Pledge of Allegiance, then I sat back and took a sip of wine to await Don's story.

Here's what Don did on 9-11: left his office immediately, stopped for beer on the way home, got out all his guns and ammo, smoked a joint, and called his friend Bubba to come help him guard his house.

Me: "You're kidding".

Don: "No. Seriously."

Me:

Don:

Me: "You're joking, right?"

Don: "No."

Me:

Don:

Me:

Don:

Me:

Don:

Me: "Oh, my! Can it really be 7:45 already? Wa-a-a-y past my bedtime!"

And then I found my way to my car without any help from ~~Rambo~~ Don and went home to see if I had any messages from eHarmony Bachelor #2.

Change

2009-01-21T06:40:00.005-05:00

I recently joined a bloggers' group and our challenge for January was to write a new post every day for thirty days, with the suggested theme being "change".

I've wracked my brain to think of something to say for nineteen straight days, most of which was mind dullingly boring and none of which had anything to do with the topic of change. So today, on Day 20 of the 30 Day Challenge, I will talk about change. Here it is:

I'm not posting anything today for a change.

See you tomorrow.

Dad and Dr. King

2009-01-20T05:43:00.009-05:00

I grew up in the boonies where everybody pretty much looked and acted like everybody else. Of course we saw bad things on the news and knew discrimination existed elsewhere in the world, but it just wasn't anything we ever saw first hand.

My first chance to know someone different than me came when a Catholic family moved to town and the new kids came to summer camp with us. We children accepted each other without a second thought but the Catholic mother was a nervous wreck about the prospects of her children spending a week camping in the woods with what she viewed as a bunch of snake handling, feet washing, tongue-speaking, Catholic-converting Baptist kids. She sent her kids off with strict orders not to attend devotions with us or participate in any feet washings or snake handlings--activities which were not on the agenda anyway since we weren't that kind of Baptist--so the first discriminatory thought I ever had in my life was that Catholic kids were nice but their mothers were totally wierd.

When I first learned about slavery in elementary school, I came home and asked my Dad if it was really true that in the olden times people owned other people. He said it was true that some people had but not anybody we were related to. He assured me that our ancestors were so poor that their jobs were to clean the slaves' houses while they were at work. Around our house any budding concept of genetic supremecy--white or otherwise--was pretty much nipped in the bud.

In my Dad's view of the world a person's value came not from the circumstances of birth--skin color, social standing, wealth--but from working hard and staying at it longer than anybody else, and from doing the right thing even when the "right thing" and the "easy thing" were two totally different things. In fact, the only discrimination my Dad ever exhibited was an utter distain for "deadbeats"--people who didn't work hard and expected other people to take care of them, with particular distain directed towards men who didn't take care of their families or pay their bills.

Martin Luther King's view of the world was much the same as Dad's, except instead of teaching his values to six kids like my father did, he taught an entire generation to forget about the obstacles, work hard, and stand up for what is right.

So speaking as my father's daughter and allegedly the decendant of a slaves' maid, I am impressed that Obama worked harder and stayed at it longer than anyone else.

And if my Dad were still around I think he would also be impressed that Obama overcame the odds to achieve something that only a handful of other people in history have ever achieved.

Except Dad would be having a conniption fit that we've elected a screamin' Liberal to the White House. I forgot to mention that Dad's value system placed Liberals somewhere on the list between "people who drive Ford products" and "deadbeats".

Two Helpful Lists

2009-01-19T15:32:00.003-05:00

List #1

Other things you can do with coffee filters:

Cover bowls or dishes when cooking in the microwave. Coffee filters make excellent covers.
Clean windows and mirrors. Coffee filters are lint-free so they'll leave windows sparkling.
Protect China. Separate your good dishes by putting a coffee filter between each dish.
Filter broken cork from wine. If you break the cork when opening a wine bottle, filter the wine through a coffee filter.
Protect a cast-iron skillet. Place a coffee filter in the skillet to absorb moisture and prevent rust.
Apply shoe polish. Ball up a lint-free coffee filter.
Recycle frying oil. After frying, strain oil through a sieve lined with a coffee filter.
Weigh chopped foods. Place chopped ingredients in a coffee filter on a kitchen scale.
Hold tacos. Coffee filters make convenient wrappers for messy foods.
Stop the soil from leaking out of a plant pot. Line a plant pot with a coffee filter to prevent the soil from going through the drainage holes.
Prevent a Popsicle from dripping. Poke one or two holes as needed in a coffee filter.
Do you think we used expensive strips to wax eyebrows? Use strips of coffee filters.
Put a few in a plate and put your fried bacon, French fries, chicken fingers, etc on them to absorb all the grease.
Keep in the bathroom. They make great "razor nick fixers."

List #2:

Things that are difficult to say when drunk:

1. Innovative
2. Preliminary
3. Proliferation
4. Cinnamon

Things that are very difficult to say when drunk:
1. Specificity
2. Anti-constitutionalist
3. Passive-aggressive disorder
4. Transubstantiate

Things that are downright impossible to say when drunk:
1. No thanks, I'm married.
2. Nope, no more booze for me!
3. Sorry, but you're not really my type.
4. Taco Bell? No thanks, I'm not hungry.
5. Good evening, officer. Isn't it lovely out tonight?
6. Oh, I couldn't! No one wants to hear me sing karaoke.
7. I'm not interested in fighting you.
8. Thank you, but I won't make any attempt to dance. I have no coordination and I'd hate to look like a fool!
9. Where is the nearest bathroom? I refuse to pee in this parking lot or on the side of the road.
10. I must be going home now, as I have to work in the morning.

Atlanta Boat Show 2009

2009-01-18T06:32:00.015-05:00

We went to the Atlanta Boat Show yesterday. Since we're in the middle of renovating the BUB we thought it would be a good chance to get ideas on the newest trends in interior finishes and maybe score some bargains on the long list of electronics we need to update.

Normally the boat show is packed and the lines for the best exhibits are an hour long, but this year it was almost eerily empty. The biggest disappointment was there were no mega yachts or million dollar houseboats on display and there were even a few empty vendor booths. Unfortunately there was only one vendor selling electronics and he wasn't in a very generous mood so we didn't bring home any bargain electronics

But we did score a pair of $50 boat sneakers for $9.99.

Oh, and Shelby got a new hat:

...and we ran into our friends and fellow boaters Raif and Linda who are getting married on their boat this summer.

Plus we got to get up close and personal with Miss Geico. Even though we aren't really into boat racing, we recently watched a documentary about the engineering that goes into racing boats and Miss Geico was prominently featured since she is the fastest boat in the world. Seeing this thing in person was impressive--the boat is HUGE and obviously built for speed.

Not to mention it is very, very, very neon yellow.

Miss Geico's throttle man, Scott Begovich there was signing autographs. The documentary also spent a lot of time talking about Scott and how impossibly hard his job is, so meeting the best trottle guy in the universe was kinda cool. I always imagined boat racers would be weedy little guys so they'd fit in that tiny cockpit better but Scott is a BIG guy.

He asked to have his photo taken with me:

....and then he asked me if I had any advice so I gave him some pointers on fast boating based on my experience puttering around the lake in our diesel powered floating condominium. I also suggested some carpet and drapes and maybe a lamp or two to make Miss Geico a little more comfy inside:

He begged me for more decorating ideas but I told him I really needed to get going. Afterwards he rushed back to the table where he had been signing autographs and jotted down some of the tips I'd given him.

Or maybe he just wanted to go back to sitting beside the cute blonde in a bikini and her impressive ~~hooters~~ ability to keep the autograph line moving.

Depression

2009-01-17T11:41:00.003-05:00

I was depressed last night. So I called Lifeline and got a call center in Pakistan.

I told them I was suicidal.

They got all excited and asked if I could drive a truck.

HotLanta? Not so much.

2009-01-16T08:44:00.003-05:00

By the way, Morley has now experienced the coldest weather he's known since moving to America. I expect his whining and shivering to stop sometime in April.

Better make that July.

f-f-f-f-f-rigid

2009-01-15T07:28:00.006-05:00

Atlantans are preparing for these temperatures much like we'd prepare for an imminent nuclear strike. In fact, a nuclear attack was what I thought the newscasters were talking about until I took a break from building our underground shelter long enough to listen. I thought their breaking news story "we're all going to die" was a little melodramatic though.

We're not all going to die--only the people who haven't bought enough bread, milk, and beer will.

English Tradition

2009-01-14T07:00:00.021-05:00

Our marriage service at Banwell Castle in England is April 26th which means it is high time we get some things going on this side of the pond. You know, things like mailing invitations, making decisions about who is coming and what food will be served, firming up the ceremony details, figuring out what to wear...basically, pretty much everything.

You might assume that a planning a small wedding service would be a piece of cake after pulling off that shindig in September. But nay, you would be wrong.

American weddings and English weddings are two totally different cats. The customs and traditions are different, the legal processes are different, everything is different except the end result and English as the language of choice.

And since I've never even been a guest at a wedding in England, I am at a cultural disadvantage when it comes planning one. In other words, I don't have a clue what I'm doing.

The only information I have about English weddings comes from being glued to the TV set watching this one:

...which is a little over the top for what we have in mind.

Ours will be a civil service, a low key ceremony nicely suited to people who have previously been at bat, nuptially speaking, and would like a little hoopla around their latest and greatest marriage but not so much hoopla as to pretend it is anybody's first rodeo. In short, a wedding with a sheepish attitude.

Since the whole point of going to England is to have a traditional English service, I'm relying heavily on the advice of my mother-in-law and sister-in-law along with whatever information I can glean off the internet about civil services other couples have had.

And that means just this one time I am using as an example:

...the civil service of Prince Charles ~~the pig who cheated on Diana from Day One~~, and Camilla Parker Bowles ~~the lying, cheating, conniving, two faced hussey who fooled around with Diana's husband behind her back~~ the Duchess of Cornwall.

Dear God.

(Forgive me, Diana--I promise to kick Camilla right back to the curb as soon as her usefulness is over. PS I hear there's trouble in paradise between hubby and his new wife. Just thought you'd like to know.)

Anyway--and I can't believe I'm saying this--I used Camilla as a fashion guide and bought a cream color dress with a matching cream overcoat sort of like the one she's wearing in that photo, and Morley is wearing a morning suit sort of like Chuck's. Kidding, kidding. He's wearing a velour jogging suit and tennis shoes. Kidding again. He's wearing a dark suit. All terribly British, you know.

But I totally draw the line at wearing anything like that wierd thing she had on her head.

Wtf is that thing? Seriously. Is that supposed to be a hat, or did a quail crash land into the back of her head?

Or maybe it is a vortex of really bad marriage karma forming around Mrs. Chuck The Second--a little wedding gift sent from above by the late Mrs. Chuck The First.

Wearing a hat that resembles a peacock in heat attached to the back of your head is not a good look for you, Camilla. Or for anyone.

Seriously.

And so that's where Camilla's role as a fashion inspiration comes to an end.

Instead, I've chosen classic accessories that are elegant and understated, yet pay subtle tribute to my American roots:

God save ~~Diana~~ the Queen.

Judy Chop!

2009-01-13T17:14:00.004-05:00

My neice Shea sent me this video--twice--because she thinks its hilarious. Actually, she reacted to this video in exactly the same way I reacted to the clip of Austrialians playing spoons, a two minute video that had me incapacitated for two days. Shea is firmly convinced we might be related to this feller.

And remember, kids: don't be judy choppin' when you're kung fu kickin'.

what cranks your tractor

2009-01-13T09:58:00.005-05:00

Not that I embrace stereotypes or anything, but everything in this video is the gospel truth.

And that's all I have to say about that.

21 degrees in Atlanta

2009-01-12T06:12:00.003-05:00

Our weather forecast for next weekend:

This global warming thing is a killer, man.

Done Deal

2009-01-11T19:28:00.025-05:00

Saturday morning bright and early we trekked 45 minutes across town to pick up my bargain UK phone booth purchased off craigslist. It fit--with half a centimeter to spare--in my SUV and caused only minor physical injuries when we lugged it into the house.

In fact, I've almost already regained full feeling in my legs.

Here you see Muffin stretched out in front of my new phonebooth, obviously admiring how the rich splash of red adds just the right note of whimsy to the room and marveling at how cleverly it displays the priceless object d' art such as my Precious Moments collection.

Just kidding on the Precious Moments collection. I just put the junk in there that used to sit on the table that occupied that spot. Note to self: acquire some priceless object d'art to display in big red phonebooth.

And here you see Shelby and Morley engaged in a conversation about the newly installed big red phonebooth:

Shelby: Uh, dad, the hell? Whattsup with a phonebooth in the house?

Morley: Ask your mum. Now go fetch me another Excedrin and an ice pack.

Recovery

2009-01-10T06:03:00.002-05:00

So. Wednesday was my birthday. I turned fifty-freakin'-three which, I reminded myself, sucks but it sure beats never turning fifty three. It's all in how you look at it, a practice in rationalization that comes in handy as I age. My boobs sag like cannon balls in a gunny sack but at least I can stay out past 10 PM without asking for my parents' permission. Or, more accurately, I could stay out past 10 PM without permission if I could only stay awake that late.

Anyway, my beloved sister called me first thing to sing happy birthday and my friend Carol called next, and throughout the day I got birthday wishes from lots of family and friends.

My first hint that not everyone remembered my birthday came after lunch when my coworkers presented me with a cake and sang Happy Birthday to me (albeit in the key of "N"--you'll never see a barbershop quartet comprised of engineering types), and they gave me a birthday card they had circulated around the office for everyone to sign.

As I read the card my eyes were drawn to one particular entry: the one that was signed "oooops!". And that was my first clue that my husband had forgotten my birthday.

When I arrived home after work he looked like this, an expression not unlike the one prisoners have as they are led away to the electric chair.

He was so apologetic and remorseful about forgetting my birthday that I decided not to kill him after all. I ate the festive dinner of microwaved lasagne that he prepared all by himself with his own two hands, and I resisted the temptation to make him feel any worse than he already did--if such a thing was even possible. After dinner was over I gave him a wimpy goodnight kiss accompanied by a feeble "that's okay, honey" and went to bed.

The next day I worked from home on some year-end accounting stuff, and at 5:00 on the nose I heard my husband come in the back door. Normally I would rush to greet him with a kiss, but this time I stayed at my desk working because not only was I in the middle of a tricky calculation, but I was also in the middle of dishing out some apathetic treatment towards forgetful husbands.

After I finished the calculation I was working on I moseyed into the kitchen to greet him. And there he stood beside a bouquet of flowers as big as a Buick and a stash of gifts, each of which he had carefully and thoughtfully chosen (versus his normal selection process which revolves around whatever merchandise the store has displayed closest to the door).

And he gave me the sweetest birthday card ever produced by mankind then took me out for a wonderful dinner during which he said the nicest, sweetest things and made me feel like a million bucks.

And so I forgave him completely for forgetting my birthday and even secretly hoped he forgets again next year.

Big Red Stray Neuron

2009-01-09T04:12:00.003-05:00

Sometimes you see something and for reasons unknown you just want it. A few months back I saw this in a magazine:

...a big red replica of an English phone booth, except it has glass shelves inside instead of a telephone. And I coveted it real bad. I don't know why, but I did.

Even though I coveted the big red phone booth I didn't give any serious thought to buying one because they are way too expensive. And besides, they're really big and I wasn't sure what I would do with it if I had one. Only a moron would buy something so big and so red if they don't know what to do with it.

Hey! Look what I got:

A big red replica of an English phone booth.

I bought it for $250 off craigslist.org from an interior designer whose client never took delivery of it. I'm picking it up on Saturday.

Cracking under the pressure

2009-01-08T04:26:00.005-05:00

I have absolutely no earthly idea why, but this short video from Australia strikes me as one of the funniest things I've ever seen. The first time I watched it I laughed until I cried, and then I watched it again and laughed until I cried even harder.

It's entirely possible it isn't all that funny to anybody but me and I might be cracking under the pressure of...work, mental illness, global warming, whatever.

Most likely, it strikes me as so funny because it looks like something my brothers would do to each other, or they would have done to my nephew Kevin before Kevin bulked up like a WWF wrestler and became a PoPo (at which point the chances of Kevin being the victim of their practical jokes fell like a rock).

Anyway, watch it. And please tell me you think it's funny. I need some reassurance that I'm not losing it.

Dock 5 Band Jam

2009-01-07T09:53:00.008-05:00

I took my video camera along when we had the Dock 5 Band Jam last week (what a surprise, eh?) (Sorry. I can't help myself when it comes to carrying cameras around. They're attached to me like appendages).

Anyway, since I just happened to videotape the band I thought you might like to see what it looks like when a bunch of middle age people get together and make some groovy music. Check this out:

The band sounded awesome, especially considering they had never played together before. And they sounded that great all night. I think they need to give up their day jobs and go on tour. Maybe. Or not.

Anyway, it was so much fun and the music was so great that it was totally worth it to be exhausted and sore over every inch of my body the next day.

PS The little rap at the beginning of the song refers to the Atlanta Falcons being in the playoffs.

PPS They lost.

Carpet Projection

2009-01-06T05:07:00.010-05:00

I was playing around with some interior photos of the Butt Ugly Boat yesterday, and while this isn't the finest work I've ever done in manipulating a photo, I took a quick swipe at it just to get an idea of how the new carpet is going to look.

Here's what the salon looks like now:

Behold the carpet resplendent in all its ugly glory: stains galore, discoloration, fading, and worst of all, dreary blue. Or maybe the stains are the worst of all since we don't know exactly what caused them. Either way, yechhhh! And gross!

And here's what the salon will look like after the awful blue carpet is gone:

Two words: mo bettah. Except....YIKES!!! Look at that creepy sofa! It's horrible!

That sofa is ridiculously butt ugly but it didn't bug me this much when the awful carpet was still there. Now it sticks out like a sore thumb. And those blue chairs? They look like office furniture from the 1980's and they are really blue--not quite as dreary blue as the carpet, but still. They gotta go. Apparently the BUB is like a big onion of ugly--when you peel away one layer, there are more layers of butt ugly underneath.

Speaking of layers of ugly, here's a photo Morley took when we were at the fuel dock this weekend:

There's blue--and we're talking bright! blue!--all over the outside and it bugs the bejeebers out of him. He already has a bead on replacing the blue canvas and blue bumpers with a more modern black, and when we have the boat pulled this winter to take care of some maintenance issues, he's having the bottom painted black while he's at it.

Slowly but surely we're peeling away the layers of our ugly onion.

The Butt Ugly Boat - Progress Report

2009-01-05T05:51:00.008-05:00

If you don't know about our Butt Ugly Boat,

affectionally known as BUB, start here.

So far our efforts (and budget) on renovating the BUB have focused on things you can't see--things like new battery banks and chargers, light switches that actually work, new hardware on the cabinets, new electrical service lines and various pumps. Oh, and we have cleaned and oiled a lot of teak. A lot of teak. A lot.

All those unglamorous but necessary items didn't do much to change how the boat looks, which of course is Butt Ugly. But now we're ready to begin the fun stuff --the cosmetics--and the obvious place to begin is getting rid of the gawd awful blue carpet.

One of the biggest factors in choosing new carpet is coordinating the carpet to the color of the existing headliner (ceiling). The headliner fabric is good quality and in perfect condition but is a slightly funky shade of khaki. We originally thought about replacing it but then we visualized what a pain in the ass it would be to recover the entire ceiling. And then we visualized the exhorbitant cost of replacing the entire ceiling. And then we decided to learn to love our ceiling instead of replacing it. Love you long time, funky khaki color.

So before we headed out carpet shopping Saturday morning, Morley found a discreet place behind a valance and cut out a piece of the headliner fabric to take with us, then we headed for Dalton, Georgia where most of the carpet in the universe comes from. We found a carpet store with one million square feet of display area (literally!) and within 30 minutes we found exactly what we had in mind. This one:

The one on top is the new carpet we'll have installed next week. It is a very durable, stain resistant carpet with just a hint of pattern so it won't show stains as easily as a solid carpet would. I put it beside a carpet sample that's similar to the current gawd awful blue carpet (minus the mysterious stains) to give you an idea of how much the lighter color will brighten up the joint.

And here's a close up of the new carpet with the fabrics we've picked out for the sofas and trim panels. The swatch with the creases in it is the headliner fabric and the two bottom swatches are the fabrics for the new upholstery. They look and feel like ultra suede but they're actually cotton microfiber so they're stain resistant, washable and very durable.

PS. Have you noticed how often the words "durable" and "stain resistant" come up in conversations related to the BUB? Go figure.

Anyway, once the new carpet gets in we'll move on to removing the wierd fuzzy fabric that lines the interior of all the closets and the insets around the portholes, and we'll replace it with a marine grade vinyl. After that we'll tackle installation of a new teak floor in the pilot house that Morley has his heart set on.

Our goal is to have all of this work done by March when the weather warms up and boating season begins again, so we have our weekends cut out for us for awhile. The funny thing is that if we had a "to do" list this long at home it would be a bummer to even think about it, but we are excited about tackling our mega "to do" list on the boat. It just goes to show that everything truly is better on water.

I'll keep you posted on our progress--or you could just come visit and see for yourself. Bring teak oil and some rags when you come.

Band Jam

2009-01-04T05:51:00.011-05:00

Our dock neighbors Dennis and Max live just a couple of minutes away from the marina. Not only does their house have a spectacular view of the lake, it also has a separate building that's a big garage on the first floor and what will someday be a music room/guest house on the second floor.

But on Friday night, the guest house was the scene of a music jam as we pulled together all our musically inclined friends for the ultimate garage band--a "middle aged rave" as I called it.

Here's Ron: in real life he's a hot shot electrician in Colorado but we know him as a seriously talented bass player. Geez, was he good.

And this is his brother Rick. These days he owns his own home renovation company but back in his younger days he was one of the drummers for Earth Wind and Fire.

Here's Dennis on the drums. He's a responsible kind of guy who owns a window company but in another era he was the drummer for a band that was pretty hot stuff down here in the South. Dennis is a killer drummer. Killer.

Here's Ron and Chat playing a hot riff. Chat is still a professional musician, by the way.

And here's our friend Steve. In real life he and his wife own a company that puts on races for historic race cars, but Friday night he was hitting some hot licks on the bass.

Here's Chat doing some vocals. His wife Peggy (behind him taking a photo of me taking a photo of her) plays the flute professionally. Who knew a flute could sound so good with rock music?

And here's my husband. In real life he's a responsible mechanical engineer, but on Friday night he was...ummm, a responsible mechanical engineer.

Actually, he wasn't too shabby if I say so myself.

But once the band's break was over they made him go back to his seat so they could get down to making serious music.

PS. We're such rock stars that virtually everyone in these photos--including yours truly--barely got off the sofa the following day. We were napping like Seniors in an old folks home after staying up past our bedtimes the night before. We are a pathetic bunch of old fogies, aren't we?

PSS Unlike some people, I did not wear my pajamas all day.

Cowardice

2009-01-01T08:59:00.019-05:00

One day last summer when I was sitting on the dock in shorts and a tee shirt sipping a cold one and trying to stay cool in the summer heat, my dock friend Ann came up to me to ask if I would be the photographer at her son's wedding.

Her son Randy and his darling fiance Rita are a young couple in love and are as sweet and nice as any two people you could ever hope to meet. They were planning their wedding on shoestring budget and couldn't swing the expense of a professional photographer.

Since I have a reputation for constantly shoving my camera in peoples' faces, Ann figured I could make myself useful for a change. And because I definitely wanted to help Randy and Rita, and because a wedding date two days after Christmas sounded like a long time away, I said okay.

So two days after Christmas I loaded up my camera bag and headed off to the church to take their wedding photos. As I made the one hour drive from the marina to the church I was cool as a cucumber as I made a mental list of all the shots I wanted to take and counted how many spare batteries I had in my bag. And then about five miles from the church I had an ephinany:

"What the hell was I thinking?!? I'm not a professional photographer."

Duh.

I'm just an annoyingly persistent amateur armed with an overly elaborate and ridiculously complex point-and-shoot camera with tons of bells and whistles I haven't figured out yet.

The ephinany was immediately followed by a serious case of the heebie jeebies, the technical term for which being "performance anxiety". I could clearly envision the day sixty years hence when Randy and Rita's grandchildren would beg to see their wedding photos, and Randy and Rita would sadly shake their heads and explain they don't have any wedding photos because their mother's dumb ass friend screwed it up. And a tear would run down Rita's cheek. And Randy would mutter my name followed by a swear word and wish for the ten thousandth time that they'd hired a real photographer to capture the most important day of their lives.

I was about to screw up the happiest day of Randy and Rita's life.

And what was so wierd was this was not the first wedding I had photographed. I did Heather's friend Shannon's wedding a couple of years ago and never broke a sweat. But I had a bad feeling about this one and it scared the bejeebers out of me.

Since the wedding was in an hour it was too late for me to back out or find a professional photographer, so I sucked it up and said a quick prayer that I wouldn't screw it up too badly. And for the next three hours I snapped a million photos and used every setting on my camera I could think of and fervently hoped for the best.

After the wedding was over I came back to the boat and put my camera away without even looking at what was on it. I was too scared to look. Seriously, I have rarely been as nervous about anything as I was when I thought about looking at those photos.

After letting them lay there unseen in my camera for a week, I finally put my big girl panties on this morning and put the memory card into my laptop to see how bad the photos were. And praise be, they aren't bad. Not the caliber you'd get from a professional photographer who actually knew what they were doing and who used professional camera gear, but not bad.

These photos are the raw version--unaltered, untweaked "straight from the camera"--so I still need to do some retouching with PhotoShop to sharpen up some details, boost the color and contrast here and there, edit out ceiling light fixtures and other background distractions, and do some cropping to make them more interesting. But all in all, they aren't bad.

You have no idea how relieved I am that I won't have to talk Randy and Rita into having another wedding so I can reshoot their photos.

Christmas Secrets and Birthday Wishes

2008-12-29T06:34:00.021-05:00

Now that Santa, that lazy slacker, has finally delivered all his gifts I can tell you what he was up to this past week.

First of all, only moments ago Santa's elf who works for UPS in England finally delivered our Christmas package to Morley's family--four days late. Ho, Ho, Ho, my butt. And thus later today I'll be having a chat with Santa's elves in UPS's billing department about getting a refund on those whopper fees we paid to get the stuff there by Christmas Eve.

As for Heather's visit from Santa, her gift wasn't easy to wrap so she had almost nothing under our tree before Christmas. She found her gift yesterday when she returned home from Kentucky--while she was out of town that sneaky Santa broke into her place and whipped out a mini Extreme Makeover on the bedroom in her new apartment. I wish I had made some Before and After photos to show you how great it turned out but Elf Morley and Elf Susan were so wigged out and pooped after toting all that booty up and down the stairs at Heather's place that they were too exhausted to push the button on the camera. (Not really. Elf Morley and Elf Susan just forgot to take their dang camera with them.)

As for the rest of the kids, we stopped giving them individual gifts a few years back when we realized we are clueless old codgers with no earthly idea of what teenage boys like or what the girls or my son-in-law really want. So now we give them something we enjoy together: a family adventure. We call it our "Family Christmas in July" and all of us look forward to it all year long.

This year Santa delivered a DVD to them with instructions to play it on Christmas Day:

Or go here to watch a larger version on YouTube--and please, for Heaven's sake click the "watch in high quality" link below the screen so you can see a better, clearer format than the over compressed, blurry "normal" format.

And so that is (finally!) the official end of our Christmas season. Whew! That was intense.

And now our Birthday Season begins, and in this family Birthday Season is almost as intense as Christmas. We have a LOT of birthdays packed into the next ten days.

On that note, Happy Birthday Michelle and Carol!

A very mellow Christmas

2008-12-26T06:12:00.015-05:00

What to do at Christmas is always a bit of a quandry for Morley and me. Although we know perfectly well that we could show up at any family member's home and be welcomed with open arms, that solution has never felt quite right to me. Chalk it up to being single for too many Christmases, but being a participant in somebody else's Christmas feels a bit like being Uncle Lewis and Aunt Bethany in the movie "Griswold Family Christmas". (At least I never felt like I was being a Cousin Eddie but my family might have a different viewpoint they haven't shared with me.)

We used to solve the dilemna by going on a tropical cruise during Christmas week but two years ago we discovered by accident that we were paying super premium prices to cruise during the exact week the ship contained the maximum number of ~~brats running wild~~ children exploring the ship under minimal supervision while their parents ~~got hammered at the pool and totally ignored their hoodlums~~ relaxed.

Since this has been an intense year with precious little time to chill out and relax, what I really wanted to do for Christmas was as little as possible. And that's what we've done.

On Christmas Eve we attended the first half of a candlelight service at a Baptist church near the house. It's a long story about that half-sermon, but let's just say it was the most ~~depressing~~ somber Christmas message I've ever heard and we ~~sneaked out the back door~~ discreetly left the church before ~~we gave into our sudden urge to put a bullet through our brains~~ the minister finished his thought provoking sermon. We dropped by some friends' house for a quick visit, then went home and built a fire and stayed up late waiting for Santa to show up.

On Christmas morning we exchanged gifts and hung around the house reveling in the rare sensation of not having anywhere to go and nothing to do, then we packed up Shelby and headed here to the boat.

In the early afternoon two couples joined us for a long, leisurly Christmas cruise around the lake. It was perfect: we had the water to ourselves, the weather was warm (nearly 70 degrees), the sky was sunny and blue, the seagulls were playful, and the boat was decked out in Christmas lights and garlands. We had Christmas carols playing on the radio but the best music of all was the sound of our cell phones ringing with calls from the kids in Kentucky and our families in Tennessee and England.

After our cruise was over, our friends left and we grilled a nice simple dinner for ourselves. Despite the wonderful weather the dock was quiet and peaceful and we had it all to ourselves for awhile, except for the ducks and the seagulls and the occasional fish jumping out of the water.

In the early evening another couple from a neighboring dock dropped by for coffee and dessert. We stayed up late again, talking and laughing and sharing memories of Christmas Past spent with our families. It was, all in all, the perfect low-impact Christmas celebration.

Today we not only get a visit from Santa (the satellite guy is coming to finally move our TV signal from the old boat to our new one), we get to be Santa by finishing a little project for Heather that wouldn't fit in her Christmas stocking. I'll have to tell you about it later since she might be snooping around the internet while she's spending Christmas with her sisters and her dad in Kentucky. All I can say about it for now is that we've had a ton of fun plotting our little project and can't wait to implement it, and she's gonna love it.

And that's what we've done with our Christmas holiday so far.

From the decks of Magnificent Obsession, we wish you a very merry remainder of the Christmas weekend, and to all a Happy, Mellow and Less Frantic New Year.

M-m-m-m-merry Christmas

2008-12-24T08:10:00.005-05:00

I'm crazy trying to get ready for Christmas but there's always time to enjoy a few minutes listening to the best Christmas song. Ever.

Merry Christmas, everybody!

Galley Wench

DO SOMETHING for Pete's sake!

A touching story

Happy Valentines Day - our home movie

let's talk billion

working thru my inbox

Angel Earl - Part 1

Brrrr and BUB progress report

You peeps are joking, right?

One a day is all he can handle

we're groovy, baby

marital flashback

universal

why crackheads shouldn't sing at funerals

birthday boy

Elvis and MJ are ALIVE!!

nicaraguan birthday

Ronald Reagan on socialized medicine

ninja deer

Me and Bratley

A sad tale about brothers and birthdaysAlso, I need a favor, bad

Coming Soon to this Space: Something I Actually Write Myself

ObamaCare explained in Legos

Independence Day

Ho, Ho, Ho

Love

addiction

Joy

*tap* *tap* Is this thing on?

Q & A

Lawyers

Children's Books That Didn't Make it...

Home

Married. Again.

Concorde

What I'm craving by now

middle of nowhere

Doors, and houses with names

The Moors

career dilemna

Beer

Corn Exchange

villages by the sea

Planning ahead

Tea

(Most of) Britain's Got Talent

1934

Things that are harder than they look(and this looks hard)

Ode to England

Text THIS, big man

It is time

Why Men Don't Write Advice Columns

Butt Ugly Boat Update

How to lose your job on TV

Please, for the love of God, buy this boat

Salute to St. Patty

the best sister a girl could ever hope for

we get a bailout

Landing in the Hudson

Odd Body

Was that a trick question, Officer?

Snow in Atlanta

working amongst engineers

Dewrinkled

Shea and Sean Hannity

stimulous nightmare

Bravado

Consensus

Pushing up daisies

All together now

Snow in England

Butt Ugly Boat ...not so much

misunderstanding

a deadly cup

taking Butt Ugly to a whole new level

What really caused that plane to crash into the Hudson River:

Here's your sign

the 30th Point of Compatibility

Change

Dad and Dr. King

tap tap Is this thing on?