Saturday, February 14, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
The Polls Are Now Open
Please vote in my exciting polls over there. ==>
In addition to the polls at the right side of your screen, I'd love to hear your comments on how you feel about the word verification and comment moderation features.
But, before you start haranguing me for being stuck-up or defensive or paranoid or whatever, first consider my reasons for using both:
When I started this blog, I received quite a few spam comments. I got more spam than real comments. (Then again, I only had two readers, so maybe that's not surprising). Even with the word verification, I still get an occasional spam comment, but only occasionally. I also don't mind the word verification on other blogs; sometimes they are rather amusing or cryptically on point and I get a chuckle. But I understand some folks really hate it. Here is your chance to tell me how you feel about it.
I've enabled comment moderation only for posts more than a few days old. I do not use it to selectively publish comments; in fact, I've never failed to publish one unless it was clearly spam, or a duplicate (when someone accidentally hit the "submit" button twice). I just use the moderation feature so I will be notified that the comments are there. I love your comments. I hang on your every word. I don't want to miss any of them. But I don't check my email very often -- maybe once every week or two, depending on how busy I am. And although I generally scroll down through the most recent two or three posts to see if there are new comments, I don't want to have to scroll down through all of the old posts every day just to see if I've got new comments. Thus, the comment moderation is an easy way for me to know that I've got a new comment on an older post.
Now that you've considered my reasons, I still want to know if I am annoying you all with one or both of these features, and thereby reducing the number of comments I get. If that is the case, I will remove one or both of them. After all, I hang on your every word. I am a comment junkie. I crave your approval, disapproval, and/or apathy -- so long as it is expressed in comment form.... so I'll do what it takes to encourage more comments, even if it means checking my email more often and/or deleting spam more often. But if you find them only mildly annoying and it won't make a difference to the number of comments I get, I will likely leave these features as they are now.
So, use the polls at the right to register your opinion!
And use the "post a comment" button at the bottom of each post to tell me how much you love me (or not...)!
In addition to the polls at the right side of your screen, I'd love to hear your comments on how you feel about the word verification and comment moderation features.
But, before you start haranguing me for being stuck-up or defensive or paranoid or whatever, first consider my reasons for using both:
When I started this blog, I received quite a few spam comments. I got more spam than real comments. (Then again, I only had two readers, so maybe that's not surprising). Even with the word verification, I still get an occasional spam comment, but only occasionally. I also don't mind the word verification on other blogs; sometimes they are rather amusing or cryptically on point and I get a chuckle. But I understand some folks really hate it. Here is your chance to tell me how you feel about it.
I've enabled comment moderation only for posts more than a few days old. I do not use it to selectively publish comments; in fact, I've never failed to publish one unless it was clearly spam, or a duplicate (when someone accidentally hit the "submit" button twice). I just use the moderation feature so I will be notified that the comments are there. I love your comments. I hang on your every word. I don't want to miss any of them. But I don't check my email very often -- maybe once every week or two, depending on how busy I am. And although I generally scroll down through the most recent two or three posts to see if there are new comments, I don't want to have to scroll down through all of the old posts every day just to see if I've got new comments. Thus, the comment moderation is an easy way for me to know that I've got a new comment on an older post.
Now that you've considered my reasons, I still want to know if I am annoying you all with one or both of these features, and thereby reducing the number of comments I get. If that is the case, I will remove one or both of them. After all, I hang on your every word. I am a comment junkie. I crave your approval, disapproval, and/or apathy -- so long as it is expressed in comment form.... so I'll do what it takes to encourage more comments, even if it means checking my email more often and/or deleting spam more often. But if you find them only mildly annoying and it won't make a difference to the number of comments I get, I will likely leave these features as they are now.
So, use the polls at the right to register your opinion!
And use the "post a comment" button at the bottom of each post to tell me how much you love me (or not...)!
My Husband Is Andy Warhol
I came home from work today and this is what I found on my kitchen counter. A wall of Pop-tarts, looking very much like an Andy Warhol Campbell's Soup painting:
Apparently, they were on sale at Safeway for $1 a box. My husband loves Pop-tarts, so he stocked up.
Apparently, they were on sale at Safeway for $1 a box. My husband loves Pop-tarts, so he stocked up.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Must Have Been Some Awesome Bar...
We moved into our home in 1990. At the time, I was just starting law school, and hubby (then boyfriend) and I were living together, along with various and sundry other housemates (who have since been replaced by our kids).
As soon as we had the telephone connected, the calls began.
(Telephone rings)
"Hello."
"Hi..... uh, is this Tequila Dan's?"
"Tequila ... What's that?"
"Tequila Dan's, it's a bar. Sorry, I must have dialed the wrong number."
* * * *
(One minute later, telephone rings again)
"Hello."
"Oh, I guess this still isn't Tequila Dan's, huh."
"No, no it's not. It's a house."
"Ok then. Bummer. Well, bye."
"Bye."
Similar conversations took place over many weeks, then months, and finally I asked one of the wrong-number dialers what was so great about Tequila Dan's?
He said, "I dunno, it was just a fun bar. Good drinks. Kind of a dive, though."
* * *
Fast forward to my graduation from law school, three years later, and we were still getting calls every month or so for Tequila Dan's.
* * *
A couple of years later, the calls had pretty much stopped, I thought. But then I got another one as I was making wedding preparations in 1997. And another shortly after the birth of my first child in 1998. Several more as Y2K approached; presumably folks were looking for some place awesome to celebrate, or to sit and watch as the world descended into chaos, if you believed the end-of-the-world-doomsayers.
By then, the internet had been invented (but not by Al Gore), so I googled it and found a photo of a "Tequila Dan's Mexican Food" restaurant sign; the caption said it was on 48th Street in Phoenix.
I wasn't sure if it was the same place. None of the wrong-number dialers had ever called it a restaurant. They all just called it a bar.
But anyway, here is the photo I found:
* * *
I hadn't thought about Tequila Dan's for at least five years. And then, during halftime of the Super Bowl a couple of weeks ago (yes, in 2009), the telephone rang, and the call brought a smile to my face:
"Hello."
"Uh, hi.... Is this Tequila Dan's?"
"No, I'm so sorry, it's not, but can I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
"What is it about that bar? I've lived in this house for nearly 19 years and had the same telephone number the entire time, yet folks are still calling, asking for Tequila Dan's! It must have been quite a great bar, eh?"
"Yeah, wow. I just found this old matchbook from there, and I just thought I'd call and see if it's still there."
"Where was it?"
"Oh, it was on 48th Street in Phoenix."
"Well, it's apparently gone now. Sorry. So what was so great about that bar that you're calling it, 19 years later?"
"I dunno. It was just a fun bar."
This is wrong (and hilarious!) on so many levels. First, who keeps a matchbook from a dive bar for 19 years? Second, who calls that bar during halftime of the Super Bowl? Aren't you already ensconced in a bar or a friend's house or at home drinking and watching the game?!? You're not seriously going out right now, are you? Third, what is so friggin' awesome about this dive bar that people are still calling it NINETEEN YEARS LATER?!? No one has ever really answered that question, other than to call it a "fun bar." Fun is good, don't get me wrong here, but it's not much of a description for a bar you are calling nearly two decades after it apparently has closed....
All I know is, if I ever open a bar, I'm calling it Tequila Dan's. And using my home telephone number.
.
As soon as we had the telephone connected, the calls began.
(Telephone rings)
"Hello."
"Hi..... uh, is this Tequila Dan's?"
"Tequila ... What's that?"
"Tequila Dan's, it's a bar. Sorry, I must have dialed the wrong number."
* * * *
(One minute later, telephone rings again)
"Hello."
"Oh, I guess this still isn't Tequila Dan's, huh."
"No, no it's not. It's a house."
"Ok then. Bummer. Well, bye."
"Bye."
Similar conversations took place over many weeks, then months, and finally I asked one of the wrong-number dialers what was so great about Tequila Dan's?
He said, "I dunno, it was just a fun bar. Good drinks. Kind of a dive, though."
* * *
Fast forward to my graduation from law school, three years later, and we were still getting calls every month or so for Tequila Dan's.
* * *
A couple of years later, the calls had pretty much stopped, I thought. But then I got another one as I was making wedding preparations in 1997. And another shortly after the birth of my first child in 1998. Several more as Y2K approached; presumably folks were looking for some place awesome to celebrate, or to sit and watch as the world descended into chaos, if you believed the end-of-the-world-doomsayers.
By then, the internet had been invented (but not by Al Gore), so I googled it and found a photo of a "Tequila Dan's Mexican Food" restaurant sign; the caption said it was on 48th Street in Phoenix.
I wasn't sure if it was the same place. None of the wrong-number dialers had ever called it a restaurant. They all just called it a bar.
But anyway, here is the photo I found:
* * *
I hadn't thought about Tequila Dan's for at least five years. And then, during halftime of the Super Bowl a couple of weeks ago (yes, in 2009), the telephone rang, and the call brought a smile to my face:
"Hello."
"Uh, hi.... Is this Tequila Dan's?"
"No, I'm so sorry, it's not, but can I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
"What is it about that bar? I've lived in this house for nearly 19 years and had the same telephone number the entire time, yet folks are still calling, asking for Tequila Dan's! It must have been quite a great bar, eh?"
"Yeah, wow. I just found this old matchbook from there, and I just thought I'd call and see if it's still there."
"Where was it?"
"Oh, it was on 48th Street in Phoenix."
"Well, it's apparently gone now. Sorry. So what was so great about that bar that you're calling it, 19 years later?"
"I dunno. It was just a fun bar."
This is wrong (and hilarious!) on so many levels. First, who keeps a matchbook from a dive bar for 19 years? Second, who calls that bar during halftime of the Super Bowl? Aren't you already ensconced in a bar or a friend's house or at home drinking and watching the game?!? You're not seriously going out right now, are you? Third, what is so friggin' awesome about this dive bar that people are still calling it NINETEEN YEARS LATER?!? No one has ever really answered that question, other than to call it a "fun bar." Fun is good, don't get me wrong here, but it's not much of a description for a bar you are calling nearly two decades after it apparently has closed....
All I know is, if I ever open a bar, I'm calling it Tequila Dan's. And using my home telephone number.
.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Cruel and Unusual Punishment
Until last night, I had never watched American Idol.
Well, I admit I have seen bits and pieces on occasion -- a singer here, a judge "critique" there -- but I had never watched an entire episode. I recognize that it is a very popular show and therefore many of you may think I am weird because of this, but I am ok with that. I have my reasons, which I am happy to share with you now. After you hear my reasons, feel free to judge me as weird anyway, if you like.
The first reason I had never watched American Idol is that I don't watch much television in general. I am not a snob. I like television on occasion, and even some of the dorkier shows will often amuse me if I am in the mood to watch television (anyone care to join me for an episode of "Iron Chef"? How about an "Everybody Loves Raymond" rerun?). But I think I have a touch of Attention Deficit Disorder ("ADD"). I will start to watch a show, and then the ads come on, which I can't stand, and so I start a load of laundry, or go to check my email, or start cleaning the bathroom, and then I just never make it back to the show.
Basically, I do not find most television shows interesting enough to remember to come back after 3 or so minutes of ads (and you know I must be bored with a show (or severely ADD, one of those...) if I'd rather clean the bathroom than come back to watch the rest of it!). So, rather than waste my time watching the first 8 minutes of a show, only to forget to watch the rest and then wonder how it all came out, I usually just don't bother. I'll spend that 8 minutes doing something else instead.
The second reason I had never watched American Idol is that, if I do find a show interesting or funny enough to come back after the ads ("The Simpsons," anyone?), and/or if it is a show that, although outrageously awful, sometimes "leaves you hanging" and waiting to see what happens the next week, soap-opera style ("Nip/Tuck," anyone?), I will then find myself addicted to it and wanting to watch it every single time it comes on. Since I am generally pretty busy and don't have a lot of time for television, I try to stick to sit-com's or one-time documentary or contest type shows (like the previously mentioned "Iron Chef") that don't leave you hanging and needing to watch it again the next week.
With American Idol, I was a little afraid that I would get sucked into the competition and start to care about the contestants, and then I would feel obligated to make time for it every week or every day or every however-often-it-airs.
Last night, I watched about 3/4 of an episode of American Idol.
My fears were unfounded. I did not get sucked in. I truly don't care who wins.
Some of the contestants seemed a bit immature or just silly, others a little too desperate or needy, but most of them just seemed like nice folks. Many of them sing quite well; others, not so much, but all of them sing better than I could ever hope to do. I wish them all well and hope they find success and happiness as singers. But the bottom line is, I just didn't find myself caring about any of them any more than the rest.
But I did notice something that bothered me rather a lot and made me not want to watch the show.
First, though, a question for you: How much money do you think they are making with that show?
It has to be a lot. They do not have to pay the "talent," just the 4 washed-up/has-been former stars who are judging the contest and maybe a few decent-but-not-stars musicians. The show is pretty darn popular, so I am sure their ad revenue is quite high.
I could google it and find out, but I don't really care that much.
My point, though, is that however much or little they are making, I am very sure that they could afford to buy or rent chairs for the contestants to sit in during their interminable waits in the "holding rooms."
It just struck me as very cruel that the producers choose not to provide even some standard plastic waiting room chairs for the contestants to sit in while the judges decide their fate. They simply corralled them into large, empty rooms. The contestants were left to lean against the walls or sit on the floor. At least it was carpeted; could have been worse, I guess. But truly, even prisoners awaiting trial get to sit on a wooden bench. Why do they want their contestants to be so uncomfortable?
The situation is probably more of a hardship for the women, in their heels and dresses, than for the men, in their pants and comfy shoes.
But even worse, bordering on "unusually cruel" punishment in my mind, the producers do not provide anything the contestants could read or otherwise use or do to divert their minds from the fact that they are being judged and may not last the night. What would it cost to provide, perhaps, a few old magazines or newspapers for them to read? Or a few decks of cards? Something, anything, to do....
And I would think it would lead to more interesting television, too. Instead of the repetitive and boring shots of a roomful of people pacing around and/or sitting on the floor looking stressed out, we could see how competitive these folks are, and learn a little more about their character.
Do they play poker for money? Or do they play solitaire and hog the deck? Do they fight over the magazines? Do the crossword puzzle in ink or pencil? Read over someone else's shoulder? Find anything to talk about? Do some people sit and stare or pace around and stress out, while others appear to nonchalantly read the newspaper? Does he choose "The Atlantic," or "US Weekly"? Does she read "The Wall Street Journal," or "USA Today?" Does she read the national news, or the comics, first? (I once read that folks who score highest on IQ tests routinely read the comics section first in the newspaper).
Heck, they could provide actual comfortable chairs or sofas, and then we could see if anyone is daring / stupid enough to take a nap and, if so, whether they drool or snore....
In any event, it seems to me that any or all of this would be much more fun than the current footage they are airing of a room full of people just sitting and staring and looking stressed out.
Well, to each his own, I guess. But I probably won't watch it again.
And now you can all tell me how terribly awfully wrong I am, and why this is the greatest show on television, in the comments.
.
Well, I admit I have seen bits and pieces on occasion -- a singer here, a judge "critique" there -- but I had never watched an entire episode. I recognize that it is a very popular show and therefore many of you may think I am weird because of this, but I am ok with that. I have my reasons, which I am happy to share with you now. After you hear my reasons, feel free to judge me as weird anyway, if you like.
The first reason I had never watched American Idol is that I don't watch much television in general. I am not a snob. I like television on occasion, and even some of the dorkier shows will often amuse me if I am in the mood to watch television (anyone care to join me for an episode of "Iron Chef"? How about an "Everybody Loves Raymond" rerun?). But I think I have a touch of Attention Deficit Disorder ("ADD"). I will start to watch a show, and then the ads come on, which I can't stand, and so I start a load of laundry, or go to check my email, or start cleaning the bathroom, and then I just never make it back to the show.
Basically, I do not find most television shows interesting enough to remember to come back after 3 or so minutes of ads (and you know I must be bored with a show (or severely ADD, one of those...) if I'd rather clean the bathroom than come back to watch the rest of it!). So, rather than waste my time watching the first 8 minutes of a show, only to forget to watch the rest and then wonder how it all came out, I usually just don't bother. I'll spend that 8 minutes doing something else instead.
The second reason I had never watched American Idol is that, if I do find a show interesting or funny enough to come back after the ads ("The Simpsons," anyone?), and/or if it is a show that, although outrageously awful, sometimes "leaves you hanging" and waiting to see what happens the next week, soap-opera style ("Nip/Tuck," anyone?), I will then find myself addicted to it and wanting to watch it every single time it comes on. Since I am generally pretty busy and don't have a lot of time for television, I try to stick to sit-com's or one-time documentary or contest type shows (like the previously mentioned "Iron Chef") that don't leave you hanging and needing to watch it again the next week.
With American Idol, I was a little afraid that I would get sucked into the competition and start to care about the contestants, and then I would feel obligated to make time for it every week or every day or every however-often-it-airs.
Last night, I watched about 3/4 of an episode of American Idol.
My fears were unfounded. I did not get sucked in. I truly don't care who wins.
Some of the contestants seemed a bit immature or just silly, others a little too desperate or needy, but most of them just seemed like nice folks. Many of them sing quite well; others, not so much, but all of them sing better than I could ever hope to do. I wish them all well and hope they find success and happiness as singers. But the bottom line is, I just didn't find myself caring about any of them any more than the rest.
But I did notice something that bothered me rather a lot and made me not want to watch the show.
First, though, a question for you: How much money do you think they are making with that show?
It has to be a lot. They do not have to pay the "talent," just the 4 washed-up/has-been former stars who are judging the contest and maybe a few decent-but-not-stars musicians. The show is pretty darn popular, so I am sure their ad revenue is quite high.
I could google it and find out, but I don't really care that much.
My point, though, is that however much or little they are making, I am very sure that they could afford to buy or rent chairs for the contestants to sit in during their interminable waits in the "holding rooms."
It just struck me as very cruel that the producers choose not to provide even some standard plastic waiting room chairs for the contestants to sit in while the judges decide their fate. They simply corralled them into large, empty rooms. The contestants were left to lean against the walls or sit on the floor. At least it was carpeted; could have been worse, I guess. But truly, even prisoners awaiting trial get to sit on a wooden bench. Why do they want their contestants to be so uncomfortable?
The situation is probably more of a hardship for the women, in their heels and dresses, than for the men, in their pants and comfy shoes.
But even worse, bordering on "unusually cruel" punishment in my mind, the producers do not provide anything the contestants could read or otherwise use or do to divert their minds from the fact that they are being judged and may not last the night. What would it cost to provide, perhaps, a few old magazines or newspapers for them to read? Or a few decks of cards? Something, anything, to do....
And I would think it would lead to more interesting television, too. Instead of the repetitive and boring shots of a roomful of people pacing around and/or sitting on the floor looking stressed out, we could see how competitive these folks are, and learn a little more about their character.
Do they play poker for money? Or do they play solitaire and hog the deck? Do they fight over the magazines? Do the crossword puzzle in ink or pencil? Read over someone else's shoulder? Find anything to talk about? Do some people sit and stare or pace around and stress out, while others appear to nonchalantly read the newspaper? Does he choose "The Atlantic," or "US Weekly"? Does she read "The Wall Street Journal," or "USA Today?" Does she read the national news, or the comics, first? (I once read that folks who score highest on IQ tests routinely read the comics section first in the newspaper).
Heck, they could provide actual comfortable chairs or sofas, and then we could see if anyone is daring / stupid enough to take a nap and, if so, whether they drool or snore....
In any event, it seems to me that any or all of this would be much more fun than the current footage they are airing of a room full of people just sitting and staring and looking stressed out.
Well, to each his own, I guess. But I probably won't watch it again.
And now you can all tell me how terribly awfully wrong I am, and why this is the greatest show on television, in the comments.
.
Monday, February 9, 2009
"No Self-Righteous Pigs"
The lovely and talented and extremely smart and funny Bella, over at That Damn Expat, entitled her post today “No Children.” I have kids, and I love kids, and I wholeheartedly agree with Bella’s general premise that parents should not take their kids to "adults only" venues, and with the specific examples she has given. Parents, please read Bella’s post and take her message to heart. She is right!
Bella also has firmly stated her tolerance for kids in venues where kids should be expected, even though she admits she generally is not fond of kids.** She is right about that, too.
So this post is not an attack on Bella. It’s just that reading her post reminded me of some things I need to get off my chest.
I am trying my very best to raise my kids to be polite, respectful, and well-behaved persons. I do not tolerate misbehavior from my kids in public places, but they are not perfect (yet). We have left restaurants, parks, carnivals, and other fun places when the kids would not calm down and behave. But I will not keep my kids locked up in the house until they turn 18. That would be cruel and impractical, and in any event would not be an effective way to teach them how to behave in polite society.
I take my kids to “kid friendly” places, not to “adults only” venues such as bars, fancy restaurants, or any business with a “no kids” sign posted. Occasionally we venture out to a matinee performance of a kid-friendly ballet (the Nutcracker at Christmas time, for example) or symphony performance, so that the kids can learn to appreciate some of the finer things in life, or to a sporting event such as football or basketball or baseball, so that they can experience the excitement of rooting for their home team. We leave if the kids get too tired or squirmy or whiny.
Please, people, show me, and my kids, the same respect that we try to show you. If you are not a “kid friendly” person, please stay away from venues that cater to kids and matinee performances of kid-friendly shows. And if you are in a venue that caters to both kids and adults, please grow up and behave in a “kid friendly” manner. Don’t act like a pouty three year old just because you happen to see / hear my kid whine or cry or otherwise engage in minor misbehavior.
Here are three examples of ridiculous places where I have been the target of the steely "I can't stand your kids and I wish you all would leave or die" glare and/or nasty comments from entitled kid-hating yuppies, when my kids have done nothing, or very little, wrong:
(1) On an airplane. More specifically, we were flying Southwest airlines. If you are familiar with Southwest, you will know that they do not assign seats – you get to pick your own seat from among the available seats when you board the plane. (This is euphemistically known as "festival seating," as if that will make it more fun.) I arrived early so I could be in the first group of boarders, near the front of the line - one of the first to choose a seat. I selected seats about 3 rows back for me and my 3 year old boy. An entitled yuppie boarded after me. There were lots of other seats and only about 6 kids on the plane at that time. She could have sat nearly anywhere (including in the same row but across the aisle) and not been near a child, but she chose to sit directly in front of me, even though she could see that I was sitting next to my 3 year old boy.
My boy was talking excitedly about what he could see outside the window as we waited for the other passengers to board. The entitled yuppie held her pillow in her hand and glared at me hotly for 10 long seconds, then :::sigh::: slammed her head heavily into her pillow. Apparently, she wanted to sleep on this mid-morning flight, even before take-off, after seating herself right in front of me and my kid when the airplane was nearly empty, and she wanted me to make sure my kid stopped talking entirely? For a 5 hour flight?!? WTF?!? She glared several more times as we continued talking while the passengers boarded, and again after the takeoff announcements finished, before closing her eyes again to try to sleep.
I am evil. And passive-aggressive. And competitive. (This is why I am a good lawyer). You should not enter a passive-aggressive contest with me, because I will win. After the takeoff routine and the b***’s final glare, I said loudly to my boy (so she would be sure to hear and know that I understood why she was glaring at me), “OK, hon, we need to be very quiet now, because I think the lady in front of us wants to sleep. So let's read some books, ok?” I then proceeded to read Dr. Seuss books at a moderate volume for the next half hour, and then sang songs like “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” “The Itsy-Bitsy Spider” and “The Alphabet Song” at the same moderate volume with my kid for another half-hour until the snacks arrived (at which point the flight attendants unwittingly joined my passive-aggressive campaign to keep this lady from sleeping). And by “moderate volume” I mean quiet enough not to disturb the passengers behind us (I don’t think they could even hear it), but I leaned forward over the books slightly and talked and sang just loud enough so my voice projected straight into the b***’s ear. Did I mention that I couldn’t carry a tune if you put it in a bucket for me?
The lady next to me complimented me for entertaining my kid so well, and for how quiet and well-behaved he was. (I think she may have been “in” on the game, because she said it pretty loudly). The b*** in front of me turned and glared some more. She huffed and sighed and twisted and turned, and glared again ... and again ... and again (I smiled at her and sang some more), but she did not sleep a wink.
(2) Denny’s near Legoland, at breakfast time. We picked a family restaurant near the park so we could be sure not to annoy anyone. Yeah, right. Ok, my kid should not have bolted and ran toward the restroom; I talked to him about that as soon as I caught him. But hello! It’s Denny’s near Legoland, Mr. Yuppie in a suit who had the nerve to tell me, as I walked by on the way back to my table several minutes later, that I should “learn to control my kid better” so he wouldn’t “disturb people who are talking about important things.” If you are trying to impress your business client (or was that an overnight date? You really *are* the last of the big spenders, aren’t you?), you might try a slightly more... upscale restaurant? ... perhaps one that does not have coloring designs and kid menus printed on the placemats? I am sure that if the restaurant itself did not impress your client / date / boss / employee, your charm and tact must have impressed her when you oh-so- self-righteously addressed the mom of the kid who was “running wild throughout the restaurant.” (And, for the record, both of my kids behaved quite well thereafter, and my little guy did make it to the potty in time to avoid an accident).
(3) DISNEYLAND. Hello?!? Do you hate kids? Do you hate to hear kids whine in public, ever? Hate to hear a kid cry, or see a kid with a snotty nose? Don’t want to hear, “Mommy, I gotta go potty” while you wait in line for a ride? Then simply DON’T GO to Disneyland!!! Are you AT Disneyland and feeling unhappy and/or annoyed about having to listen to kids who are tired and therefore acting whiny and bratty all over the park? In a reprise from Friday’s post, “Here’s yer sign!!”
If you are among the reasonable persons in the world, you will simply not believe this story:
Last spring, we were waiting in the interminable line for the submarine ride at Disneyland in California (featuring scenes from Disney’s “Finding Nemo” movie, a kid favorite). Kids can’t stand to miss this ride, but there is not much for anyone over the age of about 6 to love. The line was an hour long. It was the shortest the line had been while we were there, so we went for it, because my kids really wanted to see Nemo and it was our last day at Disneyland.
Forty-five minutes into the wait, my 4 year old was (understandably) a bit bored and whiny. We were running out of fun games and distractions for him. He had no interest in any more “I spy” games or “20 questions” or anything else we could think of. He did not want any more snacks. He was trying to climb the rocks (it said no climbing; my husband and I were doing our best to enforce that rule, but the enforcement attempts were causing more whining....).
A young (probably early 20's) couple with no kids were in line a bit ahead of us. They glared at the kid and then at us. Repeatedly. Every time my kid said anything, and every time I said, “no climbing.” Ok, I agree it was annoying to listen to him whine. And I’m sure it was annoying to listen to me saying “no climbing” 28 times in 10 minutes. But I have a question for you, oh entitled yuppie brats, in case you are reading this:
What the H@#% were you doing waiting in line for that kiddie ride anyway??!!
And I have some advice for you, too, for when the kids in the line annoy you: GET OUT OF THE DAMN LINE!
You, and others like you, are a huge part of the problem here, people! You are making the line even longer for the little kids, who do not have the patience or temperament to wait in such a long line, yet will cry for weeks if they go to Disneyland and don’t get to see Nemo. So just leave, please!!
Ok, I’ll concede your right to see Nemo too, if that floats your boat, so to speak. But you are NOT, repeat NOT, entitled to so much as glance sideways at my kid if he does something annoying.
Well, ok, maybe if he does something extreme – kicks you in the shins or wipes his nose on your shirt, for example – you could say “hey, little guy, that’s not nice. Please don’t touch me.” Or to the parents, “hey, your little guy seems to think my shins are fun for kicking / my shirt should be used as a tissue; could you please ask him not to do that?” Any normal parent will apologize profusely and offer to pay your cleaning bill.
But if you are in line for a kiddie ride, you should EXPECT to experience kid behavior from the kids in the line. That means you will hear whining and crying occasionally. You will see some kids with runny noses, and some parents who don’t notice right away. Some kids will chew with their mouths open, drool, and spill their snacks and drinks. You may be bumped by the kids in front of you or behind you as they fidget and bounce and spin to try to entertain themselves. (Although you could help by keeping your distance behind us, you know). If the kids are just being kids, and are not directly attacking you or deliberately bothering you, your ONLY appropriate responses are (1) ignore it all; or (2) in a mild, not too overly friendly / creepy way, help those parents to entertain those poor bored kids! (Take option 2 at your own risk, of course).
Holy cow, people, the bottom line is, there has to be someplace I can take my kids for fun and to attempt to teach them to interact in society, without getting glared at! If you don't want to see kids, don't go to Denny's or Disneyland! If you don't want to hear kids on an airplane, even happy kids who are talking politely to their moms, then for goodness’ sake look around before you choose to sit right in front of one!! And if you just can’t stay away from Disney and Denny’s and kids on airplanes, then suck it up and behave decently; don’t be a self-righteous pig.
Ok, that’s my rant for today. I could rant more ... much more ... but I’ll stop here, as this post already has reached epic proportions.
Let me know your thoughts.
_______
** I’ll forgive Bella this minor flaw of not liking kids (not that she needs my forgiveness or permission to feel any way she feels, of course...), since she is so wonderful in so many other ways. I didn’t learn to like kids until I was over 30; she may even have a change of heart.
But then again, she may not. Some people never learn to like kids, and I wholeheartedly defend their right not to like them and to avoid them if they choose, including by frequenting establishments that post signs that say “no kids” and even glaring at people who violate the "no kids" signs or rules. And I applaud the self-awareness, and even bravery in this sometimes rather kid-centered world of ours, of those who know and admit they do not like kids, and I only beg of them that they take all measures necessary to avoid having kids so as not to subject the poor darlings to the horrid experience of having parents who hate them, which, sadly, happens much more often than it should.
Bella also has firmly stated her tolerance for kids in venues where kids should be expected, even though she admits she generally is not fond of kids.** She is right about that, too.
So this post is not an attack on Bella. It’s just that reading her post reminded me of some things I need to get off my chest.
I am trying my very best to raise my kids to be polite, respectful, and well-behaved persons. I do not tolerate misbehavior from my kids in public places, but they are not perfect (yet). We have left restaurants, parks, carnivals, and other fun places when the kids would not calm down and behave. But I will not keep my kids locked up in the house until they turn 18. That would be cruel and impractical, and in any event would not be an effective way to teach them how to behave in polite society.
I take my kids to “kid friendly” places, not to “adults only” venues such as bars, fancy restaurants, or any business with a “no kids” sign posted. Occasionally we venture out to a matinee performance of a kid-friendly ballet (the Nutcracker at Christmas time, for example) or symphony performance, so that the kids can learn to appreciate some of the finer things in life, or to a sporting event such as football or basketball or baseball, so that they can experience the excitement of rooting for their home team. We leave if the kids get too tired or squirmy or whiny.
Please, people, show me, and my kids, the same respect that we try to show you. If you are not a “kid friendly” person, please stay away from venues that cater to kids and matinee performances of kid-friendly shows. And if you are in a venue that caters to both kids and adults, please grow up and behave in a “kid friendly” manner. Don’t act like a pouty three year old just because you happen to see / hear my kid whine or cry or otherwise engage in minor misbehavior.
Here are three examples of ridiculous places where I have been the target of the steely "I can't stand your kids and I wish you all would leave or die" glare and/or nasty comments from entitled kid-hating yuppies, when my kids have done nothing, or very little, wrong:
(1) On an airplane. More specifically, we were flying Southwest airlines. If you are familiar with Southwest, you will know that they do not assign seats – you get to pick your own seat from among the available seats when you board the plane. (This is euphemistically known as "festival seating," as if that will make it more fun.) I arrived early so I could be in the first group of boarders, near the front of the line - one of the first to choose a seat. I selected seats about 3 rows back for me and my 3 year old boy. An entitled yuppie boarded after me. There were lots of other seats and only about 6 kids on the plane at that time. She could have sat nearly anywhere (including in the same row but across the aisle) and not been near a child, but she chose to sit directly in front of me, even though she could see that I was sitting next to my 3 year old boy.
My boy was talking excitedly about what he could see outside the window as we waited for the other passengers to board. The entitled yuppie held her pillow in her hand and glared at me hotly for 10 long seconds, then :::sigh::: slammed her head heavily into her pillow. Apparently, she wanted to sleep on this mid-morning flight, even before take-off, after seating herself right in front of me and my kid when the airplane was nearly empty, and she wanted me to make sure my kid stopped talking entirely? For a 5 hour flight?!? WTF?!? She glared several more times as we continued talking while the passengers boarded, and again after the takeoff announcements finished, before closing her eyes again to try to sleep.
I am evil. And passive-aggressive. And competitive. (This is why I am a good lawyer). You should not enter a passive-aggressive contest with me, because I will win. After the takeoff routine and the b***’s final glare, I said loudly to my boy (so she would be sure to hear and know that I understood why she was glaring at me), “OK, hon, we need to be very quiet now, because I think the lady in front of us wants to sleep. So let's read some books, ok?” I then proceeded to read Dr. Seuss books at a moderate volume for the next half hour, and then sang songs like “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” “The Itsy-Bitsy Spider” and “The Alphabet Song” at the same moderate volume with my kid for another half-hour until the snacks arrived (at which point the flight attendants unwittingly joined my passive-aggressive campaign to keep this lady from sleeping). And by “moderate volume” I mean quiet enough not to disturb the passengers behind us (I don’t think they could even hear it), but I leaned forward over the books slightly and talked and sang just loud enough so my voice projected straight into the b***’s ear. Did I mention that I couldn’t carry a tune if you put it in a bucket for me?
The lady next to me complimented me for entertaining my kid so well, and for how quiet and well-behaved he was. (I think she may have been “in” on the game, because she said it pretty loudly). The b*** in front of me turned and glared some more. She huffed and sighed and twisted and turned, and glared again ... and again ... and again (I smiled at her and sang some more), but she did not sleep a wink.
(2) Denny’s near Legoland, at breakfast time. We picked a family restaurant near the park so we could be sure not to annoy anyone. Yeah, right. Ok, my kid should not have bolted and ran toward the restroom; I talked to him about that as soon as I caught him. But hello! It’s Denny’s near Legoland, Mr. Yuppie in a suit who had the nerve to tell me, as I walked by on the way back to my table several minutes later, that I should “learn to control my kid better” so he wouldn’t “disturb people who are talking about important things.” If you are trying to impress your business client (or was that an overnight date? You really *are* the last of the big spenders, aren’t you?), you might try a slightly more... upscale restaurant? ... perhaps one that does not have coloring designs and kid menus printed on the placemats? I am sure that if the restaurant itself did not impress your client / date / boss / employee, your charm and tact must have impressed her when you oh-so- self-righteously addressed the mom of the kid who was “running wild throughout the restaurant.” (And, for the record, both of my kids behaved quite well thereafter, and my little guy did make it to the potty in time to avoid an accident).
(3) DISNEYLAND. Hello?!? Do you hate kids? Do you hate to hear kids whine in public, ever? Hate to hear a kid cry, or see a kid with a snotty nose? Don’t want to hear, “Mommy, I gotta go potty” while you wait in line for a ride? Then simply DON’T GO to Disneyland!!! Are you AT Disneyland and feeling unhappy and/or annoyed about having to listen to kids who are tired and therefore acting whiny and bratty all over the park? In a reprise from Friday’s post, “Here’s yer sign!!”
If you are among the reasonable persons in the world, you will simply not believe this story:
Last spring, we were waiting in the interminable line for the submarine ride at Disneyland in California (featuring scenes from Disney’s “Finding Nemo” movie, a kid favorite). Kids can’t stand to miss this ride, but there is not much for anyone over the age of about 6 to love. The line was an hour long. It was the shortest the line had been while we were there, so we went for it, because my kids really wanted to see Nemo and it was our last day at Disneyland.
Forty-five minutes into the wait, my 4 year old was (understandably) a bit bored and whiny. We were running out of fun games and distractions for him. He had no interest in any more “I spy” games or “20 questions” or anything else we could think of. He did not want any more snacks. He was trying to climb the rocks (it said no climbing; my husband and I were doing our best to enforce that rule, but the enforcement attempts were causing more whining....).
A young (probably early 20's) couple with no kids were in line a bit ahead of us. They glared at the kid and then at us. Repeatedly. Every time my kid said anything, and every time I said, “no climbing.” Ok, I agree it was annoying to listen to him whine. And I’m sure it was annoying to listen to me saying “no climbing” 28 times in 10 minutes. But I have a question for you, oh entitled yuppie brats, in case you are reading this:
What the H@#% were you doing waiting in line for that kiddie ride anyway??!!
And I have some advice for you, too, for when the kids in the line annoy you: GET OUT OF THE DAMN LINE!
You, and others like you, are a huge part of the problem here, people! You are making the line even longer for the little kids, who do not have the patience or temperament to wait in such a long line, yet will cry for weeks if they go to Disneyland and don’t get to see Nemo. So just leave, please!!
Ok, I’ll concede your right to see Nemo too, if that floats your boat, so to speak. But you are NOT, repeat NOT, entitled to so much as glance sideways at my kid if he does something annoying.
Well, ok, maybe if he does something extreme – kicks you in the shins or wipes his nose on your shirt, for example – you could say “hey, little guy, that’s not nice. Please don’t touch me.” Or to the parents, “hey, your little guy seems to think my shins are fun for kicking / my shirt should be used as a tissue; could you please ask him not to do that?” Any normal parent will apologize profusely and offer to pay your cleaning bill.
But if you are in line for a kiddie ride, you should EXPECT to experience kid behavior from the kids in the line. That means you will hear whining and crying occasionally. You will see some kids with runny noses, and some parents who don’t notice right away. Some kids will chew with their mouths open, drool, and spill their snacks and drinks. You may be bumped by the kids in front of you or behind you as they fidget and bounce and spin to try to entertain themselves. (Although you could help by keeping your distance behind us, you know). If the kids are just being kids, and are not directly attacking you or deliberately bothering you, your ONLY appropriate responses are (1) ignore it all; or (2) in a mild, not too overly friendly / creepy way, help those parents to entertain those poor bored kids! (Take option 2 at your own risk, of course).
Holy cow, people, the bottom line is, there has to be someplace I can take my kids for fun and to attempt to teach them to interact in society, without getting glared at! If you don't want to see kids, don't go to Denny's or Disneyland! If you don't want to hear kids on an airplane, even happy kids who are talking politely to their moms, then for goodness’ sake look around before you choose to sit right in front of one!! And if you just can’t stay away from Disney and Denny’s and kids on airplanes, then suck it up and behave decently; don’t be a self-righteous pig.
Ok, that’s my rant for today. I could rant more ... much more ... but I’ll stop here, as this post already has reached epic proportions.
Let me know your thoughts.
_______
** I’ll forgive Bella this minor flaw of not liking kids (not that she needs my forgiveness or permission to feel any way she feels, of course...), since she is so wonderful in so many other ways. I didn’t learn to like kids until I was over 30; she may even have a change of heart.
But then again, she may not. Some people never learn to like kids, and I wholeheartedly defend their right not to like them and to avoid them if they choose, including by frequenting establishments that post signs that say “no kids” and even glaring at people who violate the "no kids" signs or rules. And I applaud the self-awareness, and even bravery in this sometimes rather kid-centered world of ours, of those who know and admit they do not like kids, and I only beg of them that they take all measures necessary to avoid having kids so as not to subject the poor darlings to the horrid experience of having parents who hate them, which, sadly, happens much more often than it should.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Here's Your Sign
Have any of you guys seen the Bill Engvall comedy sketches about stupid people? His premise was that we should give stupid people signs that say, "I'm stupid," which they could carry around with them so others would know not to rely on them for anything at all.
I was at the coffee shop yesterday, and the person in front of me studied the menu above the barrista's head for several minutes, and then ordered a large iced latte. The barrista asked, "skim or whole milk?" The person asked, "oh, does it have milk in it?"
Uh.... let's see now, "latte" literally means "milk" in Italian. The menu, which the person had studied at length, described a latte as containing milk. The person had studied the sign for several minutes before ordering....
All I could think was, "Here's yer sign..."
.
I was at the coffee shop yesterday, and the person in front of me studied the menu above the barrista's head for several minutes, and then ordered a large iced latte. The barrista asked, "skim or whole milk?" The person asked, "oh, does it have milk in it?"
Uh.... let's see now, "latte" literally means "milk" in Italian. The menu, which the person had studied at length, described a latte as containing milk. The person had studied the sign for several minutes before ordering....
All I could think was, "Here's yer sign..."
.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Busy Week -- How About I Just Share A Heartwarming Story I Received In My Email Inbox Today?
Here is a truly heartwarming story that I received via email today, which demonstrates that we all can make a difference when we give a small child the gift of our time and conversation:
A young family moved into a new house next to a vacant lot in a new subdivision near Houston, Texas. One day, a construction crew began to build a house on the empty lot. The young family's 5-year-old daughter naturally took an interest in the goings-on and spent much of each day observing the workers. She was fascinated by the big trucks, the heavy equipment, the various tools, and the fact that these people were actually building a "whole big house!"
Eventually the construction crew adopted her as a kind of project mascot. They chatted with her during coffee and lunch breaks and gave her little jobs to do here and there to make her feel important (while complying with all the OSHA regulations and labor laws, of course). At the end of the first week, they even presented her with a pay envelope containing ten dollars. The little girl took this home to her mother who suggested that she take her ten dollars 'pay' she'd received to the bank the next day to start a savings account.
When the girl and her mom got to the bank, the teller was equally impressed and asked the little girl how she had come by her very own pay check at such a young age. The little girl proudly replied, "I worked every day last week with a real construction crew building the new house next door to us."
"Oh my goodness gracious," said the teller, "and will you be working on the house again this week, too?"
The little girl replied, "I will, if those a**holes at Home Depot ever deliver the f***in' sheet rock."
.
A young family moved into a new house next to a vacant lot in a new subdivision near Houston, Texas. One day, a construction crew began to build a house on the empty lot. The young family's 5-year-old daughter naturally took an interest in the goings-on and spent much of each day observing the workers. She was fascinated by the big trucks, the heavy equipment, the various tools, and the fact that these people were actually building a "whole big house!"
Eventually the construction crew adopted her as a kind of project mascot. They chatted with her during coffee and lunch breaks and gave her little jobs to do here and there to make her feel important (while complying with all the OSHA regulations and labor laws, of course). At the end of the first week, they even presented her with a pay envelope containing ten dollars. The little girl took this home to her mother who suggested that she take her ten dollars 'pay' she'd received to the bank the next day to start a savings account.
When the girl and her mom got to the bank, the teller was equally impressed and asked the little girl how she had come by her very own pay check at such a young age. The little girl proudly replied, "I worked every day last week with a real construction crew building the new house next door to us."
"Oh my goodness gracious," said the teller, "and will you be working on the house again this week, too?"
The little girl replied, "I will, if those a**holes at Home Depot ever deliver the f***in' sheet rock."
.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Random Photo Meme (Mardi Gras with My Aunt Lou)
Nan, at "All the Good Names Were Taken" has tagged me with a "Random Photo Meme." Here are the rules:
1. Go to the 4th folder in your computer where you store your pictures.
2. Pick the 4th picture in that folder.
3. Explain the picture.
4. Tag 4 people to do the same.
This is a photo of one of the floats in one of the many Mardi Gras parades I attended during my 2007 visit to New Orleans -- my very first Mardi Gras:
It might surprise you to learn that it was my very first Mardi Gras, given that my Aunt Louisiana ("Aunt Lou") (not her real name) has lived in New Orleans for my entire life. She lives on the second floor of one of those huge old three story houses that has been converted to three condominiums (each with two to three bedrooms and two bathrooms -- I mean, seriously, those old houses initially were far bigger than anyone really needed!) about two blocks from the main parade route down St. Charles Avenue. She has attended just about every Mardi Gras parade along that parade route every year for well over 40 years.
My cousin lives downstairs in the same converted house / condominium. (He bought it after he graduated from college, when the folks downstairs conveniently sold it). He and his wife and kids, along with various friends and their families who descend upon them every year, also have attended every parade along that route every year, for as long as they can remember. Most years they even ride a float in one or more of the parades, handing out beads and trinkets and cups and stuffed animals ("throws") along the way.
My Aunt Lou has been begging /nagging me to come visit her in New Orleans for Mardi Gras since I was a first-year college student. So why did I never go before February 2007? Why didn't I go when I was a young and wild college student? That's crazy, right?
Well, when I was in college, Mardi Gras was always a week or two before mid-term exams, or occasionally right in the middle of them, so I never felt that I could miss that week of school. Plus, I have to say I wasn't entirely sure it was a good plan to visit my Dad's sister for a week of drunken revelry -- I was a little afraid of what stories might be told at family events after that. Although I have to say, looking back, that was silly. My Aunt Lou is not one to tell gossipy tales - she enjoys her Mardi Gras visitors too much and she wants them to feel comfortable coming back, so I've never, in all the years I've known her, heard a bad word said about any of her Mardi Gras visitors. She is, instead, always the gracious hostess, welcoming and kind, and later telling flattering tales of the beautiful coat guest x had, and the wonderful conversations she had with guest y, and the awesome dinner she and guest z enjoyed, and how much fun they all had at the parades. Face it, I'm a nut job for not going to Mardi Gras much sooner.
But I never went during college, and after I moved to Arizona, it just seemed like a mighty long way to go for a parade, so the years went by and I just didn't go.
But my Aunt Lou is not to be disobeyed or ignored. When she wants something, she eventually makes it happen. In this case, she really went to extreme measures to get me to come to Mardi Gras.
Ok, I'm not really that self-centered. The thing that happened was not really about me at all, but she and I like to pretend it was, because it makes it more tolerable somehow.
First, a little background. My Aunt Lou used to smoke cigarettes. She smoked for about 20 years. Then, about 20 years ago, she got lung cancer and had to have a lung removed. Her husband (my uncle) was extremely supportive and really helped her out with the chemo treatments and adjusting to only having one lung, and with quitting smoking. He had smoked for years, as well, so they both quit smoking. Sadly, he eventually died of emphysema.
After the surgery and chemo, my Aunt Lou's lung cancer went into remission. She never smoked again, and she faithfully got her screening x-rays for the next 18 or so years, and they always told her everything looked fine.
Then, in August 2005, Hurricane Katrina slammed into New Orleans. My Aunt Lou left her beloved New Orleans ahead of the storm, along with the rest of the folks who had enough common sense and enough money to get the heck out of there. She went to Houston and stayed with some relatives, for what she initially thought would be a few days or a week.
But after the storm, New Orleans was a flooded, destroyed mess, and it took months for things to get cleaned up enough that people could return to their homes. My Aunt Lou had to stay with the relatives in Houston for over three months. By the time she was allowed to return to her home, it was January 2006.
My Aunt Lou lives near the Garden District, one of the few places in New Orleans that isn't below sea level, so her home was not flooded. Nor was it blown away or severely damaged by the storm. She was one of the lucky ones in that regard. Nevertheless, she spent several months dealing with assessing and repairing the water and storm damage to the house and replacing appliances. The stove, washer, dryer, toaster, televisions, and just about anything else in the house that had been plugged in had all been ruined -- blown out by the electrical surge that occurred when the New Orleans power company restored power after a couple of months. She wisely declined to open the refrigerator because all the food had been in there rotting for over three months while the power was out. She simply hired some folks to haul it to the dump and bought a new one. And of course, there was Mardi Gras in 2006, too. That couldn't be ignored either, now could it? It would be an understatement to say that she had her hands full.
Hurrican Katrina had destroyed New Orleans just a couple of weeks before Aunt Lou's usual yearly screening x-ray in 2005. By the time she had returned to town and resolved all of the house issues, it was mid-2006, so she figured she would just wait until the next scheduled x-ray in September 2006. After all, the x-rays had been "clean" for 18 or so years, so she figured she was safe.
She wasn't.
When she went for her screening x-ray that fall, they found a lump. One that had "grown a lot since the last time."
"What do you mean 'since the last time'?" she asked.
"Oh, there was a very tiny sort of a spot when you were in two years ago, that we figured we should just watch to see if it was a lump, or nothing at all."
No one had mentioned this "spot" to her before. The lung cancer had returned.
So, my Aunt Lou had to have half of her remaining lung removed, and undergo months of chemotherapy again. Only this time, her faithful, wonderful, and supportive husband was no longer alive to assist her.
She rallied. She called in all her closest friends and family members to assist her by taking turns staying with her during each round of chemotherapy, which really leaves a person weak and helpless for a few days to a week. My cousin and his wife of course helped tremendously and often during the entire course of her treatment, but she felt it would be unfair to dump all of the burden on them just because they live downstairs, so she very graciously asked the rest of the family to chip in where they could. I volunteered to assist for one of the chemo sessions and flew to New Orleans in February 2007. The idea was that I would drive her to and from the chemo appointment, and then would stick around for a week or so afterwards to assist with anything at all that she might need -- shopping, cooking, cleaning, bringing her food or water, even helping her to and from the bathroom if necessary.
But when we went to the pre-chemo screening appointment, there was a minor problem and her doctor said she must wait a couple of weeks before she could undergo that round of chemo. So, instead of needing to play Florence Nightingale, I got to play with my Aunt Lou and my cousin and his family. We had a blast.
My Aunt Lou took me to see some sights in New Orleans. She showed me the areas where the rebuilding was coming along nicely, and we drove through some areas that were still devastated. We wandered through the French Market and had coffee and beignets at Cafe du Monde. We walked over to Jackson Square and visited the St. Louis Cathedral. We dined at an obscure sandwich shop that served the best "Po' Boy" I've ever had. We visited friends and relatives in town. We shopped and chatted and rented movies and had a grand old time. I've always loved my Aunt Lou. She is kind, thoughtful, smart, beautiful, and has a good sense of humor. I really enjoyed spending that time with her.
And in the afternoons and evenings, she required me to attend every single Mardi Gras Parade every day, for the entire week. She encouraged/required me to buy a Margarita from the booth at the end of her street (where her street intersects with the parade route). In her words, "They are huge, delicious, and it's a fundraiser for my Grandkids' school." Only in New Orleans at Mardi Gras will you find a Catholic school selling Margaritas to raise money.... and Aunt Lou was right, they were huge and delicious, and only $5. What a deal!
The whole experience was extremely fun from a drunken reveler perspective, and quite an interesting experience from a people-watching and cultural anthropology sort of perspective. I will be forever grateful that my Aunt Lou required me to visit New Orleans during Mardi Gras, even though I wish she hadn't taken such extreme measures to accomplish that particular goal. Really, we all would have been much happier without the lung cancer.
I'll tell you more about the parades and the culture that has sprung up around them another time; it really was quite fascinating. But this post is getting too long already, and I have yet to complete my required tagging.
I will tell you, before I tag, that my Aunt Lou completed her course of chemo and it appears that the lung cancer has been beaten into submission, or at least remission, once again. And it is truly amazing how well the human body adapts. She won't be running any marathons, and she gets a bit winded going up stairs, but she is managing reasonably well even with only half of one lung remaining in her body. And I am quite sure that, even if hell and high water comes to New Orleans again, she will never miss another scheduled screening x-ray.
I tag:
1. Candy, at Candy's Daily Dandy
2. Kim Ayres, at Ramblings of the Bearded One
3. Michelle H., at The Surly Writer
4. Moe Berg, at Simon Metz
Looking forward to your photos and stories.
1. Go to the 4th folder in your computer where you store your pictures.
2. Pick the 4th picture in that folder.
3. Explain the picture.
4. Tag 4 people to do the same.
This is a photo of one of the floats in one of the many Mardi Gras parades I attended during my 2007 visit to New Orleans -- my very first Mardi Gras:
It might surprise you to learn that it was my very first Mardi Gras, given that my Aunt Louisiana ("Aunt Lou") (not her real name) has lived in New Orleans for my entire life. She lives on the second floor of one of those huge old three story houses that has been converted to three condominiums (each with two to three bedrooms and two bathrooms -- I mean, seriously, those old houses initially were far bigger than anyone really needed!) about two blocks from the main parade route down St. Charles Avenue. She has attended just about every Mardi Gras parade along that parade route every year for well over 40 years.
My cousin lives downstairs in the same converted house / condominium. (He bought it after he graduated from college, when the folks downstairs conveniently sold it). He and his wife and kids, along with various friends and their families who descend upon them every year, also have attended every parade along that route every year, for as long as they can remember. Most years they even ride a float in one or more of the parades, handing out beads and trinkets and cups and stuffed animals ("throws") along the way.
My Aunt Lou has been begging /nagging me to come visit her in New Orleans for Mardi Gras since I was a first-year college student. So why did I never go before February 2007? Why didn't I go when I was a young and wild college student? That's crazy, right?
Well, when I was in college, Mardi Gras was always a week or two before mid-term exams, or occasionally right in the middle of them, so I never felt that I could miss that week of school. Plus, I have to say I wasn't entirely sure it was a good plan to visit my Dad's sister for a week of drunken revelry -- I was a little afraid of what stories might be told at family events after that. Although I have to say, looking back, that was silly. My Aunt Lou is not one to tell gossipy tales - she enjoys her Mardi Gras visitors too much and she wants them to feel comfortable coming back, so I've never, in all the years I've known her, heard a bad word said about any of her Mardi Gras visitors. She is, instead, always the gracious hostess, welcoming and kind, and later telling flattering tales of the beautiful coat guest x had, and the wonderful conversations she had with guest y, and the awesome dinner she and guest z enjoyed, and how much fun they all had at the parades. Face it, I'm a nut job for not going to Mardi Gras much sooner.
But I never went during college, and after I moved to Arizona, it just seemed like a mighty long way to go for a parade, so the years went by and I just didn't go.
But my Aunt Lou is not to be disobeyed or ignored. When she wants something, she eventually makes it happen. In this case, she really went to extreme measures to get me to come to Mardi Gras.
Ok, I'm not really that self-centered. The thing that happened was not really about me at all, but she and I like to pretend it was, because it makes it more tolerable somehow.
First, a little background. My Aunt Lou used to smoke cigarettes. She smoked for about 20 years. Then, about 20 years ago, she got lung cancer and had to have a lung removed. Her husband (my uncle) was extremely supportive and really helped her out with the chemo treatments and adjusting to only having one lung, and with quitting smoking. He had smoked for years, as well, so they both quit smoking. Sadly, he eventually died of emphysema.
After the surgery and chemo, my Aunt Lou's lung cancer went into remission. She never smoked again, and she faithfully got her screening x-rays for the next 18 or so years, and they always told her everything looked fine.
Then, in August 2005, Hurricane Katrina slammed into New Orleans. My Aunt Lou left her beloved New Orleans ahead of the storm, along with the rest of the folks who had enough common sense and enough money to get the heck out of there. She went to Houston and stayed with some relatives, for what she initially thought would be a few days or a week.
But after the storm, New Orleans was a flooded, destroyed mess, and it took months for things to get cleaned up enough that people could return to their homes. My Aunt Lou had to stay with the relatives in Houston for over three months. By the time she was allowed to return to her home, it was January 2006.
My Aunt Lou lives near the Garden District, one of the few places in New Orleans that isn't below sea level, so her home was not flooded. Nor was it blown away or severely damaged by the storm. She was one of the lucky ones in that regard. Nevertheless, she spent several months dealing with assessing and repairing the water and storm damage to the house and replacing appliances. The stove, washer, dryer, toaster, televisions, and just about anything else in the house that had been plugged in had all been ruined -- blown out by the electrical surge that occurred when the New Orleans power company restored power after a couple of months. She wisely declined to open the refrigerator because all the food had been in there rotting for over three months while the power was out. She simply hired some folks to haul it to the dump and bought a new one. And of course, there was Mardi Gras in 2006, too. That couldn't be ignored either, now could it? It would be an understatement to say that she had her hands full.
Hurrican Katrina had destroyed New Orleans just a couple of weeks before Aunt Lou's usual yearly screening x-ray in 2005. By the time she had returned to town and resolved all of the house issues, it was mid-2006, so she figured she would just wait until the next scheduled x-ray in September 2006. After all, the x-rays had been "clean" for 18 or so years, so she figured she was safe.
She wasn't.
When she went for her screening x-ray that fall, they found a lump. One that had "grown a lot since the last time."
"What do you mean 'since the last time'?" she asked.
"Oh, there was a very tiny sort of a spot when you were in two years ago, that we figured we should just watch to see if it was a lump, or nothing at all."
No one had mentioned this "spot" to her before. The lung cancer had returned.
So, my Aunt Lou had to have half of her remaining lung removed, and undergo months of chemotherapy again. Only this time, her faithful, wonderful, and supportive husband was no longer alive to assist her.
She rallied. She called in all her closest friends and family members to assist her by taking turns staying with her during each round of chemotherapy, which really leaves a person weak and helpless for a few days to a week. My cousin and his wife of course helped tremendously and often during the entire course of her treatment, but she felt it would be unfair to dump all of the burden on them just because they live downstairs, so she very graciously asked the rest of the family to chip in where they could. I volunteered to assist for one of the chemo sessions and flew to New Orleans in February 2007. The idea was that I would drive her to and from the chemo appointment, and then would stick around for a week or so afterwards to assist with anything at all that she might need -- shopping, cooking, cleaning, bringing her food or water, even helping her to and from the bathroom if necessary.
But when we went to the pre-chemo screening appointment, there was a minor problem and her doctor said she must wait a couple of weeks before she could undergo that round of chemo. So, instead of needing to play Florence Nightingale, I got to play with my Aunt Lou and my cousin and his family. We had a blast.
My Aunt Lou took me to see some sights in New Orleans. She showed me the areas where the rebuilding was coming along nicely, and we drove through some areas that were still devastated. We wandered through the French Market and had coffee and beignets at Cafe du Monde. We walked over to Jackson Square and visited the St. Louis Cathedral. We dined at an obscure sandwich shop that served the best "Po' Boy" I've ever had. We visited friends and relatives in town. We shopped and chatted and rented movies and had a grand old time. I've always loved my Aunt Lou. She is kind, thoughtful, smart, beautiful, and has a good sense of humor. I really enjoyed spending that time with her.
And in the afternoons and evenings, she required me to attend every single Mardi Gras Parade every day, for the entire week. She encouraged/required me to buy a Margarita from the booth at the end of her street (where her street intersects with the parade route). In her words, "They are huge, delicious, and it's a fundraiser for my Grandkids' school." Only in New Orleans at Mardi Gras will you find a Catholic school selling Margaritas to raise money.... and Aunt Lou was right, they were huge and delicious, and only $5. What a deal!
The whole experience was extremely fun from a drunken reveler perspective, and quite an interesting experience from a people-watching and cultural anthropology sort of perspective. I will be forever grateful that my Aunt Lou required me to visit New Orleans during Mardi Gras, even though I wish she hadn't taken such extreme measures to accomplish that particular goal. Really, we all would have been much happier without the lung cancer.
I'll tell you more about the parades and the culture that has sprung up around them another time; it really was quite fascinating. But this post is getting too long already, and I have yet to complete my required tagging.
I will tell you, before I tag, that my Aunt Lou completed her course of chemo and it appears that the lung cancer has been beaten into submission, or at least remission, once again. And it is truly amazing how well the human body adapts. She won't be running any marathons, and she gets a bit winded going up stairs, but she is managing reasonably well even with only half of one lung remaining in her body. And I am quite sure that, even if hell and high water comes to New Orleans again, she will never miss another scheduled screening x-ray.
I tag:
1. Candy, at Candy's Daily Dandy
2. Kim Ayres, at Ramblings of the Bearded One
3. Michelle H., at The Surly Writer
4. Moe Berg, at Simon Metz
Looking forward to your photos and stories.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Steelers Upset Cardinals In Super Bowl
Well, my Cardinals played hard and played well. They made a few errors, one critical one at the end of the first half where the Steelers intercepted and ran it back for a touchdown, and in the end that came back to haunt them. Pittsburgh beat Arizona, 27 - 23. And so it goes; looks like Dr. Zibbs was right this time. Good call, Dr. Z!
But overall it was a great game, by both teams. A real nail-biter to the end. And not a bad run for my Cardinals, given that at the beginning of the playoffs, no one expected them to advance past the first round.
To anyone who relied on my scoring prediction, which was not entirely accurate this time, I do apologize for the minor error. Apparently I added just a tad too much of that "wishful thinking" ingredient when predicting a Cardinals win. But, in my defense, I have to say I was darn close on the Pittsburgh side of the score (I predicted 29; they scored 27), and I was absolutely right about the Cardinals beating that point spread (7 points!) that the oddsmakers were setting the day I made my prediction. So, 2 out of 3 ain't bad, right?
I just hope none of you bet the farm on the game!
Better luck next time, my little red birds, better luck next time.
But overall it was a great game, by both teams. A real nail-biter to the end. And not a bad run for my Cardinals, given that at the beginning of the playoffs, no one expected them to advance past the first round.
To anyone who relied on my scoring prediction, which was not entirely accurate this time, I do apologize for the minor error. Apparently I added just a tad too much of that "wishful thinking" ingredient when predicting a Cardinals win. But, in my defense, I have to say I was darn close on the Pittsburgh side of the score (I predicted 29; they scored 27), and I was absolutely right about the Cardinals beating that point spread (7 points!) that the oddsmakers were setting the day I made my prediction. So, 2 out of 3 ain't bad, right?
I just hope none of you bet the farm on the game!
Better luck next time, my little red birds, better luck next time.
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