Logical Brilliance

Given the cold, dreary, and rainy winter weather as of late, Jeremy and I have been spending a lot of time indoors trying to keep ourselves occupied.  Lately, we have been holding numerous intellectual conversations.  Really, if you can't at least exercise your mind, what can you do?  Needless to say, I figured many would delight in our logical output and marvel at the depth of our thinking.  I'm sure that if I submitted this as a book chapter, the academic world would herald us as the next Derrida or Lacan or Foucault, unable to deny the sheer brilliance of our logic and theories.

Just Plane Wrong

Jeremy has been all excited about planes and flying lately.  I know nothing about planes, other than they I get a little sick feeling when they make turns.  Needless to say, he has been showing me endless pictures of planes, videos of planes, talking about different plane types, the way they are built . . .  Usually, I just respond, "ahhh" and "very nice" and continue my cluelessness about whatever it is he’s talking about, figuring I'll tune back in at some point when he's talking about, oh, say finishing my bathroom.  In one part of one of the many plane lectures Jeremy has given in recent weeks, I discovered that there are kit planes you can buy and build yourself (although I highly discouraged Jeremy from doing so, remembering the way he was going to "fix" his truck years ago after an accident.  He ordered all the parts, stripped off the broken parts, and then the thing sat in the garage for two years before he finally had a mechanic shop tow the truck in and fix it for him).  Also, apparently, there are plane plans online, which he was looking at the other night.

Jeremy:  “blah, blah, plane, blah, blah.”

Me:  “Ahhhh.”

Jeremy: “This looks like a really well-designed plane.”

Me: “That’s good.”  I would hope it’s well designed if it’s supposed to fly.

Jeremy:  “Except I can’t figure out how they did the dual pitch.”

Me:  “Can you go get Abby.  She’s stuck around the tree again on her tie out.”

Jeremy:  “Only if you can tell me how they did the dual pitch.”

Me:  “They used two tuning forks.”

Jeremy: “That is so obviously not right.”

Me:  “Are you going to go get Abby?”

Jeremy:  “You didn’t answer my question, so no.”

Me:  “Yes I did.  You never specified it had to be the right answer.”

Jeremy:  “Mumble, mumble,” as he heads out into the dark to unwrap Abby from whatever she’s managed to get herself stuck on.

I would have felt bad, making him go out in the cold, dark, and rain to retrieve a tangled, spastic, jumping puppy--no wait, that would be a far better person than I.  That's what Jeremy gets for torturing me with planes at 10 pm. 

Divided We Stand

 Last Saturday morning, we were sitting around being lazy.  For some unknown reason, Jeremy was looking through the junk mail--credit card offers.  There were three of them, each offering like 18% interest.

Jeremy:  "So, that would be 6% interest on one."  I just stare at him.  What was he talking about?

Silence.

Jeremy: "I just divided the three cards into the 18%.  Did you figure that out?"  I just look at him.  Of course I figured it out.  That would be something I would come up with if I was bored.  He must be really bored.  At least it's not planes again.
Me: "Of course.  It wasn't too difficult to figure it out."

Jeremy:  “Yeah, but you wouldn’t have gotten it if I hadn’t told you what I did.”

Me:  “Yes, I would have.”

Jeremy:  “No you wouldn’t have.  Your logic doesn’t work that way.”

Me: "It does too.  It's like figuring out a pattern.  Like when you're staring at the carpet in a hotel conference room trying to figure out the pattern because it's more interesting than whatever the person up front is saying at the conference.  And why do hotels all have such dizzying carpet patterns in their conference rooms?"

Jeremy:  "And that's how your logic works."

Me:  “I did too figure it out.  My logic works in very surprising ways.”

Jeremy:  Silence for a moment.  I’m sure he’s remembering many of the not so logical conclusions I have come to that seemed perfectly logical at the time, like the infamous low fat macaroni and cheese.  

Jeremy:  “That’s for sure.”

Puppyrearing 101

Sunday, Abby figured out how to get the lid off the container of unshelled pecans in the kitchen. Jeremy and I watched as she stuck her head in the tub, pulled out a pecan, and headed over to the big dog pillow. She plopped right in the middle and started crunching away on the shell.

Jeremy: "She's so funny."
Me: "At least it's keeping her occupied. She's been driving me nuts, and she's only been in like half an hour. All she wants to do is bite my slippers, the tie on my sweater, jump on me. . . Hopefully, the pecan will keep her busy for a while." I think about putting the lid back on the pecans, but why ruin a good thing.

Jeremy: "You should really put the lid back on. You're going to love it when the broken pecan shell causes her to hack up something nasty that you have to clean up."
Me: Sigh. So much for my peace. "You have a point."
Jeremy: "I usually do." No comment. That would be a whole big debate about all the times if I just would have listened to him in the first place. . .

Me: "But it's a huge dilemma. She's actually being good, laying down, chewing her pecan, not causing any trouble. Do I take it away just to prevent a future hack, or do I enjoy the calm?"
Jeremy: "But she's chewing MY pecans." (I tend not to like pecans unless they are in or coated with something. Okay, so that's mostly why I like about anything--for the condiment, not the food itself. I would be the first to lobby for more condiment space in refrigerators, a cause I feel deeply about. "Otherwise, I understand your dilemma."
Me: "On the plus side, that's one less pecan you have to crack open. And, from the looks of it, I think she might mostly be eating the pecan and spitting out the shell."
Jeremy: Looking around the kitchen floor. "Thank God no one is coming over today. If they were they'd look around and think that we really are rather grimy people."

Me: "Oh, she finished that one. Off for another."
Jeremy: Sigh.
Me: "Our kitchen is going to look like a redneck bar with shells all over the floor. It should go nicely with the Mt. Dew box she tore up this morning." Yes, I should have taken the box away. Yes, the floor was now littered with tiny bits of green everywhere. On the other hand, I figured picking up all the little pieces was a small price to pay for redirecting pogo puppy away from me until I had enough coffee. Will I be one of those parents who plops her kids in front of the television? If it means I get coffee and an hour of peace, definitely! Wonder if I can give them rawhide chewies like I do Abby to redirect her attention?

Bovine Theory
Me: "I'm really getting exciting about these papers I want to work on."
Jeremy: "I'm not looking forward to that, I should have put in a prenup clause forbidding you from discussing (or referencing) theory, in our conversations."
Me: "Well, the one will drive you batty--feminist theory. The other you might be interested in--posthumanism."
Jeremy: "Absolutely not and definitely not, in that order."
Me: "You're not interested in posthumanism?"
Jeremy: "Pre- post- or anything in between! I have no interests, I'm a dud."
Me: "Posthuman is the mixing of man and machine."
Jeremy: "No, posthuman is death. At least, if you started outhuman. Unless, of course, you're Hindu, in which case, I think posthuman is bovine."

Me: Sigh. Pause. I think how I can sucker him into a discussion of posthumanism. "But that's part of Battlestar Gallactica, which you love."
Jeremy: "No no, Battlestar Galactica is about things blowing up in space. And THAT I like! You're not going to get intelligent conversation out of me today wife, so stop trying!"
Me: "Obviously, my theoretical notions are just way beyond your grasp."
Jeremy: "I'm thinking about patching schedules, server moves, tilling the garden, how to gate the fence, etc... i.e. I'm thinking about my prebovine state. You think THAT obvious attempt to get my gander up is going to work?" I ponder the fact that he actually used the word "gander" in conversation. Is that even the right word? Or is he saying he's a male goose? I think the word might be dander. Or is that just the stuff you need a special shampoo for?

Me: "Well, I had to try. Even it my attempts at reverse psychology were blatantly obvious. I always hold out the hope that, at some point, they might work. I think I have to get you drunk first though."
Jeremy: "I don't think they 'ever' work. You don't manipulate me well, one of the reasons I married you. You tried, get an A for effort, but you suck."
Me: "I can be manipulative if I want! Just give me a few more years to figure it out (obviously, 14 is just not enough)."

Jeremy: "You should create a new theory called 'prebovine.' Now THAT would make for an interesting paper."
Me: "Umm, I'm not sure what that theory would entail? Milk? A steak? Okay, so now I see why that theory might interest you."
Jeremy: "Steak is clearly postbovine."
Me: "Oh, good point. That would mean milk would be presentbovine. Maybe grass or hay is prebovine."
Jeremy: "No, milk is unusual in that it's both pre and present. I've seen grass post bovine too--didn't care for THAT at all."

Me: "How can milk be prebovine if there is no cow to produce or drink the milk? I've fallen in the prebovine grass before too. Let's just say, not one of my finer moments, nor very pleasantly scented."
Jeremy: "Preadultbovine then. No no, I think you meant you fell in the POSTbovine grass."
Me: "Oh, my mistake. You are quite right. I don't think I can use any of this theory in my paper."
Jeremy: "Clearly, your paper isn't going to be any good then."

Scanning

I was running late today, and realized, after I got into my car, that I hadn't loaded any new audiobooks on my ipod or remembered any cds.  This meant I was stuck trying to find something decent to listen to on local radio stations.  It also meant that when I hit scan at the stop sign beside our house, the radio was still scanning when I got to work.

I've had to do this many times, and the result is always the same--45 minutes later, when I arrive at work, the radio is still scanning, since I have found nothing worth listening to.  Today, I decided, I would pay a little closer attention to those little "blips" that come up when the scan pauses.  I would carefully analyze what each station was projecting at its intended audience (really, I just had nothing better to do on the drive to work).


On one station, I heard the following portion of an ad: "Somewhere in your community, skilled neurosurgeons are . . ."  Somewhere in my community?  I live in a town of like 1500.  I'm pretty sure there are no neurosurgeons here.  And "somewhere?"  What are these neurosurgeons doing?  Lurking in bushes and waiting to hijack patients?  I do hope they aren't at Pizza Hut because, really, I only want a pizza.  Maybe some breadsticks.  But not a lobotomy.  Since the station flipped, I didn't even get to find out what the skilled neurosurgeons are doing.  I just had to imagine.  I decided they were all convened in the local Krispy Kreme playing Yahtzee.  Or maybe they were hosting a Tupperware or Avon party.  This made me sad.  I like parties.  Why wasn't I invited?  Was it because I wasn't a skilled neurosurgeon?

I actually stopped the scan only two times.  Once for Pearl Jam's "Once."  Like the song says, I really only should have stopped the scan once.  But I did it a second time.  I'm embarrassed to admit, but the only other song that attracted my attention was Willow Smith's "Whip My Hair."  The song only has about 2 lines to it, one of which is "I whip my hair back and forth."  In my defense, the song is quite catchy.  I will let you hear for yourself:

Or, you can also try Jimmy Fallon's and Bruce Springsteen's version:

Alright, so if you watched the video, pretty much I was just trying to sucker you in so I didn't feel quite so mortified about not disliking (I cannot admit to actually liking) that song.  Also, congratulations!:  You now have one line of a peppy little preteen song stuck in your head for the next 5 days!  I won't even begin to ponder what it says about my music tastes that those were the two songs I listened to.  It's just too scary.

It is definitely one of those days, because next up, I hear "da da dah dah / da da dah dah / da da da da da da dah dah . . ."  NO!  Not Suzanne Vega's "Tom's Diner!"  For the rest of my day, I'm gonna have that stupid da da line running through my head.  I think I was in high school when this song came out.  All I'd have to do to make my friend, Jen, cringe was sing the da da da dah part.  The song isn't near so much fun when you can only make yourself cringe.  I definitely need to give her a call.  And just start singing da da da dah.  I think what made this song so "great" was its infectiousness.  And not a good infection.  It's the infection that you feel obligated, and also somewhat self-satisfied, to pass it on, knowing that whoever hears it also will have the same, horrible syllables suck in their head for days. On top of the cringeworthiness, the whole song says nothing.  Besides, the waiter guy only gives her half a cup of coffee in the morning, and she doesn't even argue.  That right there tells you something is wrong with this song.  If somebody only have me half a cup of coffee in the morning, things would get ugly. 

The song did get me to thinking, though.  Just how bad of a songwriter do you have to be to stick in whole lines of things like da, da, dah, dah or oooohhh, or yeaaahhh?  Not to mention all those songs that stretch out vowel sounds.  It's like the songwriter had writer's block, and decided, "hey, I can't think of any words to put here, so I'm just gonna sing whoooaaahh, whooaaah for a few lines, and see if anybody notices."  I missed my calling--I should have been a songwriter.  Without further ado, here's my brand new number one song--never mind the fact it has no music.  I can play the first few notes of "Mary had a Little Lamb on the piano, so maybe you can just imagine my song to the tune of the first half of Mary Had a Little Lamb (not the second half, though, because I never learned that).

Lisa's #1 Hit Song

Ooooh,  Woooooah,

You broke my heaaaart,

 Yeahhh, you really did, soooo

Why, ohhhhhhh, did you rip it apart?

Baaaby, Baaaaby, I just want to know

Did you really have to steeeeal

My fried chicken?

Chorus

Ooooh, it hurts--

It hurts so baaaad,

Ooooh, it hurts--

Thinking what I coulda haaaad

I want my chicken back

So I won't feel so saaaad.

Youuuu, left me,

Standin' in the kitchen

Woooahhh, the misery--

You make me keep wishin'

The paainnn would disappear

But no matter how bad the itchin'

My fried chicken doesn't reappear.

Chorus

Thank you, thank you.  I know, in your head, you are stunned at my song's complexity and the depth of emotion it conveys.  Since everyone knows artists don't make much money of albums, I will be retiring off the world tour income.

As my scan continued, it seemed as if country and religion stations were alternating, with not a whole lot else in between.  I decided I would count the number of each different station genre, just because, well, I still had like 25 more minutes before I got to work, and I needed something to keep me busy.  (Okay, so this blog actually took longer than 1 drive to work, but for the purpose of flow, I will say I only did this once.  Jeremy actually spotted me out the window, still scanning through stations in our driveway after I got home.  When I walked into the house, he just looked at me and said "You're so weird."  I replied, "Why am I weird?"  It was not a defense, just simply wondering what I had now done that "seemed" weird to him.  "You were sitting in the driveway scanning radio stations, weren't you?"  Well, yes. . .)  Where I live, I pass from one region into another, which means one set of stations fade out, and by the time I get to work or home, I have a whole new set.  This means that I should have a huge variety of stations to draw from.  Not so much.  My final calculations came up with 13 country, 9 religion, 7 classic rock, 7 hip hop/r&b/rap, 5 classic hits/oldies, 4 top 40, and then NPR, ESPN, Fox News, and 1 Spanish station.  There were roughly 5 unidentifiable stations that I had no clue what their genre was supposed to be, so, for the purposes of this study, they will simply be known as "unidentified crap" stations.  

I then decided to survey each genre selection's broadcasts.  From the religion channels, I surmised the following things about myself: I was saved, I was going to hell, I should not have a mistress, I need to make my children obey and say "yes/no sir or ma'am," the ice cream man is creepy (don't ask me.  I almost stopped to listen to this one just to find out why the ice cream man was creepy.  I decided the radio hosts must have been watching too many scary movies, but that there was something to the ice cream man creepiness), I should blow my "trumpet on Zion (they obviously don't know I have no music talent)," and that God was going to be calling me (in case you're wondering, he still hasn't.  Maybe it's because I don't have a red phone).  

As for the country stations, I found the lyrics to several country songs very intriguing.  I don't know who the singer was, and I will probably misquote him, but the lyrics went something to the effect of "I got all cleaned up clean / cut and clean-shaved. . ."  The scan ended at that point, and all I could think was "deep."  Actually, I just wished I knew who the song writer was so I could send him/her a thesaurus.  Don't get me wrong.  I'm very glad he is clean.  Nothing worse than a stinky singer on the radio.  There also was the song that went "Lover, lover, lover, you don't treat me no good no more."  I was awed!  Not a double negative, but an actual triple negative!  Such of amazing feat of grammatical incorrectness I had never witnessed before!  Had I already not exerted myself with my non-word and extended vowel song, I might have been tempted to try my hand at a quadruple negative.  But alas, I had worn my songwriting creativity out for the day. 

Regarding the classic rock stations, I am now going to say something that many might find sacrilegious (including Jeremy, but I think we've already established he has bad taste in music): I could happily go the rest of my life never hearing Led Zepplin's "Stairway to Heaven," Lynnard Skynnard's "Free Bird," Bob Segar's "Old Time Rock and Roll," or Creedence's "Bad Moon Rising."  I never really liked those songs, but since they are on a never-ending and continual cycle on all classic rock stations, I have grown, well, putting it mildly, to despise them.   Therefore, I've decided to "rework," these classics into a much more compact, 1 song form.  I even added in a little of The Steve Miller Band's "Joker."  I believe my version vastly improves upon the original, and I call it:

Crap Condensed
I see the bad moon arising.               --I hate it when the moon goes bad.  Nothing worse than rotten cheese smell
I see trouble on the way.
Don't try to take me to a disco
You'll never even get me out on the floor      --imagining Bob Segar trying to disco makes me shudder
But, if I stayed here with you girl
Things just couldn't be the same
Ooh, it makes me wonder
Oh, Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, ooh, whoa, oh          --note that I also made sure to include the long vowel sound lyrics in my revision
People talk about me, baby
Say I'm doin' you wrong, doin' you wrong

Chorus
I play my music in the sun.
I reminisce about the days of old
There's a bad moon on the rise.
And the bird you cannot change
And she's buying a stairway to heaven.                   --No, I'm not.  Everyone should know by now I prefer an escalator

Call me a relic, call me what you will
Say I'm old-fashioned, say I'm over the hill
But please don't take it so badly
'Cause the Lord knows
I'm to blame                                                           --finally, a man who admits it :P
You're the cutest thing I ever did see
Really love your peaches wanna shake your tree             --I love subtlety
Don't go around tonight,
I know the end is coming soon
There's a sign on the wall
I sure don't want to hurt no one wooo wooooo            --yay!  More long vowels
There's only one sure way to get me to go
If there's a bustle in your hedgerow.                            --so many things running through my mind, so I'll just leave this line alone

After that, there were a few horrifying encounters with John Tesh and John Boy and Billy in the Morning, two different radio programs area stations carry.  With John Tesh, you just can never get enough of his words of wisdom.  He imparts such wonderful information as "if you put a brick in your toilet, you can save 500 gallons of water a year" and "having a pet can increase your life span (he's obviously never been around our pets).  As for John Boy and Billy in the Morning, just , uggh.  There are like 15 radio stations in the area that carry this show because, obviously, listeners must be too stupid to be able to find it if only a single radio station carried it.  I don't know which is John Boy and which is Billy, nor do I really care.  Every morning, they pack the studio full of their friends (Tiny, Bubba, Joe Bob, and token female who they always pick on).  Then, they spend most of their show making bad jokes that everyone then laughs at for several minutes.  For example, here's what I caught this morning as they were doing celebrity birthdays: "And Mozart would be 260 years old today if he hadn't died.  Instead, today, he's finally done decomposing."  Then everyone laughs for 5 minutes.  I also discovered that John Boy and Billy are embarking on their "No Collar Comedy Tour."  I'm so excited, I can't see straight.  I'm going to rush out and buy my tickets immediately!  I was wondering what I was going to do until Justin Bieber came back around, and now I have light in my life again!

By the time I arrived at work, I was mentally exhausted after such intense analysis.  Okay, so it was John Tesh's advice that finally did me in.  But, I had several profound realizations!  1) If one were inclined to sing at the top of their lungs in their car (which I am not inclined to do), Alanis Morissette's "You Outta Know" is one of the best songs ever to sing/scream loudly while hurtling down a rural country road.  2)  The Spanish station caught me off guard for a second.  I thought I was listening to polka on the radio.  3) "Candle in the Wind" actually has a line that says, "They set you on a treadmill."  What the heck does that mean?  The treadmill was too high for Marilyn to climb on, so somebody had to help her up?  And why did they set her on it?  Should they stand her on it?  Did no one know how to use a treadmill in the 60s?  They should have just watched The Jetsons.  4)   That I should never, ever, ever, forget my ipod again.  In fact, maybe I should go buy a spare, so that if one breaks, I still have another.  I'm not sure.  I might need counseling after this traumatic experience.  I think I was shaking a little when I finally pulled into my parking spot at work.  I'm going to self-medicate with some wine now, and hope I don't have nightmares.  Crap.  Jeremy just pulled up the Bee Gees station on Pandora.  Will the suffering never end?

New Year's Irresolutions

I know you're supposed to make resolutions at the start of the new year, but to be quite honest, I've never really stuck to a resolution.  In fact, I quit making them years ago, pretty much when I realized I never stuck with a resolution.

The Abandoned Resolutions
Sure, there's been tons of them over the years.  The standard, going to diet and exercise always used to be a top one.  That whole resolution only ended up with me stockpiling things like canned bean sprouts (which I still have some of in my cupboard) and used exercise equipment.  There was the stationary bike.  I was actually very sad to see that one go because it was a wonderful place to hang up clothes in the bedroom for years.  There was the ab roller-cruncher-buncher-feller (no clue what it was really called) that was missing a bolt.  Did I ever replace the bolt?  No.  Mostly because I never really used the buncher-feller after the first week I bought it.  There was the manual treadmill.  Of all the pieces of equipment that could have provided a great workout, this treadmill was the one.  Because it was manual, you had to get the thing moving yourself.  That would have been great, if I didn't have to give myself a hernia trying to get it going.  Unfortunately, the thing also weighted a ton, so it was impossible to move.  Fortunately, it collapsed into a nice, compact form that fit under the bed.


Another new year's resolution that I only made once was trying to be more patient.  What a stupid resolution to make!  The only think I taught myself to do was, at times when I was slightly calmer and less impatient, to substitute certain phrases for swear words.  Now my vocabulary is littered with horrendous sayings like "good grief," "fudgecicles," and "holy cow," and every time one of them comes out of my mouth, I find myself cringing.  However, when I'm really ticked off or impatient, the same old stream of swear words come out.


There also was the resolution to try to be better at cleaning.  I hate cleaning.  I don't know why I ever made that resolution.  Maybe it was purely to torture myself for the solid week I clung to it. I started and ended with the living room.  First, there was all the woodwork to clean and all the stupid cracks and crevices in the woodwork.  Then there were all the electronics -- the gigantic stereo speakers, the television, the amp, the big heavy device that does something important that we had to buy, the television.  Next, I had to move on to the lamps, the remotes, the two larger ship models with all their billion, tiny, wooden, glued on ship pieces, and all the other various accumulated stuffs (which made me really think minimalism was the way to go).  Once I had finished all that other crap, I still had to vacuum all the pet fur off the furniture and sweep and mop the floor.  By the time I finished that one room, I pretty much decided I was never going to be very good at cleaning things and that I was pretty much abandoning that resolution.

Another reason for abandoning it was because it was extremely detrimental to my marriage.  I was not happy; therefore, by extension, Jeremy was not happy, which meant he spent the entire week avoiding me.  Occasionally, he would pop in, check the progress, and give me little platitudes like "See how much better the television looks once the inch of dust is gone," and "The stereo speakers look great!  Did you remember to clean the ceiling fan blades before you started dusting?"  My responses always went along the lines of "this sucks" and "fudgecicles," only not altering the word.  Of course I didn't remember the stupid ceiling fan blades, of course it's going to rain down 20 tons of compacted dust all over everything I just cleaned, of course I'm not going to go back and clean them, after all, the ceiling fan is running, so who's going to see it?  Given the strain that cleaning put on my marriage, it was obvious which one had to go.  So, in reality, I actually abandoned the cleaning resolution in order to have a happier and healthier marriage.

This Year's Irresolutions
Moving forward to this year, I'm trying a new plan.  I'm reflecting on things I've learned, or maybe not learned is the better terminology, and I'm going to make irresolutions this year instead because I know I can keep those.

First there are projects.  I do a wonderful job at thinking about projects.  I get the complete project researched and mapped out to the fullest extent.  Then comes the next step--actually doing the project.  I have discovered I have three standard project outcomes.  The first is that the project never gets beyond the "research and development stage."  I have tons of links bookmarked for making stained glass, for intricate stencil designs to paint on walls, for making balloon shades.  The reality is, I will never do any of these projects.  They are way too complicated for my deficient (or maybe that should be nonexistent), artistic and sewing abilities.  For that matter, the only time I ever used a sewing machine was in the high school home ec class I was forced to take my freshman year.  And even then, I was so horrible that I took most of my projects home and had my mom finish them.  The only sewing project I ever completed was a pair of shorts.  Nobody told me you had to do something called backstitching on clothes.  Just a little advise: never wear homemade, nonbackstitched shorts detasseling.

The second project outcome is that it is actually completed, but then somehow just fails.  Maybe I shouldn't say somehow because there's obviously a rational reason the project fails.  Take for instance my landscaping project for this year.  After the previous year's failure with the whole seed starting/planting thing, I just went for buying plants.  I bought some type of red flower, sweet potato vines, and two, yellow shrub roses for the beds that flank the front sidewalk and I bought a yellow climbing rose and caladiums for the side of the house.  Then I planted a few ferns and some more caladiums on the other side of the house.  I carefully watered and watered and watered, dragging 50 feet of hose around behind me several times a week.  Somehow, around July when it got really hot, I started "forgetting" to water.  By the end of the summer, all I was left with were some very yellowy, straggly sweet potato vines.  Everything else was dead.  Jeremy has told me that until we get irrigation, he is not "investing" any more money in any landscaping projects.  I'm not sure why he used the word investing, because that implies that there is some sort of reward/value reaped from my landscaping projects.  Unless you consider dead plants a value. . .

The third project outcome is that I get the project started, then take, oh, a year or so to finish it.  A fine example of this is the front half of our hallway, which I started painting in August.  I did not realize the hallway was going to take quite so many coats of paint.  I managed to get 5 coats on.  Three of those coats actually were in August.  Then I got busy with school.  In September--no wait-- in November, I got 2 more coats on.  I was determined to get my painting job finished before I put Christmas decorations up.  I did not get it finished.  It wasn't my fault!  Honeslty!  It got cold, and our hallway is not heated.  Not to mention the fact that the Christmas decorations had to go up, and, obviously, I can't paint with Christmas stuff up.  Now it's mid January, and I still need to finish the paint job I started in August.  Could I have finished and done the whole paint job in August?  Yes.  But with no real deadline, what's the point?  Eventually, what will happen is that we will get company or something, and I will go into freak out mode, and decide not only do I have to get the whole house cleaned in two days, but I also have to finish the last 2 coats of paint on the front half of the hallway and do all seven on the back half of the hallway.  At this point, Jeremy will avoid me until said company arrives because he actually wants to keep his sanity and also knows that my logic often is, well, slightly faulty.

My irresolution, therefore, is that I will continue to do projects at my own speed.  Yes, this means it will probably be February before the Christmas tree comes down, which means it will be March before I get another coat of paint on the hallway, but in the meantime, I'm quite happy and content.  And so is Jeremy.  Okay, so maybe he's grumbling inside a bit about why the Christmas lights are still on in June, but I figure if I spent that much time putting them up, and they're still up. . .

Procrastination.  This tendency probably goes hand in hand with the projects problem.  Yes, New Year's day was approximately three weeks ago.  Yes, I am just now getting a New Year's blog finished.  To be fair, I started it on New Year's day.  Then I got sidetracked.  I got a Wii for Christmas.  I've been bowling and golfing a lot.  I kept thinking I needed to finish the New Year's blog, but. . .  Essentially, if I can procrastinate, I definitely will.  I've decided that this has to have some benefit, so why bother changing it?  Besides, you can't just play a game of cards on the computer any old time.  That takes lots of planning.

Experimental Cooking.  As Jeremy frequently questions, "why don't you just follow the recipe the first time you make something?"  Because I'm a chef!  I must tinker with the recipe!  I can make it better!  The reality is, I usually make it worse.  Take, for example, yesterday's banana bread.  I only had 2 bananas instead of the required 3.  "What could go wrong," I thought to myself, "if I make it only using 2 bananas?"  I mix up the batter, and think, "my, this seems awfully runny."  While that should have been my first clue, I chose to ignore it.  So, into the oven my banana bread goes.  I cook it for the required hour, open the oven, look at it, and think "something looks a little off here."  I stick in my toothpick, and stir.  Hmmm, seems to be the consistency of . . . I don't know.  I don't even have any comparisons here.  Did I give up on the banana bread, at that point?  No (see, this should be a good quality--I stick with things to the . . . sludgy end).  I cooked the banana bread for 15 more minutes.  Still goopy.  I cooked the banana bread for 20 more minutes.  Still goopy, and, somehow, the shortening had melted and separated from the "loaf" (if you can call a quivering mass a loaf), and there was a layer of grease on top.  I still didn't give up--maybe if I cook it for just 15 more minutes. . .  After cooking my banana bread for nearly 2 hours, I finally had to give up.  The sad part was, I then had to let it cool on the counter before I could throw it away.  On the plus side, it slid right out of the pan.  As it was sitting there cooling, Jeremy walks by.

"That looks disgusting!"
"You're lucky, though," I responded.  "At least I'm not trying to feed you my experiments anymore."  Okay, so I still do occasionally (he did not appreciate the garlic "pancakes" I made very much, which were supposed to be garlic naan), but even I couldn't pass off the banana "surprise" as edible.  In the long run, I probably would have a lot more success if I just followed the recipe.  But the reality is, I can't control my cooking "urges," so we will continue to get very "unique" by products.


I'm sure there are a ton more irresolutions (probably many of which Jeremy can happily point out), but for now, I just need to finish this blog.  Mainly because I have to get ready to go to work, and I still haven't showered.

What I Want for Christmas

According to Jeremy, he can't think of anything to get me for Christmas.  He says he thought of one thing that costs like $15.  So I started thinking about it--what do I want for Christmas.  Then I started thinking about what I don't want for Christmas and about how Jeremy shops.  As you will see, these things are somewhat combined.

The Ghost of Christmas(es) Past

Over the years (okay, so it's taken 14 years, and I'm still working on it), I have discovered that Jeremy absolutely hates to shop.  The first indication of this shopping "phobia" occurred early in our relationship, when he wanted to go get a computer game at a store in the mall.  "Oh, the mall!" I exclaimed.  "I'll go with you."  I think, simply because it was a new relationship, he agreed, all the while trying to figure out how to get out of any sort of "extended" mall experience that I might rope him into.  His solution?  First, we had to drive separately to the mall.  He came up with some feebly valid excuse, so I agreed.  Then, as soon as we were done at the game store, he bailed.  Thus, after 14 years together, that early experience pretty much sums up the amount of time we've spent together in a mall.  I would say it was his last venture in a mall, but there were a couple of very "horrific" holiday shopping ventures after that.

Which brings us to holiday shopping.  There was the year he used a gift card (his own) from Kohl's to buy me all my presents.  That probably was the best shopping year for him ever because he only had to go to one store.  I will give him the benefit, though--it was the Christmas only a few months after we moved to North Carolina, and we were broke.  It was also the only year I ever received clothing items from him, even though I frequently have them on my Christmas list.

There is also the infamous Christmas Eve K-Mart shopping that he will probably never live down.  And yes, it was exactly as it sounds.  He put off doing any Christmas shopping until Christmas Eve at about 4 pm, and, what a surprise, the only store he found open (and barely open) was K-Mart.  He and several other equally frantic spouses whirled through K-Mart throwing items in the cart like those people who win shopping sprees--only Jeremy wasn't quite so selective.  I think the panic fogged his brain, so I have no clue how he made his choices.  That year for Christmas, I got throw pillows, a blanket, and set of white dishes so heavy that the box was falling apart.  Which meant he barely got the box in the house and kinda just wrapped the top of it.  To his credit, we are still using the dishes (which he periodically claims to hate).  And, if we ever want to have a dinner party for 24, I believe we are set.

I won't even go into the "near" jewelry I got one year.  Okay, I will a tiny bit.  I almost got jewelry one year for Christmas.  But the mall phobia struck--and mall phobia is even worse during the overcrowded holiday season.  So, he's in a jewelry store, and one things leads to another, which is overcomplicated in Jeremy's fuzzy, panic stricken mind, and somehow he ends up leaving the store without buying anything, and probably leaving a very confused sales clerk behind.  Jeremy swears that even the thought of entering a mall stresses him out--I now believe him. As do all my unbought Christmas presents.  Maybe this is an untapped torture venue the government should investigate--sending men into crowded malls during the holiday season.  I bet they could get any information they wanted.

You would think online shopping would now be Jeremy's salvation.  It would be, except for when Jeremy buys almost all the gifts on Amazon.com and forgets to change the shipping address after we'd moved.  So yes, the year before last, most of my gifts got sent to North Carolina.  Then they got shipped back to Amazon.  Then Jeremy got credited for his purchases and forgot to reorder them.  I'm still waiting for my Snuggie!!!

I think Jeremy just gave up last year.  Since I needed a new laptop (mine was 5 years old), he just took me to Best Buy and voila.  This year, he's trying really hard, but he seems to be failing miserably.

Jeremy: When are your classes done in the spring?
Me: May
Jeremy (sounding slightly exasperated): I know May, but when in May.
Me: May 13
Jeremy: Oh.  When do they start for the summer?
Me: May 17
Jeremy: Oh.  That won't work either.  We can't go to Ocracoke.  I was going to put a downpayment down on a rental as a Christmas present, but we can't fit it in.  And rates jump the last week in May.
Me: But what if I teach online?  We could go that week after graduation.
Jeremy: They don't have internet access on Ocracoke.
Me: But there's that one place you can go.
Jeremy: Do you really want to have to go someplace and pay to work everyday on your vacation?
Me: Oh.  But I could do it, or what about. . .
Jeremy: It was supposed to be a surprise, so now it's just moot.

Okay, so moot might have been my word, but now Jeremy is back to square one.  Which means I have been trying to think of things I want for Christmas.  And somehow, instead of thinking of things I do want for Christmas, I keep thinking of things I don't want.

Things Lisa Does Not Want for Christmas
 
Just Plain Bad Ideas
Anything that I want for the house.  I only want fun presents.  Which means, while we could use new sheets, I do not want new sheets.  While a dishwasher would be nice, I do not want a dishwasher.  I would not even want a geothermal heating and cooling system for the house for Christmas.  (Okay, so I might concede on that one.  What a luxury to have real heat and air!  I've forgotten what that's like :P).  I do not want a shower for the new bathroom or bathroom vanities.  I especially do not want the tile for the shower that goes into the new bathroom.  And yes, I realize that some women (although I've yet to come across any) do like to get these things for Christmas, I do not.  They are not fun things.  Practical?  Yes.  Useful?  Yes.  Necessary?  In some cases, yes.  But I much prefer the fun and impractical, and, as is probably obvious from earlier in the blog, I can get a little huffy about certain Christmas presents (and yes, the throw pillows made me a bit huffy, which is also part of the reason Jeremy will never live down what we now refer to as THAT Christmas).

I also do not want a boat, a chicken coop, chickens, a hog, goats, a cow, any sort of garden implements, fishing gear, or any power tools.  I mention this strictly because of the birthday present I got one year.  A Cubs baseball cap.  And yes, I do love the Cubs.  And yes, I would have worn the hat, if I ever wore baseball caps.  Who wore the hat everywhere?  Jeremy.  So, for my birthday, Jeremy was not only cheap, but also bought himself a present.  But I digress--birthdays are a whole other issue.  I simply mention these items just in case Jeremy thought it might be a good idea to buy me something for himself (I'm pretty sure he wouldn't--now :D)
 
Pop Culture Items
Justin Bieber tickets.  I was listening to the radio (well, I was scanning trying to find a decent station) and up comes this commercial for Plato's Closet.  You can enter some contest, and, if you win, you get to pick a stocking.  In the stockings will be discounts for Plato's closet.  But the grand prize, if you get the right stocking, is 2 tickets to a Justin Bieber concert, so "everyone with Bieber fever should enter now!"  I do not understand Justin Bieber.  He looks like he's 12.  He sings songs that sound like they were written by a 12 year-old (and I have only accidentally heard Justin Bieber songs, which pretty much all make me cringe).  He has that messy little hair style that has 20 tons of product in to make it look messy.  Doesn't that defeat the purpose?  How exactly does one decide to go for overstyled messy?  Needless to say, I can do without Justin Bieber tickets.

Twilight--pretty much anything related to this series of books is out.  I tried to watch the movies.  The last one made me wish Bella was a vampire and somebody would stake her so she'd quit whining and moping.  I mean really--what is so entertaining about watching someone whine and mope for roughly 2 hours?  Was I the only one that wished she died?  And don't even get me started on the whole vampires sparkling thing.

The Lady Gaga meat dress.  I'm fairly certain I can do without a dress made of meat.  I don't imagine it's the softest material, nor could I find anywhere to sit without first putting down plastic, and after a few hours, I don't think any amount of deodorant, perfume, or air fresheners would cover the smell.  And, no matter how flattering a meat dress might be to the figure, I'm pretty sure it would not be a compliment to be told you smell like rotting meat.

Any albums by the BeeGees.  Okay, so this might be "retro" pop culture.  I tried to like them.  I really did.  But every time Jeremy pulls them up on Pandora, I want to knock myself unconscious.  Add to that anything by Journey, REO Speedwagon, Foreigner, Kansas. . . (I swear they were all the same band, weren't they?).

Holiday Related Items
Apples and Oranges.  I am not certain how apples and oranges became a holiday gift item, but I will also pass on the fruit.  I know I need to eat more fruit, but the reality is fruit sits around our house until it's soft, squishy and oozing, and then it gets thrown away.  Unless it's made into bad things like caramel apples, peach cobbler, cherry cheesecake. . .  we pretty much just end up with bowls of rotting fruit.  And yes, you can also add the fruitcake to that mix as well.  Does a fruitcake ever age?  Was one batch of fruitcakes made in like 1880, and then those just get passed around each year?  And what is with that jellied fruit stuff in the fruit cake?  How is that fruit?  What is that stuff really?

Candy canes.  I only eat peppermints after a meal so I don't have bad breath.  I cannot remember the last time I actually ate a candy cane, which, in reality, is simply a cane-shaped peppermint.  And let's face the facts.  Real candy is chocolate.  (Which is why the advent calendar is perfectly fine.  While they are tiny chocolates, they are still chocolates.)

Holiday Lifesaver Multipacks.  The only Lifesavers anyone likes are the fruit flavored ones.  All the other ones are simply telling the person "Happy Holidays.  You have bad breath."  So, you eat the fruit flavored ones, then stick the peppermint and the wintergreen and the spearmint and the mintilicious (they run out of real mint names so start making up their own) and mintastics in your purse, where they end up busting open and sticking to everything.  So then you're stuck pulling everything out of your purse so you can remove all the lint covered lifesavers.


Things Lisa Does Want for Christmas

Now, to help Jeremy out, I will put together the list of things I do want for Christmas.

The Rock, Paper, Scissors, Lizard, Spock coffee mug.  I can't help it.  I love Sheldon on Big Bang Theory and how could you not love a game that overcomplicates an extremely simple game?
Or maybe that's just me.  Jeremy says I overcomplicate everything.  Sometimes he asks me a yes or no question just to see how long it will take me to actually answer it.  Sometimes he never actually gets an answer.  Not because I intentionally don't answer, but because I forget to give an answer.

This is the "Hide a Squirrel" pet toy.  And really, the only reason I want this is because it makes me think of Jeremy's failed squirrel battle.  So far, it's Jeremy 0, Squirrels like 100.  Did a squirrel fall for the trap in the attic?  No.  Do squirrels still get in the house?  Yes.  Is the attic still littered with empty pecan shells?  Yes.  Do the dogs go nuts when they hear a squirrel running in the attic.  No.  They simply stare up at the ceiling and all their little heads swivel back and forth as the squirrel runs back and forth.  Obviously, they know better than Jeremy :P

Miniature donkeys, golf carts, and fainting goats.  I'm still waiting for these items.  Someone still hasn't taken the rather blatant hint from my earlier blog.  Who wouldn't want a miniature donkey under the tree on Christmas morning?  Or a fainting goat?  Oh.  Maybe there wouldn't be a a tree left.  Hmm.

As for the golf cart, I would play golf, if someone didn't insist on making me be so quiet while golfing.  Never mind the fact I suck at golfing and am fairly positive that will never change.  Still, I could drive my golf cart all over . . . umm . . . Abbeville.

Add a chariot to my list also.  But not just any chariot.  Who wants one of those crummy chariots where you have to stand the whole time.  No thank you.  I'll take mine made of solid gold with a very cushy seat.  The chariot also has an added benefit because the next time Jeremy asks me what I would do with miniature donkeys. . .

 

My very own funnel cake stand in the back yard!  Funnel cakes all year round in a spiffy, designer stand that would immensely add to the landscape, and, thus, the property value.  Just imagine, stumbling out the back door in the morning with a cup of coffee and delighting in the fresh aroma of funnel cakes.  Oh, I also need an employee to go with my funnel cake stand. 

A water park.  This would go great with the funnel cake stand.  Our house is very tall.  It would be no problem to attach a slide to the top.  We can even add another slide off the bedroom where Jeremy tore off the rotten deck.  Then, all we'd have to do is open that door and slide right out.

Moving walkways.  I keep saying I need to lose weight.  Treadmills are so passe.  I want one of those moving walkways like they have at airports.  Then, instead of a tiny, boring treadmill stuck in front of the tv, with clothes hanging off it, we can have a treadmill through the whole house.  Add in the escalator, and I will be set.  I can exercise whenever the mood hits me, and all those other days, I can just let the walkway and escalator carry me around the house.  Actually, put in one from the backyard up to the back door too.  That would make getting groceries in the house so much easier.  And, with very little traffic in our house, when I'm really lazy, I could just sit on the thing and roll off when I reach my "concourse."



 I'm sure I could think of a ton more things for Jeremy to get me for Christmas, but I think this list should give him a pretty good start.  I just can't wait until Christmas day, when I step out of the bedroom door--the one that goes outside-- and slide down to the heated pool below, then zip around to the back yard on my walkway (I've decided the walkway should go all the way around the house) where the cheerful funnel cake vendor greets me with a fresh and steaming powdered sugar coated delicacy.  I will then zip back up to the house in my golf cart, climb onto the escalator, which will take me to the back door.  As I open the door I will view the beautiful, half eaten Christmas tree with the miniature donkeys under it.  I will then zip over to it on my walkway, and hop into my awaiting chariot, tell the donkeys to mush (what do you tell donkeys to get them going?) and ride off into the artificial hallway lamplight.

Why I Will Be Picking the Next 2,001 Movies We Watch

Over the years, Jeremy has inflicted many "classic" (and not so classic) sci-fi movies on me.  I say inflicted because, while some may love these movies, I seem to remain, at best, indifferent.  I have to say, even at the beginning of our relationship, when everything was new and fresh--that time when you're trying to impress someone--I couldn't even pretend interest.  I'm just not that good at lying about things I, umm, don't like at all.  At first, I think he showed me these movies, convinced that, at some point, one of them would click, and I would realize just how much I was missing out.  Now, I'm pretty sure he convinces me to watch them for his own torture purposes only. 

This image of Tron I found pretty much sums up what I re- 

 member about the movie--except for the fact that I don't      

remember any people in the movie.  Looks thrilling, right?  

        

 

In the Beginning
There was Tron.  Those of you who know me, probably have frequently heard me complain about Tron over the years.  It remains one of the oddest movie experiences I've ever remembered--or rather not remembered.  It's like my mind was almost wiped after watching this movie--maybe it was a personal mental block to try and hide the pain.  All I seem to remember are little blue and red lasers and grids, tiny spacecraft, and maybe Dennis Quaid (I'm not sure about Dennis Quaid, though.  I might have put him in just to alleviate a little more of the Tron pain).  I remember absolutely nothing about the plot, other than the fact that I hated the movie.  Given my Tron "love," you can imagine my dismay and Jeremy's delight at the discovery of the imminent release of a Tron sequel.  Oh joy.  The anticipation is too much.  Maybe this one will have green and purple lights?  And Johnny Depp?  I could watch anything with Johnny Depp in it.  And I do like green.

Somehow, as a child, I completely missed the entire Star Wars mania--the originals, before they became sequels to the later prequels.  Jeremy was baffled--how in the world had I made it well into my 20s without ever having seen these awe-inspiring sci-fi classics?  This travesty, obviously, had to be remedied at once, after all, these movies had shaped his childhood.  Alas, much to Jeremy's disbelief, as an adult, I could find few redeeming qualities in Star Wars.  Luke was whiny, Leia was kind of naggy, and Han Solo was better as Indiana Jones (which I did see as a child).  Pretty much, the things I actually liked about Star Wars were:

1) Yoda.  Have I mentioned I like green?  On top of that, he talks funny--to say, it is not, true, would not be.  I can't help but not like yoda--I'm an English geek!

and

2) Ewoks.  Do I have a clue which movie they were in?  No.  But look at them.  They're just cute, furry little, well, ewoks.  Do I remember really what they do?  Nope, not at all!

You can imagine Jeremy's great disappointment when I did not share his Star Wars enthusiasm.  Entertaining, maybe slightly.  Much better than Tron, apparently, since I can remember bits and pieces of the plots.  More horrifying yet, to Jeremy, was that fact that I called the movies Cheesy.  Now, I tend to love cheesy.  I am completely in love with the  World's Largest Gummy Bear.  After all, who could not want a 5 pound gummy

bear that is the equivalent of 1400 regular-sized ones?  Let me tell you, I would so have this gummy bear (in green, of course), if it didn't cost, ummm, $30.  But, I'm still very tempted!  I mean, $30 for a 5 pound gummy bear is still a deal!  But anyway, I digress.  I did not find Star Wars good cheesy.  Even the fact that I called Star Wars and all its sequels, prequels, and prepostsequels cheesy, to Jeremy, was sacrilegious.  Thus, yet again, Jeremy failed in his mission.

Just to name a few others, I've endured the entire Alien series, Predator, Species, Alien vs. Predator, and an expansive amount of science fiction that I don't even remember the titles of, which, of course,  means that, at some point, I will be tricked into watching them again.  In fact, I'm pretty sure the only reason I remember anything about Alien is that whole "birth" scene.  I can see why no man with a pregnant wife, and, for that matter, no pregnant woman, should ever watch that movie.  Ewwww.  

This brings us to present day:

2001 Space Odyssey

It's Sunday afternoon.  I'm relaxing, not doing much of anything, when Jeremy strides into the kitchen.

"Come on.  We're watching 2001 Space Odyssey," he commands, trying to leave me no room for argument.

"But I'm not in a movie mood," I reply, thinking especially not for some old science fiction movie.  Unfortuantely, he knows me and knows exactly what I'm thinking.

"We're watching it.  It's a classic."

"But I don't want to," I grumble.

"It's a classic," Jeremy keeps insisting.  It's really the only argument he can use.  Somehow, I feel that if something is a classic it a) must have some redeeming worth, b) must cover some idea that somehow transcends its original time period, and c) probably is something I should see/read/listen to because if it's called a classic, see a and b.  I grumble in my head, wishing I had been doing something important because now I'm stuck.  Suddenly, I would much rather be washing the dishes or working on the laundry, but alas, I've left myself no escape route, and I slowly shuffle off behind Jeremy to the living room, hoping there is some last ditch idea I can come up with before the movie starts.  No such luck.

I settle back into the couch.  And wait as the movie starts.  There's music and a black screen.  I wait.  And wait.  I poke fun at the "riveting" movie I'm watching and am told to shut up and watch the movie.  I look at Jeremy, "What movie.  It's been a black screen for like 5 minutes.  Is this the whole movie cuz there are other things I can do."

"Shut up and watch the movie; it's a classic."  Sigh.  Oh look!  Finally something's happening.  It's . . .  Apes.  Lots of Apes.  Apes eating, Apes dancing, Apes playing what looks like Red Rover.  Apes touching a big, black thing (I'm promptly informed that this is a monolith.  Well, hooray).  Apes now killing each other.  Finally, after half an hour, no more Apes.  

Not that it gets any better.  The next 15 minutes is shots of space and what looks like a giant hamster wheel.  Over, and over, and over.  Finally!  A man!  Someone talked!  But, nothing happens.  The man uses a video phone, "stewardess" women with big mushroom hats walk upside down delivering food, the man has a drink, gets on a spaceship, and then I am stuck watching this spaceship slowly land.  After about 5 minutes of watching the spaceship slowly land I'm about to explode.

"Good grief is that think ever going to land?  I need to let the dogs out.  Let me know if it ever does land."  Yay!  An excuse!  I know he's waiting for me to come back, but I dink around as long as possible, letting the dogs out, refilling water, slowly getting their food, giving the cat tuna, straightening up the kitchen.  I'm contemplating doing dishes, but figure that might be a bit excessive, and Jeremy might notice the fact that I've been missing for that long.  I have no clue how he's even watching that stupid movie.  Resigned, I let the dogs back in and head back to the living room.  Just in time to see another slow flying spacecraft and INTERMISSION across the screen.

INTERMISSION (If there was an actual Mission, I missed it)

"Intermission?  That means this movie is only half over?  You've got to be kidding me!" I grumble.  Jeremy seems delighted.  He decides, near the end of the intermission, that he needs a drink and something to eat.

"Better hurry up," I advise him. "You might miss something."

In the next half, I at least get two characters' names and a bit more dialogue.  But not much.  There's Dave, who wears a red space suit when he goes outside, there's some other man who wears a yellow space suit when he goes outside, there's Hal, who's supposed to be an uber smart computer, who instead is very creepy, and there are a bunch of men stuck in what look like futuristic coffins who are apparently "sleeping" through the long flight.  We spend about 15 minutes watching Dave run around in a circle, which means Dave sometimes runs flat toward the screen, sometimes runs sideways, and sometimes runs upside down.  Big whoop.  Then Dave spends some time getting in touch with his artistic side, drawing the sleeping men in their space coffins.  Wonderful.  Then Dave goes outside to repair something.  I turn to Jeremy.

"What is that helmet thing on his head?  He looks like a big fire ant with those two eye things on the top."  Fire ant Dave pokes around, has a secret conversation so Hal can't hear, but Hal does, and then Hal starts killing everybody, except for Dave.  Bye-bye sleeping coffin men.  Thank you for letting me watch the heart rate monitors on them for 10 minutes as they slowly died.  Bye bye yellow fire ant man.  Sorry you couldn't make it back to your little space pod.

Then, suddenly, another "monolith."  Now, I will show you the problem I had with the whole monolith thing.

This, to me, is a monolith--a very tall column 

This is 2001's monolith.  This looks like a giant, very solid, black
door.  So essentially, the Apes at the beginning are excited about
a door.  I don't think they should be so excited since whomever
sent them the giant, black door obviously forgot the rest of the house.

So, there we were, staring at yet another "monolith," this one floating through space amidst a swirling variety of colors and patterns.  I felt overwhelmed--and not in an awe-inspired way.

"What the heck is this?  What's with all the weird colors and flashing?  And the door again?  Is Dave on an acid trip?"

"Just watch," Jeremy says.  "Besides, it is kinda pretty." I sigh.  And begin yet another wait for something to happen.  When it does, it's a green room.  All done in light green.  With various versions of, I guess, an older Dave.  Dave eating.  Dave sleeping, blah, blah blah.  Then, suddenly a giant, somewhat deformed looking baby.  The End

"What was that!  That was the end?  That was the whole movie? A weird baby thing!  I watched this entire movie for that!  What was that!"  Jeremy's droning on something about the creation of life and intelligence and questions about life and intelligence and I'm just dumbstruck.  I have lost 3 hours of my life that I can never get back for a creepy, oversized baby.

"You actually like that movie?" I asked, finally tuning back in.  "How can you like that movie!  That was completely awful!"

Jeremy just looks at me and grins.  "I didn't say I liked it.  I just said it was a classic."

Later that Night

We're sitting around reading.  I need some sort of escape.  I now know what it must feel like to have a lobotomy.  Jeremy looks up from his book.

"How much dialogue do you think that movie had? 100 words?"

"Twenty-five," I reply.  "One hundred is way overestimating."

"And just think, tomorrow night, we can watch 2010 Space Odyssey."

"No."

"But it's 2010."

"No."

"But--"

"No."

The 10 Second Visual Synopsis of 
the "Classic" 3 hour 2001 Space Odyssey

      

Apes worshipping a door    

                                            

Big hamster wheel in the sky keeps on turning
(sorry, bad Journey pun)

     

Mushroomhead space stewardesses  

Dave--yep, the moral of the story, don't get stuck with a

psychotic computer while dressed as a giant fire ant

Hal--aka a talking stoplight 

Oooh, the pretty colors, or, don't go into the light! (it's 

what happens when you get suckered into watching this

movie--that and you might find yourself suddenly   

prone to drooling)    

                                                                                       

Since I do love green, I have to say, this room was the
highlight of the entire movie.  And that is just 
very, very sad!                                                                  

Giant Ugly Baby!  THE END

            

Seizure the Day

I was so proud of myself last night.  It's the day before registration and two days before classes begin.  I had two out of three syllabi completed and had managed to wash dishes, taking care of whatever had died in the kitchen sink.  It was about 11:30 pm, I had taken melatonin, and for once, I was actually getting to sleep at a decent time the night before I had to get up early in the morning.  All was well in the Bro household, and me, the perpetual night owl, was actually going to sleep early (yes, some, including Jeremy, might argue that 11:30 is not early, but for me, anything before midnight is early).  After triple checking, I even had the alarm and the clock both set the the right times, and I peacefully drifted off to sleep.

12:30 am
Audrey has a seizure.  It's the first one in almost three months.  I had hoped that maybe food was the problem, and that when I started making homemade dog food, I had finally solved the seizure problem.  Nope.  I'm groggy as crap after taking the melatonin, so I stumble out of bed and trip over the lap top board I'd stuck on the floor.  After about 15 minutes, I go back, clean up poop, mop the floor, then chase Audrey around the kitchen.  She's always a little hyper after a seizure, and for some reason doesn't really want me cleaning up her face and butt.  Around and around the kitchen table we go like I'm playing some sort of doggy Olympic game. 

Finally, everything cleaned up, it's back to bed I go.  Except now I can't quit thinking about all the stuff I need to do for work.  So my mind keeps going.  I try the alphabet song, but instead my mind wanders and I find myself trying to remember the pronunciation of all the letters in Spanish and wondering why I can't roll my r's.  I try counting, but for some reason, I slide into the old theme song for the Electric Company (1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12--over and over to the Electric Company tune.  Yes, it's a very complicated song).  Then I start to contemplate why people decided to start counting sheep when they wanted to fall asleep.  I mean really, sheep?  Sheep jumping over a fence?  Why not something like pizza or cake or fudge or (okay, so maybe I was feeling a little snacky).  For some reason, this contemplation brought me to Nursery Rhymes and the realization that I couldn't remember more than a few lines of most of them  (I know it's "There was an old lady who lived in a shoe/she had so many children, she didn't know what to do, but for the life of me I couldn't remember any more).  Next, I tried the basic Ohm mediation noise, but started realizing I no longer remember what the scientific ohms are for (electricity maybe?  Was there some sort of subconscious connection I was making to the Electric Company theme song?).  At some point, I think around 2:30, I finally fell back to sleep.  I just wish I could remember what it was I was thinking that made me fall back to sleep--obviously not counting sheep.  Maybe counting lamb pasanda and garlic naan?

3:30 am
Audrey has another seizure.  I gave in and had that snack I must have been thinking about the last time I tried to go back to sleep.  Was I hungry?  No.  But nothing says "I'm waiting for my dog to come out of her seizure" like chips and french onion dip at 3:30 in the morning.  See above for the repeat of cleaning, chasing Audrey around the table, cleaning Audrey, and back to bed.  This time, though, I was so tired that I fell right back to sleep.  Must have been the snack.

4:30 am
Jack, after all the excitement, decides that he needs to go out.  It's really a rather quiet way he has of waking me up, but oh so effective and annoying.  So, at 4:30 am, I wake up to a gigantic dog head right next to my face, panting very loudly (note to self: both dogs also need some serious breath mints).  So, up I go again.  I let Jack out of the bedroom, and he starts walking in the opposite direction of the back door.  Groggily, I look at him.  What the heck.  I did not get up to let him out of the bedroom.  I don't care whether he has to go or not, he's going outside.  I don't know why I decided this--probably because I was not really awake.  I let Jack out and sit on the back porch to wait.  I'm pretty sure he does absolutely nothing except sniff around.  In the meantime, Fargo, our outdoor cat, has decided it's wonderful that I'm up at this time because I can now pay attention to him.  Did I mention it's 4:30 in the morning?  Did I mention that Fargo has this odd habit of drooling when he's happy?  Ten minutes later and much soggier, I get Jack back inside and hit the bed once again.

6:30 am
I've now been mainlining coffee for about half an hour.  I'm almost ready for work, don't have to leave for another half hour, and am looking forward to just chilling for a bit and mainlining more coffee.  Then Audrey has another seizure.  I know I should be more concerned, since she normally only has maybe 1 or 2 a month, but my brain is just not functioning at full capacity.  It's not even functioning at its normal half capacity.  Again, we repeat the cleaning, chasing, cleaning.  I think, by now, Audrey smells akin to a sewage treatment facility, but the best I can do is scrub her off a bit with a rag and spray doggy cologne.

8 am
I go to start up my computer in my office, which I haven't used since last May.  The virus software starts sending out error reports.  Every 10 seconds a new error report.  I can't do anything.  I click to open my browser, error report.  I click to open an email, error report.  I try not sending them, I try sending them, I try debugging.  Always the problem-solver, I finally just decide to uninstall the thing.  After all, it's the last big student registration day before classes start.  And I need to work on my own classes when I don't have students.  And, essentially, there is nothing for me to do without a computer.  I get the software almost uninstalled, and the whole thing freezes up.  Sigh, time to call IT.  Fortunately, or unfortunately, my co-worker, Marla, is also without a computer since her internet access is down.  We spend the next two and a half hours waiting for our computers.  I drink 3 more caffeinated sodas and go the bathroom about the same amount of times.  Yay for me!  Productivity.  My only insightful thought was how great it would be if someone would make caffeinated milk.

2 pm
I've finally had my computer back since 10:30.  I'm making great progress on that last class.  Syllabi is done and I'm just revamping the handouts and setting up the web class for them to access everything.  Then I get a double whammy.  1) The caffeine no longer seems to be working at all.  I just feel loopy.  2) The McDonald's I grabbed for a quick lunch literally feels like it is stabbing me in the gut.  But on the plus side, so far Jeremy doesn't think Audrey's had any more seizures, and I am almost finished with my last class.  That is, until I took on an overload class, which is a different one than any others that I was currently set to teach this fall.  Which gives me a day or two to get that whole class set up.  And I'm no longer thinking in any way that could be termed logical.

5:20 pm
I get home from work.  I have about 40 minutes before I have to get up for Lion's Club tonight, and all I can think is naptime!!!  I walk in the door.  Jeremy's sitting in the kitchen, looking completely wiped out.  Audrey had another seizure.  Jeremy had to call the vet and fly over (luckily, they stayed open late for him) to pick up a valium prescription for Audrey and make her a vet appointment for tomorrow.  Audrey is walking around like a drunken sailor, weaving around.  She has no coordination, but wants to try and eat everything, including my toes.  She had her seizure in the middle of the bed, so no nap on the bed since it now needs to be cleaned up and have new bedding put on it.  I feel fried.  I decide I'm just gonna go nap on the couch.  I totter off to the living room, lay down on the couch, and discover Audrey had had another seizure there.  I'm laying on wet cushions and there's a piece of poo stuck to my leg.  I have hit whiny mode.  I just look at Jeremy and whine "there's a piece of poo stuck to me."  He just looks at me and says "Just leave the couch alone--we'll go make the bed up instead."  I just stare at him, sorta dazed, "but I've got poo on me."  Is it disgusting?  Yes.  Should I be running to the kitchen to clean myself up.  Yes.  Am I?  No.  Instead, I'm just standing there, repeating the fact that I've got poo stuck to me.  Never mind the fact that, hey, there is a point I can reach where I will walk away and leave poo on my couch. 

6 pm
I think Jeremy ushered me into the kitchen.  It was at that point we both decided we probably should just skip Lion's Club.  Somehow, we half-assedly made the bed.  I was out of pepto tabs, so I had taken some tums for my stomach, but they hadn't kicked in.  Instead, I just laid there thinking "my stomach hurts" for about 20 minutes.  Finally, I decided to get up.  I seem to have absolutely no energy, but a complete inability to sleep.  I need to let the dogs out and feed all the animals.  I need to do something about the Hindenburg sized pile of dirty laundry.  I figure the plants can just die for all I care.  Stupid things think they need water.  I need to finish up the latest batch of dog food, get it put in containers, and scrub out my giant slow cooker.  I should be working on my classes.  Instead, I grabbed a beer and started blogging.  I think my tummy feels better.  Maybe beer should be marketed for upset stomachs.