the ocean

Celebrations

So we had our Thanksgiving Dinner at Ruby Tuesday's on Thursday. It was all part of our continuing effort to prevent my grandmother from attempting to cook a ten-course meal and thereby killing herself. Of course, there aren't a lot of options for restaurants that are open on Thanksgiving Day -- even Applebee's had no room at the inn. I had a chicken sandwich with onion straws. Just like the Native Americans brought to the first Thanksgiving!

I also did my annual hunt for Christmas cards, visiting at least four stores I would otherwise not set foot in. Big Lots was a bit disappointing this year; not only were there no hilarious Christmas cards, but their lots in fact proved rather small. Hobby Lobby suddenly got all classy on me and had just a small selection of rather tasteful cards, and although the Dollar Tree remained America's leading source for off-brand candy by the pound, it also lacked any decent card options for me. Finally I found success at KMart, one of the only stores in America where you can buy tires and evening wear along the same aisle. And that may be the only time in history that you hear the phrase "I found success at KMart."

Tomorrow I head back to Chicago. My time off is always so terribly short!

Thankfulpalooza

There's a lot to be thankful for this year. Take the following, just for starters:

-- Tyra Banks. You have to admire her singular ability to make everything in the world all about her.
-- My parents' wireless internet. It gives them the opportunity to hold the dogs up to the webcam and make me talk to them.
-- Two new singles from Beyonce. Does it count as self-parody if it's not intentional?
-- Fried macaroni and cheese. Everything is better fried. Especially dairy.
-- The Olympics. The words "Chinese gymnast scandal" only have meaning once every four years.
-- Tina Fay's Sarah Palin impression. Under the umbrella of job creation, youbetcha.
-- Only 54 more days of the Bush presidency. So get all your "enhanced interrogations" in now!
-- Comcast on-demand videos. Let's face it, sometimes you just really need your Vanessa Hudgens fix. And you can't get it just from the nude photos.
-- Rachel Maddow. She's witty and she always looks uncomfortable in her makeup. Who could ask for anything more?
-- Wall-E. We have seen the future, and it involves funky robot love.

Crankiness World Tour 2008

I drove back to Quincy for Thanksgiving today. And wherever I went, it seemed like people were ridiculously angry. I stopped for gas just outside Chicago and heard the woman at the pump next to me forcefully explaining to the small child in her car how immigrants were responsible for the high gas prices. It's basic supply and demand, really. Then, when I grabbed lunch at Burger King, the man in front of me in line was becoming irate because the cashier refused to substitute an Oreo milkshake into his value meal. To be fair, all other kinds of milkshake are pure crap. And finally, when I stopped for a pee break near Springfield, I heard a man haggling over the price of a Crunch bar. Because Love's Travel Stop is essentially a Middle Eastern marketplace. Happy holidays indeed.

Milestones

Can you believe I've now done 950 posts? And every one of them pure gold. I know that some day, future generations will look back at this blog to try to figure out what life in the '00s was like, and they'll come to the erroneous conclusion that America's Next Top Model was the most popular show on television and that people spent a lot of time at the opera. I'm excited for future generations, I really am. True genius is never understood in its own time. Neither, frankly, is true idiocy.

I spent a good portion of the weekend getting ready for Thanksgiving, peeling, chopping and the like. It turns out that I am an expert peeler. Other aspects of cooking I do not so much, but the menial aspects are just perfect for me. I didn't even cut myself this time around! Which is good, because I doubt that most people like their butternut squash soup with just a hint of type O negative.

Since my sister was in town this weekend, I used it as an excuse to not go in to work until noon today and have her drop me off. It was really rather lovely. I watched the Brady Bunch Movie whilst eating a leisurely breakfast and wandering about Facebook. More days like today, please.

The Great Jennifer Aniston Debate of '08

My sister has a bit of an unhealthy fixation on Jennifer Aniston. In junior high, when she had to write an essay about her hero for some standardized test, she wrote about Jennifer Aniston. I'm not sure what her three main supporting points were, but I'm betting at least one of them was the haircut. Personally, I wrote my essay about Harriet Tubman. Apparently, I was a strong, proud African-American woman in the seventh grade.

Anyway, Meg's obsession has led to a number of interesting debacles through the years, chiefly among them her attendance at a theatrical screening of Picture Perfect. Remember that one? I believe it co-starred Jay Mohr? I guess the title Box Office Poison was already taken.

So last night, Meg and her boyfriend arrived at my house for a visit flush with the aftermath of a big fight over -- who else? -- Jennifer Aniston. Apparently, Meg did not take kindly to certain comments about Ms. Aniston's inability to realistically portray a human being on the big screen. She defended her Jen with a recent statistic suggesting that Ms. Aniston has sold a lot of Stars and Us Weeklies. This led to an extended discourse on the difference between likability and, well, ability. There was a certain amount of shouting and, I feel certain, crying.

Next time I'll just turn out the lights and pretend not to be home.

Current Events

After three years of carrying around the 10-pound breadbox known as a Treo, I have finally been upgraded to one of the new blackberries. No, not the touchscreen -- I find that all just a bit too erotic, I'm afraid -- but a pretty zippy Bold. I can actually open attachments to emails, the internet does not take 15 minutes to load up my gmail, and it fits in my pocket even when I'm not wearing cargo pants. It is a good thing.

I am also pleased to report that my plant has been restored to health. Take that, spider mites! I am somewhat afraid to put it back near the window, because that is where the infestation began, but little by little I am overcoming my plant-related fears. Who knows, some day I may even move up to caring for a sentient being of some sort.

On a completely unrelated note, I went to the opera last night. Porgy & Bess. It was really good. The soprano who sang the role of Bess looked a little bit like Jade from America's Next Top Model. The guy who played Porgy didn't really look like anyone, unless maybe it was James Earl Jones. The second act had a hurricane that was denoted entirely by flashing lights. Does FEMA know about this?

Modern Cinema

While one is reorganizing one's apartment, one encounters a wide array of fine films on one's Comcast. Of course, much of the dialogue is rendered incomprehensible by the noise from one's shredder, but one finds that this is not always the drawback one might think. During the past week, I have seen significant portions of the following classics:

-- Syndey White. This Amanda Bynes starrer (are there any sweeter words in the English language?) retells the classic story of Snow White, but with a lot more broad physical comedy. If you like ridiculous facial expressions, this one's for you.

-- Little Man. I've always said there aren't enough mother and fake baby implied sex scenes in modern comedy. Thank God we have the Wayans brothers to work to remedy that.

-- 27 Dresses. Finally, someone thought of centering a romantic comedy around two mentally unstable people who obviously hate each other. With material like this, it's no wonder Katherine Heigl finds the writing on Grey's Anatomy lacking.

-- The Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer. It's the rare sequel that so successfully manages to take what was strange and offputting about the first movie and bring it to a whole new level. Kudos, team of monkeys with typewriters, you've done it again!

-- Drive Me Crazy. A wonderful starring vehicle for Melissa Joan Hart's wonky eye. It also spawned a two-second MJH cameo in the Britney video of the same name. So it's historical as well as dramatically compelling.

If this isn't a great advertisement for your local cable provider, I don't know what is!

More Evidence That I Should Not Be Allowed to Shop Alone

As part of the Great Condo Reorganization of 2008, I decided to get some under-bed boxes to hold the bulk of the miscellaneous crap I randomly keep for no reason at all. Since I noticed that the Linens 'N Things near my house is going out of business, I figured that would be a good place to get them. Little did I know that I would end up spending almost two hours there, as well as $250 on things I don't need.

Things started going south the minute I got in the door and noticed a particularly attractive display of sweater shavers. Although I managed to avoid purchasing one, I was quickly drawn into the nearby candle department. I was this close to buying a set of three candles with a some river rocks and a bamboo mat to display them on. Luckily, I realized I was not a menopausal woman before I could reach for my credit card.

It was in the linens section that things really got bad. I was seized with a sudden bout of modesty regarding the items stored under my bed and picked out a rather pricey bedskirt. Then I found a set of sheets that would go just perfectly with the new duvet cover I have envisioned in my mind but will likely not locate or purchase for years to come. Both went in the cart. Then I inexplicably bought a lamp for the guest bedroom I have literally not set foot in in over a month. And finally, I bought a 2009 Grey's Anatomy calendar. That one was a joke. But still.

Oh, and I did find the under-bed boxes. My condo is going to be very organized. And of course filled with random objects I have unnecessarily purchased. It's a triumph all around.

Further Plant Disaster

I have long had difficulty with plants. When I was a kid, I accidentally knocked over and killed one of my mother's hanging plants while pretending to be Knight Rider with a friend. (Don't worry, I got to be the car, he had to be the 'hoff.) In college, I managed to underwater a cactus. Heck, the front lawn of my condo building started to die shortly after I moved in. In short, I appear to be a plant's equivalent of an ancient Indian burial ground.

I thought I had turned things around with my bamboo, though. It came in excellent health and pretty much fully grown. It does not need regular trimming or fertilizing. Essentially you just change the water once a week and you're okay. Or so I thought.

Monday I got in to the office to find my bamboo had started to turn yellow. Of course I immediately turned to the Internet for answers, and got all kinds of strange explanations for why it would do that, everything from an excess of noise in its area to flat out racism. I realized I would have to turn to The Plant Lady for answers. You see, my office has a Plant Lady who comes around once a week to tend to all the firm's plants throughout the building. And sometimes she freelances.

It turns out I have spider mites! Apparently they're tiny spiders that suck the chlorophyll out of plants. And thereby kill them. I have been instructed to get a spray bottle, fill it with water and baby shampoo, and spray the plant regularly. And this I am faithfully doing, no matter how ridiculous it makes me look. But the prognosis for my plant is not good.

At this rate, no one is ever going to let me have children.

Domestic

The past few days have witnessed what will undoubtedly be one of the great civic projects of our time, the Great Condominium Reorganization of 2008. You see, I bought a shredder at Target yesterday, and I have been putting it through an intense workout. No longer do I have a collection of bank statements dating back to 2001 sitting in my living room. The file folders full of multiple choice marketing exams from college have been converted into mulch. The surface of the chair in my room is once again wholly visible. It is a great time to be an American.

The advances of this age are not limited solely to paper goods, however. I have done three loads of laundry, including hand-scrubbing the mysterious rust-colored stains out of my green long-sleeve T. I have taken a load of old clothes -- including several wonderful Screech-like paisley shirts I hated to get rid of -- to goodwill. I have started in on the process of reorganizing my closets, so that I no longer have a tennis racket hanging from my tie rack. Great accomplishments, these.

Unfortunately, I am now exhausted from so much greatness. I may well be early to bed this evening.

Film School

Thanks to the wonders of Netflix, I've been catching up on my classic film lately, and I have to say that a lot of it is really boring. Seriously, I have not fallen asleep on my couch so many times since that time I accidentally mixed Nyquil and Xanax. This, of course, fits in with my general theory that people in the 40s and 50s liked to be bored. How else do you explain Perry Como? Or quiz shows? Or for that matter, the Cold War?

Regardless, there are a lot of fun lessons to be learned from old movies. For instance, it is perfectly normal for heterosexual men to break into song, accompanied by snazzy tap dancing, at any moment. It is only the most brazen of hussies who would allow her flesh to be viewed above the kneecap. Even married couples should assiduously avoid the open mouthed kiss. And black people, of course, do not exist. (Although Charlton Heston may be called upon to play a Mexican in a pinch.)

There's a lot to be said for some of these movies in terms of technique, to be sure. Technicolor may not be the thrill it once was, but the composition of a lot of the shots is impressive and a lot of the acting is decent. But people really used to think Fred Astaire was attractive? Really? His face kind of looks like a doorstop.

The Votemaster

Tuesday I served as an election monitor, which turned out to mean I spent an entire day arguing with surly old ladies about what constitutes a valid state ID and how far 50 feet from the polls is. Apparently unfazed by my many gifts of donuts, pizza, and sandwiches, the poll workers seemed determined to ignore my protestations that election law was not, in fact, irrelevant, and to repeatedly throw me out of the facility for disagreeing with them. I was reduced to lurking outside the perimeter of the polling place and asking each individual voter if they'd had any problems, which made me feel a little bit like that guy who tries to force me to take a Red Eye by the train station every morning. And did I mention my day started at 4 AM? Thank God I brought a flashlight and a folding chair to help me through the day.

The whole enterprise was definitely worth it, though, for all the people I managed to help to vote. The highlight was the adorable 98-year-old African-American woman who had falsely been told she was listed as having already voted. She was on the verge of tears and plotting to drive half an hour to the county seat to try to talk to the county clerk personally. When I pushed the issue with the election officials, though, it turned out they had just looked at the wrong name on their list. And so my elderly friend got to cast her historic vote. And then she went home for some cake, since it was her birthday.

I have to admit that I had never realized how difficult it can be for people to exercise this most basic right. I will definitely be monitoring again in the future. Even if I did almost get scoliosis from hunching over my election manual.

Busy Times

Well, what can I tell you? The fun just never stops. Friday Former Roommate Liz and I went to a costume party hosted by Friend Amy and her beau. It was super fun -- there were ample candy bracelets and it turns out that Rock Band is yet another thing I'm awesome at -- although it violated my general plan of falling asleep on my couch while watching a movie on Friday nights. Liz and I went as the people who won the Publisher's Clearinghouse prize, which essentially meant that she wore a housedress and way too much makeup and we carried a giant check around. I kind of just wore what I would sleep in and the giant glasses I for some reason thought were cool when I was in junior high. It looked plenty trashy though, believe me.

My sister was also in town over the weekend, and we went to see High School Musical 3. It was really rather disappointing, and not just because we were the only two adults in the theater not accompanied by small children. This one centered rather narrowly on Efron and the girl who sent out all those nudie pics, to the exclusion of characters we love like the fat girl who randomly became a cheerleader and the ambiguously gay dude with the strange attachment to his sister. Also they added some new characters that reeked of Cousin Oliver. And the musical numbers weren't nearly as thrilling as the previous edition, or the edition I saw on ice, for that matter. On the plus side, the Ashley Tisdale Nose 3.0 was truly amazing.