the ocean

Endings

I'm heading back to Chicago today. The long weekend has really flown by. Maybe it's because of all the glitz and glamour, I don't know. I went to both Super Wal Mart and Big K Mart while I was in Quincy; that level of elegance is going to be pretty hard to surpass.

My parents did take me to Hannibal, Missouri to see Fantastic Mr. Fox while I was here. Hannibal is a town about the size of Quincy that seems to not understand that Mark Twain's characters were fictional. You see, Twain lived in Hannibal for a while and now everything is labeled the Becky Thatcher Bookshop or the Huck Finn Family Planning Clinic. But regardless, they have a lovely downtown with a movie theater that has eight screens, as opposed to the six at Quincy's biggest facility. Those two screens can make all the difference in the world. Just ask Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire.

Anyway, Fantastic Mr. Fox was absolutely adorable and I highly recommend it. Stop motion animation as a general rule totally fucking creeps me out, but it really seemed to fit Wes Anderson's filmmaking style, and it sort of just came across like an unreasonably witty child putting on a show with his toys. Plus I have always loved Roald Dahl's children's books because they are completely whacked out and inappropriate for children. And afterwards my parents took me out for pizza. It was like the third grade birthday party I never had. (The third grade birthday party I did have was at Scottie's Skateland and involved a sheet cake and lots of Transformers.)

I wish that I had more time off. Also that I did not have a five hour trip ahead of me. Stop thwarting me, laws of space and time!

Nursing

We've been visiting my grandmother in the nursing home, which is kind of a new experience for me. I was so worried that she would be in really bad shape that it was a big relief to see that it was really still just her, sitting in a big chair with her feet up and complaining about being bored. She actually looks really good for someone who is 98 and has just been through a case of gall stones (stones are quickly becoming my nemesis) and a rather nasty bout with pinkeye. And she's cranky, which is how we know she's getting better. Little Miss Sunshine she has never been.

Getting in and out is still a bit terrifying, what with the disinfecting that is required at the front door and the long gauntlet of wheelchairs one must pass through to get to my grandmother's room. But everyone who works there is exceedingly nice, although my grandmother tells me in a conspiratorial shout whisper that "that's because you're here right now," and they do take good care of her. They have movie nights and activities, and she even has a room to herself right now, if only because her last roommate died. So the comparison to your college dorm room is perhaps not a complete one.

The big issue, I think, is the food. They serve a lot of mashed potatoes, and she's sick of them. They also serve weird foods like braunschwager, although that seems to bother her less. Today we snuck her in some Hardee's, which clearly was her choice and not mine. When you're hankering for a Hot Ham 'N Cheese, you know you're in trouble.

We are all planning on this being a temporary thing for her just until she recovers fully from her gall stone procedure, but it's good at least to know that it's not the very worst place on earth. That's still Glenn Beck's bathroom by a long shot.

Recovery

So I got in to my parents' house at 12:45 last night, which was kind of weird. I didn't want to wake anyone up so I snuck in as quietly as possible, something I hadn't really done since that time in high school when my friend Jeanne and I drank a four pack of Bartles & James wine coolers and hid the empty bottles in the Get Along Gang Caboose box in her basement. Of course, my dog has super sensitive hearing honed by many years of listening for someone to open potato chips, so she woke up and barked for approximately the next six hours. I did somehow manage to get to sleep, but I had to be up at 8 this morning to telecommute to work. Why is vacation always so much damn work?

This break should serve several important purposes, however. First, I will get to visit my grandmother, who tragically finds accounts of my life to be entertaining. Second, I will get caught up on sleep and exercise, so as to stave off my horrifying descent into Oompah Loompahism. Third, I will play the piano, as I feel that with just a little bit of effort I can finally redeem my third grade performance of Fur Elise. Finally, my joints will recover from the weeks-long assault of the Wii, which has left me essentially paralyzed. Some day I shall walk without pain again.

Hello. I am Here.

Damn it, I keep forgetting I have a blog. For no terrifically good reason, honestly. A lot of it probably has to do with the Wii, given that my avatar has become the most important person in my life. I did make pro level on tennis today, by the way. Venus and Serena are coming over later for cosmos.

What has happened in the last week or so that I need to discuss? There was a Top Model finale, but it was really pretty boring. I feel like we all knew Nicole would win because she was a boring redhead who took good pictures and sucked up to Tyra a lot. There was a Project Runway finale, but no one really even wants to admit that they watch that show any more and we were all kind of surprised that Michael and Nina even showed up. Sarah Palin's book came out, but I didn't read it. Although I imagine the plotline as being something like an episode of Knots Landing. Oh, and J. Lo fell on her ass last night on the American Music Awards. Finally she has a project I can really support.

I'm headed on a mini vacation at some point in the next few days to see my parents for the holiday, so hopefully I'll get good and diligent on this thing. There's nothing like being trapped in West Central Illinois with two crazy people and a vomiting dog to make a person do some self reflection.

At the Movies

We saw Precious: Based on the Novel Push By Sapphire tonight. We had been looking forward to it for a while, mainly because of its comically long name, but also because who doesn't love a movie about child abuse? And of course I am a well known Mo'Nique booster, despite the fact that she summarily rejected my application to VH1's Charm School. I am hoping that Oscar season this year can make up for the egregious oversight that plagued her heart-wrenching turn in Soul Plane.

Anyway, it was definitely worth seeing, if a little bit hard to look at at times. I don't want to give any plot points away, but let's just say that a lot of bad things happen to this girl. It's not quite up to The Grapes of Wrath levels of constant tragedy, but it may well be more tragic than the life of Michelle Kwan.

The best part of the movie was probably the de-glammed Mariah Carey as a sensible yet sensitive social worker. Seriously, she didn't even wax her upper lip for this role. And the eyebrows were out of control! That is Acting with a capital A.

Correspondence File

My 98-year old grandmother has been feeling a bit under the weather lately, which has meant that my sister and I have had to up our entertainment value for her. We started out by calling her in the nursing home on my mother's cell phone, but that quickly devolved into a lot of shouting, as apparently her neighbor's oxygen machine is very loud. So we decided to get all old fashioned by writing letters, which we then scanned and emailed to my mother. These were a delightful hodgepodge of things older people enjoy, including comments on the weather, scandalous overuse of the word "fun," and occasional synopses of The Young & The Restless. Later, my sister suggested that we add a visual component, primarily I think so she could force me to ask my secretary to take pictures of me in my office. Then last Wednesday we got really adventurous and brought out the video camera for a bravura performance of some unidirectional small talk. I don't advise anyone to ever watch footage of him- or herself talking to an older person; the effect is somewhere between Forrest Gump and Rain Man.

Anyway, by all accounts grandmother is starting to feel better, but if you've got any extra good thoughts (or prayers, if you're into that sort of thing) to send her way, I'd appreciate it. She may have survived me accidentally dropping her on her front lawn two Christmas Eves ago, but she's not the Terminator. For one thing, the Terminator has that hilarious accent.

Friday Night Lights

Pearl Harbor is on Encore right now. I've never seen it all the way through, but I think it's pretty impressive in that it makes you understand that the worst thing about the attack on Pearl Harbor was that Cuba Gooding, Jr. was there. Sure, the loss of life was pretty terrible and all, but at least there were lots of cool explosions. Cuba Gooding, Jr. just stands around mugging at somewhere between a Boat Trip and a Radio level.

It has, obviously, been a very exciting night. My sister and I picked up horrifically greasy fast food from a place named after its location (always a good sign) and then played Wii until my wrist and elbow were throbbing so badly we had to stop. I thought about going to the gym, but then decided I didn't have time to let my food settle properly before going, and had thus better just skip the whole thing. Then I ate a Little Debbie's Snack Cake. I feel sure this is all part of the Men's Health Abs Diet somewhere.

My plan now is to see how this whole WWII thing ends, brush and floss insanely thoroughly, perhaps play a round of Word Twist or two, and go to bed early in the hopes that I wake up a better, more productive person.

The Lost Wiikend

I have recently developed a taste for the Wii and I fear it is going to result in me losing everything. Seriously, I am so addicted that I could easily see myself no longer going to work, ignoring all my friends, and neglecting my personal hygiene. I have already dropped several hundred dollars to feed my habit. I spent fifteen minutes choosing a hairstyle for my mii and seriously considered writing a complaint letter because there weren't more options for noses. I think I'm getting tendinitis from swinging the controller too vigorously. I think I would probably kill a man if it would raise my tennis skill level to pro.

There are so many awesome things about the Wii I can't even tell you, though. All of the games are really active and participatory and the virtual players all have goatees and glasses and hilarious combinations of names like Kosumi and Chet. No one has hands or feet, though, just little nubs. Generally you can play with two, which means I now have additional ways of alienating my sister, and the scoring is really complicated and unfathomable, which only causes you to want to play more. Oh, and there's always something more you can buy. I'm already thinking about getting the game with the steering wheel. I just want that damn wheel, what can I tell you?

Anyway, if you're not hearing from me, it's not because I'm dead. I'm just racking up skill levels. This is all going to look very impressive on my resume.

Bust A Move

My work changed office buildings this week and it has me a bit discombobulated. Now I have to remember to go to the 40th floor instead of the 41st each morning, and to go to the north side as opposed to the west. My desk is near the front of my office instead of the back, and I have cabinets on both sides now, as opposed to just the one. Tuesday I tried to go to the break room and ended up in the copy room. And I've walked into the office next door to mine mistakenly about six times. It's always a great conversation starter.

There are some really fun things about the new space, though. We have awesome space age vending machines where a little robot arm grabs your coke for you and carries it to the tray you take it from. There's an ice machine that can give you a combination of water and ice at the same time. And the light fixtures automatically adjust to the amount of daylight coming into the room so you don't have to deal with fluorescent glare all the time. I feel like one of the Jetsons. Preferably the robot maid.

The Ghost of Halloweens Past

Hmmm, I guess I forgot to mention that Halloween happened. I've sort of lost steam in the last few years on the whole costume thing, and this year I decided just to not change my clothes and go as an old person. And by "go" I mean "stay in my house with the lights off so I won't attract any trick or treaters." That may seem cruel, but believe me, I don't have anything they want, unless a bottle of fish oil pills and a travel-sized tube of Retin-A really does it for them.

Anyway, we did have some festivities on Friday night in the form of a pumpkin carving night with Former Roommate Liz. Things have been rocky on that front, too, since we ran out of racial stereotypes to carve the pumpkins into a few years ago. (Unlike Top Model, we are not delving into mixed races. Morrocan and Russian may look sweet on Sundai, but it's hell on gourds.) But this year we decided to pumpkins with various medical maladies, like leprosy, polio, and a cleft palate. And when I say "we" I mean that Former Roommate Liz did the actual carving whilst I scooped out the pumpkin guts and made props for the pumpkins out of construction paper. And then got too drunk to make the wheelchair. And ate half a two gallon jug of cheese balls.

Do I miss the days of dressing up as Janet Reno and drinking until I throw up on some random girl? Perhaps not so much.

Scare Tactics

In the weeks leading up to Halloween, I've been watching a lot of ghost hunter type programs in an attempt to get myself in the holiday mood. (I have also been eating a lot of miniature candy bars, but that's something of a constant in my life.) I've done the haunted asylum, the haunted funeral home turned tattoo parlor, the haunted catacombs, and even the haunted bar and grill (no, it's not a Friday's). Unfortunately, most of them are a lot more lame than scary. Generally there's some hefty and sad-looking psychic lady who warbles about "sensing" something in a dark place, followed by lots of night-vision shots of what might be something moving blurrily or might just not be anything. Then they tell some story about how someone died there or worshipped the devil there or ate too many chili dogs there, while a black and white "reenactment" flashes on the screen. Bonus points are awarded for a creepy child or old timey looking woman in a flowing dress. Oh, and there must be a soundtrack that overreacts to every single thing that happens with lots of thumping and screeching.

I'll tell you what, though: if I ever end up in an asylum, I don't want it to be one of the haunted ones. They have some crazy treatment ideas there. If I wanted part of my brain removed, I'd just watch The Bill Engvall Show.