On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… a double CD of all my "favorite" Christmas songs, which of course includes "The 12 Days of Christmas." I hate that song.
On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… She knows I don't have a CD player any more. Not even in my car. What am I going to do with a double CD? At least I have an excuse not to listen to that song.
On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… I mean, how do we even get to the third day of Christmas anyway? Christmas is one f*#king day a year. One. If you want to count Christmas Eve, I guess I’ll let that slide, but that’s only two days at the most. This isn’t Hanukah we’re talking about, and even if it were, Hanukah is eight days. And believe me, Hanukah fans aren’t going to be excited about something that advertises 12 days, but only delivers eight.
On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… if she gives me four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves and a partridge, she also better give me that signed pre-nup I’ve been asking her for.
On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… and how many novelty versions of this song can we hear? The writers of these songs all think that theirs is absolutely hilarious; that we gladly listen to their kooky take on the classic Christmas hymn all the way through. But the “funny” versions are even worse than the original. Come to think of it, I bet I haven’t heard the original version in 15 years. But there’s certainly another uproarious knockoff coming up right after this commercial break.
On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… a night on the town, and I am getting HAMMERED.
On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… it is New Year’s Day and I am hungover. How about a bottle of Advil and a trashcan next to the bed because there’s no way I’m stumbling to the toilet every time something comes back up today.
On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… eight maids a-milking? You actually got me eight maids a-milking? Wow. That’s pretty remarkable. And they didn’t come with any cows, which makes them, like, way better. I don’t really know what to say. Thanks, babe!
On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… nine ladies dancing?! Are you serious?! You’re incredible! I can’t believe you’re ok with this. Come again? Yeah, no you’re right – the song’s not so bad after all. I mean, it’s long and kind of annoying and most of the gifts are pretty awful if you think about… you know what, you know what… you’re right, you’re right. It’s a great song. It’s a fantastic song. Could you move a little to the left? Thanks.
On the 10th day of Christmas, my true love… that’s ok, I’m gonna stop you right there. You really shouldn’t invest any more in this relationship. After the last two days, there’s no going back to “us.” You won’t be able to recover from what’s gone on, and I don’t have it in me to try to cover it up, so let’s just go our separate ways before you get hurt.
On the 11th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… a threatening text message. But I can’t worry about that now. I need to get a hold of a real maid. Like an actual cleaning lady. Preferably an undocumented one because this place needs to be hosed down by someone who knows what they’re doing.
On the 12th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… a puppy. Which is totally her way of getting back at me because I asked for a food processor.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
The Out-of-Touch, Not to Mention Gossipy, Christmas Letter
Merry Christmas from the Conroys!
Can you believe it’s already the holiday season?! Where does the time go? We know that a lot of you, like us, are struggling through tumultuous financial situations, but we hope you had a year filled with as many blessings as we had. There is so much news it’s hard to know where to begin.
Some of you may have heard me talk this year about the progress I made in my conditioning regime. My personal trainer was quite proud of the two and a half minutes I shaved off my marathon time in the fall compared to my marathon time in the spring. Given what we’re all going through, it’s hard sometimes to justify having a personal trainer, but Clay has obviously helped me make great strides (Oops! No pun intended!). Of course I could have done without making my television debut on the Channel 6 news immediately after the race. How about a few minutes to shower and put on some make up, fellas? LOL! But at least I looked presentable on Channel 10 a few weeks later when their on-the-spot reporter asked questions about the domestic incident at our neighbors’ house. The police arrived when Burt was throwing Connie’s wardrobe out the front door and Channel 10 showed up shortly thereafter. Poor Connie. Her plus-sized clothing was strewn all over the lawn. She’s put on a lot of weight this past year, no doubt due to the stress caused by the rough patch that she and Burt are going through.
Thanks to the unseasonably mild temperatures, we enjoyed many afternoons on the boat this summer. With the economy impacting all of us the way it has, we thought about downgrading to a 40ft. model, but with the girls going off to college in a few years, we realized that we only have a limited number of “family boat days” left. It’s important to make the most of the time we have because you never know what lies ahead. Our family excursions used to include Tom’s good friend, Hank Donaldson, and his wife, but the Donaldsons didn’t join us this year because Hank’s health was in flux. We think he’s had erectile issues the last few months, so our thoughts and prayers go out to him and his family.
On a happier note, our younger daughter, Carla, was the hit of her middle school’s piano recital last month. All of her hard work really paid off as she wowed the audience with her rendition of Bach’s “Minuet in D Minor.” Tom and I were concerned at first about splurging on a new baby grand for Carla to practice on, especially since we’ve all had to cut back lately and our other one is just three years old. But she’s proving that it was a great investment! If you’re thinking of signing your child up for piano lessons, we highly recommend Carla’s teacher, Judy Wanstaff. She is outstanding and impeccably credentialed. Carla’s performance alone was a testament to Judy’s knowledge and overall philosophy. We think she might be a lesbian, but nevertheless she’s a very lovely person.
That convertible Mercedes SL Roadster that we’re all sitting on in the enclosed photo is Taylor’s Christmas gift for her high school track team making nationals. It might seem garish, particularly given the economic hardship that so many of us are going through, but if you knew of all the obstacles her team had to overcome, I think you’d agree she deserves every inch of the leather interior. Taylor’s squad had to go nearly the entire season without their captain, Cindy Cinderbaum, who left the team at the beginning of the season. The rumor going around the school was that Cindy had to quit after she contracted a sexually transmitted disease. I’m not sure which one it was, but even if I knew, that’s not the type of thing you disclose in a Christmas letter. At any rate, I’m sure you’re as inspired as we are by Taylor’s resolve. Now if we can just get her to use those darn turn signals!
We hope to see you all this holiday season. We’ll be doing our typical Christmas ski trip to Aspen, but the rest of December will be pretty quiet for the Conroys. Thanks to all the economic uncertainty, we decided to cancel our New Year’s plans in Hawaii. Too bad we can’t all be part of the “1 percent,” right?
If we don’t get a chance to see you before January, here’s wishing all of you a very Merry Christmas and a prosperous New Year!
Sincerely,
Roxanne, Tom, Taylor and Carla
XOXOXO
Can you believe it’s already the holiday season?! Where does the time go? We know that a lot of you, like us, are struggling through tumultuous financial situations, but we hope you had a year filled with as many blessings as we had. There is so much news it’s hard to know where to begin.
Some of you may have heard me talk this year about the progress I made in my conditioning regime. My personal trainer was quite proud of the two and a half minutes I shaved off my marathon time in the fall compared to my marathon time in the spring. Given what we’re all going through, it’s hard sometimes to justify having a personal trainer, but Clay has obviously helped me make great strides (Oops! No pun intended!). Of course I could have done without making my television debut on the Channel 6 news immediately after the race. How about a few minutes to shower and put on some make up, fellas? LOL! But at least I looked presentable on Channel 10 a few weeks later when their on-the-spot reporter asked questions about the domestic incident at our neighbors’ house. The police arrived when Burt was throwing Connie’s wardrobe out the front door and Channel 10 showed up shortly thereafter. Poor Connie. Her plus-sized clothing was strewn all over the lawn. She’s put on a lot of weight this past year, no doubt due to the stress caused by the rough patch that she and Burt are going through.
Thanks to the unseasonably mild temperatures, we enjoyed many afternoons on the boat this summer. With the economy impacting all of us the way it has, we thought about downgrading to a 40ft. model, but with the girls going off to college in a few years, we realized that we only have a limited number of “family boat days” left. It’s important to make the most of the time we have because you never know what lies ahead. Our family excursions used to include Tom’s good friend, Hank Donaldson, and his wife, but the Donaldsons didn’t join us this year because Hank’s health was in flux. We think he’s had erectile issues the last few months, so our thoughts and prayers go out to him and his family.
On a happier note, our younger daughter, Carla, was the hit of her middle school’s piano recital last month. All of her hard work really paid off as she wowed the audience with her rendition of Bach’s “Minuet in D Minor.” Tom and I were concerned at first about splurging on a new baby grand for Carla to practice on, especially since we’ve all had to cut back lately and our other one is just three years old. But she’s proving that it was a great investment! If you’re thinking of signing your child up for piano lessons, we highly recommend Carla’s teacher, Judy Wanstaff. She is outstanding and impeccably credentialed. Carla’s performance alone was a testament to Judy’s knowledge and overall philosophy. We think she might be a lesbian, but nevertheless she’s a very lovely person.
That convertible Mercedes SL Roadster that we’re all sitting on in the enclosed photo is Taylor’s Christmas gift for her high school track team making nationals. It might seem garish, particularly given the economic hardship that so many of us are going through, but if you knew of all the obstacles her team had to overcome, I think you’d agree she deserves every inch of the leather interior. Taylor’s squad had to go nearly the entire season without their captain, Cindy Cinderbaum, who left the team at the beginning of the season. The rumor going around the school was that Cindy had to quit after she contracted a sexually transmitted disease. I’m not sure which one it was, but even if I knew, that’s not the type of thing you disclose in a Christmas letter. At any rate, I’m sure you’re as inspired as we are by Taylor’s resolve. Now if we can just get her to use those darn turn signals!
We hope to see you all this holiday season. We’ll be doing our typical Christmas ski trip to Aspen, but the rest of December will be pretty quiet for the Conroys. Thanks to all the economic uncertainty, we decided to cancel our New Year’s plans in Hawaii. Too bad we can’t all be part of the “1 percent,” right?
If we don’t get a chance to see you before January, here’s wishing all of you a very Merry Christmas and a prosperous New Year!
Sincerely,
Roxanne, Tom, Taylor and Carla
XOXOXO
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Letters Home from "Occupy Wall Street"
Sep. 21 – Dear Mom and Dad, “Occupy Wall Street” is fantastic. The energy here is absolutely amazing. I haven’t felt a part of something this big since Phish played that free concert at our campus’ “Make Clothes from Hemp” rally. Everyone here can sense that we’re on the verge of real change and it’s inspiring to see how effective non-violent political movements can be. It does kind of suck sleeping on the ground, but what are ya gonna do?
Love,
Trent
Sep. 28 – Dear Mom and Dad, it’s been a while since I had a decent meal, but my enthusiasm remains high. It’s been a little disheartening to see and hear about altercations that some of my fellow protesters have had with the police, but hearing about other “Occupy” movements in other cities around the country, and even the world, only strengthens our resolve.
You might wonder what it is we do here all day, but believe me, the time flies. There’s lots to choose from. On most days, someone shouts things at a big group of us and then we repeat in unison what that person just shouted. During other parts of the day, those of us who can drum, do so. Those of us who can’t drum, do so as well. And my hands are beginning to cramp from all the finger waving, but the unity that it generates makes it all worthwhile.
Don’t forget to feed Mr. Glub Glub and try to change his water every week.
Love,
Trent
P.S. The matter of our “plumbing problems” is totally getting overblown in the media.
Oct. 1 – Dear Mom and Dad, the plumbing problems are no longer overblown. In fact, I think it’s fair to say they’re now being underblown. Wow, what a difference a couple of days can make. It’s actually the b.o. that’s overwhelming everything. You’d think that a few days of rain would help the problem, but it’s only added a mildewey smell to our group.
But at least we’re not getting tear-gassed.
Love,
Trent
Oct. 4 – Dear Mom and Dad, good news! My hygiene concerns have been alleviated, at least for the short term. Shane came to the park and agreed to watch my tent so I could use his apartment to shower. It created a bit of stir, though, as some of those within earshot didn’t approve of me leaving. One guy was fine with it as long as he could use the shower too. Shane was not up for that, so the guy jammed his finger into my chest and shouted, “You’re not a true occupier! Share the wealth, man!” Oddly enough, I think he’s the one that isn’t a true occupier. I’m pretty sure he was living in the park long before the protest started.
At any rate, I smell a whole lot better.
Love,
Trent
Oct. 9 – Dear Mom and Dad, it’s been a rough couple of days. Cliques are starting to form between those who can make clever signs and those who can’t. Even though I lack cardboard and the ability to come up with brief, biting quips about Wall Street employees, I had hoped that my large supply of Sharpies would be seen as valuable. Apparently, though, yellow was a bad color choice.
This of course follows on the heels of getting ostracized from my group for leaving to take a shower, and Dad admitting that he flushed Mr. Glub Glub. Needless to say, my mood has somewhat diminished.
By the way, if I get any mail from the student loan office that has “Third Notification” stamped on the envelope, just toss it. They don’t get serious until the fifth notice anyway.
Love,
Trent
Oct. 29 – Dear Mom and Dad, sorry I haven’t written in a while. I keep waiting for something significant to tell you about. I’m not sure if there’s some kind of collective event or tangible concessions that we’re all waiting to see before we go home. I keep hearing messages that emphasize “empowerment” and “change” and “the 99%,” but it seems that most people are focused on the hacky sack elimination tournament at this point.
Judging from recent progress, it’s pretty clear that I’m going to miss Ted’s Halloween party. That is always the party of the year. Surely we’ll be done, though, by Thanksgiving (if not, say “hi” to Grandma for me). Even more than that, I hope all of this has wrapped by Black Friday. I’m really hoping to get the latest Call of Duty when it goes on sale.
Sorry I’m not texting or even just calling more, but I’d hate for these Sharpies to go to waste.
Love,
Trent
Nov. 5 – Dear Mom and Dad, it looks like I may have to give up my post down here at the park. Craig has threatened to fire me if I don’t show up to work on Monday. I can’t believe he doesn’t appreciate our efforts to improve the plight of the average citizen, and to convince Washington to stop cowing to, and start taxing, giant corporations. Not to mention trying to get our leaders to focus on putting Americans back to work. He’s such a douche.
At least I’ll be home for Thanksgiving.
Love,
Trent
Love,
Trent
Sep. 28 – Dear Mom and Dad, it’s been a while since I had a decent meal, but my enthusiasm remains high. It’s been a little disheartening to see and hear about altercations that some of my fellow protesters have had with the police, but hearing about other “Occupy” movements in other cities around the country, and even the world, only strengthens our resolve.
You might wonder what it is we do here all day, but believe me, the time flies. There’s lots to choose from. On most days, someone shouts things at a big group of us and then we repeat in unison what that person just shouted. During other parts of the day, those of us who can drum, do so. Those of us who can’t drum, do so as well. And my hands are beginning to cramp from all the finger waving, but the unity that it generates makes it all worthwhile.
Don’t forget to feed Mr. Glub Glub and try to change his water every week.
Love,
Trent
P.S. The matter of our “plumbing problems” is totally getting overblown in the media.
Oct. 1 – Dear Mom and Dad, the plumbing problems are no longer overblown. In fact, I think it’s fair to say they’re now being underblown. Wow, what a difference a couple of days can make. It’s actually the b.o. that’s overwhelming everything. You’d think that a few days of rain would help the problem, but it’s only added a mildewey smell to our group.
But at least we’re not getting tear-gassed.
Love,
Trent
Oct. 4 – Dear Mom and Dad, good news! My hygiene concerns have been alleviated, at least for the short term. Shane came to the park and agreed to watch my tent so I could use his apartment to shower. It created a bit of stir, though, as some of those within earshot didn’t approve of me leaving. One guy was fine with it as long as he could use the shower too. Shane was not up for that, so the guy jammed his finger into my chest and shouted, “You’re not a true occupier! Share the wealth, man!” Oddly enough, I think he’s the one that isn’t a true occupier. I’m pretty sure he was living in the park long before the protest started.
At any rate, I smell a whole lot better.
Love,
Trent
Oct. 9 – Dear Mom and Dad, it’s been a rough couple of days. Cliques are starting to form between those who can make clever signs and those who can’t. Even though I lack cardboard and the ability to come up with brief, biting quips about Wall Street employees, I had hoped that my large supply of Sharpies would be seen as valuable. Apparently, though, yellow was a bad color choice.
This of course follows on the heels of getting ostracized from my group for leaving to take a shower, and Dad admitting that he flushed Mr. Glub Glub. Needless to say, my mood has somewhat diminished.
By the way, if I get any mail from the student loan office that has “Third Notification” stamped on the envelope, just toss it. They don’t get serious until the fifth notice anyway.
Love,
Trent
Oct. 29 – Dear Mom and Dad, sorry I haven’t written in a while. I keep waiting for something significant to tell you about. I’m not sure if there’s some kind of collective event or tangible concessions that we’re all waiting to see before we go home. I keep hearing messages that emphasize “empowerment” and “change” and “the 99%,” but it seems that most people are focused on the hacky sack elimination tournament at this point.
Judging from recent progress, it’s pretty clear that I’m going to miss Ted’s Halloween party. That is always the party of the year. Surely we’ll be done, though, by Thanksgiving (if not, say “hi” to Grandma for me). Even more than that, I hope all of this has wrapped by Black Friday. I’m really hoping to get the latest Call of Duty when it goes on sale.
Sorry I’m not texting or even just calling more, but I’d hate for these Sharpies to go to waste.
Love,
Trent
Nov. 5 – Dear Mom and Dad, it looks like I may have to give up my post down here at the park. Craig has threatened to fire me if I don’t show up to work on Monday. I can’t believe he doesn’t appreciate our efforts to improve the plight of the average citizen, and to convince Washington to stop cowing to, and start taxing, giant corporations. Not to mention trying to get our leaders to focus on putting Americans back to work. He’s such a douche.
At least I’ll be home for Thanksgiving.
Love,
Trent
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Fuzzy Memories, Hopefully
I often wonder if my son, Jack, has seen or experienced anything yet that he’ll remember for a long time. He’s only four and a half, so despite his brilliance, I’m still inclined to think he won’t remember most of his life up to this point. But he’s got to be straddling the line of when his long-term memories will form. I can remember images, snapshots if you will, from my life when I was younger than five, but five seems to be the earliest age that I can vividly remember people and events.
So I worry that any day now I might do something that he’ll remember forever. I mean, I certainly teach him things that I hope he holds onto, like to always say ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’ and don’t talk to strangers, but I’m talking about doing something inadvertently that will shape his opinion of me. For instance, if he walks into the living room tomorrow and sees me picking my nose, is he going to remember that for the rest of his life? Will he develop deep-seeded resentment over the fact that I tell him to use a tissue if he needs to blow his nose, only to find me elbow deep without a tissue in sight? Will he become the nose picker in school, constantly wiping boogers under the table and flinging them at girls? It’s a lot of pressure.
Jack is already to the point of grumbling under his breath and saying, “Come on, people,” whenever we’re stopped at a traffic light. So do I need to watch every little thing I say in the car to keep him from eventually developing road rage? Thank goodness his mother ran over that squirrel and not me.
What about the fact that I drink coffee every morning? Will he look at that and think I support the Colombian drug trade? You never know. Kids come to pretty wild conclusions. If you have a sibling, you unquestionably believed throughout your whole childhood that your parents liked him or her more than you, and you most likely continue to think it today. Why? Probably because your dad went to Jimmy’s championship basketball game at the same time your piano recital took place and you’ve hated him for it ever since. Your mom was at the recital, but that wasn’t good enough, was it? Again, a lot of pressure.
So here I am trying to look like a capable dad in front of my son; helping him when he needs it, having answers to all of his questions, and appearing able to take on any situation. However, no matter how hard I turn the damn wrench, the screws that attach his training wheels to his bike keep coming loose. Every time he rides it, he tells me the training wheels are coming loose again. And every time he says it, he looks at me disgustedly, no doubt questioning my sexuality.
I also worry that by mowing the lawn myself, he might think I hate immigrants. Now I know that sounds like a tired joke about lawn care being a popular profession among our Spanish friends to the south, but in all seriousness, the two houses directly across the street from us use a lawn-mowing service that is operated by Hispanic gentlemen. If my son doesn’t notice this now, he will eventually. And he’ll certainly form some sort of opinion about it, possibly an outrageous one. (For the record, I absolutely do not hate immigrants. I just don’t like them to be in my yard.)
Ultimately I want my kids to develop into well-rounded, successful, law-abiding citizens without me having to always set a good example. It’s hard enough to keep adults from forming negative opinions about you based on a completely innocuous moment (A guy can’t seem to text a few photos of his genitals anymore without getting called a pervert), but kids really know how to blow things out of proportion.
With that said, I guess I better come to terms with the fact that I have to be on ever-improving behavior. If I don’t want my son to grow up thinking that I pick my nose, then I’ll just have to do it at work.
So I worry that any day now I might do something that he’ll remember forever. I mean, I certainly teach him things that I hope he holds onto, like to always say ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’ and don’t talk to strangers, but I’m talking about doing something inadvertently that will shape his opinion of me. For instance, if he walks into the living room tomorrow and sees me picking my nose, is he going to remember that for the rest of his life? Will he develop deep-seeded resentment over the fact that I tell him to use a tissue if he needs to blow his nose, only to find me elbow deep without a tissue in sight? Will he become the nose picker in school, constantly wiping boogers under the table and flinging them at girls? It’s a lot of pressure.
Jack is already to the point of grumbling under his breath and saying, “Come on, people,” whenever we’re stopped at a traffic light. So do I need to watch every little thing I say in the car to keep him from eventually developing road rage? Thank goodness his mother ran over that squirrel and not me.
What about the fact that I drink coffee every morning? Will he look at that and think I support the Colombian drug trade? You never know. Kids come to pretty wild conclusions. If you have a sibling, you unquestionably believed throughout your whole childhood that your parents liked him or her more than you, and you most likely continue to think it today. Why? Probably because your dad went to Jimmy’s championship basketball game at the same time your piano recital took place and you’ve hated him for it ever since. Your mom was at the recital, but that wasn’t good enough, was it? Again, a lot of pressure.
So here I am trying to look like a capable dad in front of my son; helping him when he needs it, having answers to all of his questions, and appearing able to take on any situation. However, no matter how hard I turn the damn wrench, the screws that attach his training wheels to his bike keep coming loose. Every time he rides it, he tells me the training wheels are coming loose again. And every time he says it, he looks at me disgustedly, no doubt questioning my sexuality.
I also worry that by mowing the lawn myself, he might think I hate immigrants. Now I know that sounds like a tired joke about lawn care being a popular profession among our Spanish friends to the south, but in all seriousness, the two houses directly across the street from us use a lawn-mowing service that is operated by Hispanic gentlemen. If my son doesn’t notice this now, he will eventually. And he’ll certainly form some sort of opinion about it, possibly an outrageous one. (For the record, I absolutely do not hate immigrants. I just don’t like them to be in my yard.)
Ultimately I want my kids to develop into well-rounded, successful, law-abiding citizens without me having to always set a good example. It’s hard enough to keep adults from forming negative opinions about you based on a completely innocuous moment (A guy can’t seem to text a few photos of his genitals anymore without getting called a pervert), but kids really know how to blow things out of proportion.
With that said, I guess I better come to terms with the fact that I have to be on ever-improving behavior. If I don’t want my son to grow up thinking that I pick my nose, then I’ll just have to do it at work.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Diary Entry From the Spider on My Porch
Dear Diary,
Today was a long day, but the guest web is nearly complete. At this point I'll just be relieved to have it finished. Spinning the guest web has proven a much bigger undertaking than the renovations I made to the main web last year. The addition of the breakfast nook and the downstairs bedroom were tedious, but they don't compare to the work that has gone into spinning a whole new web from the ground up. The plumbing was the real bitch. I really should have hired out for that, but hindsight is 160/160.
The in-laws better appreciate this thing when they're here for the holidays. Actually, I'm already looking past the holidays and into next year when we can spend five months at the summer web. That is my true masterpiece. The design is a classic Victorian with beautifully-crafted dormers and spacious vaulted ceilings. The hundred-year-old model needed a lot of refurbishing, so we got a great deal on it, which allowed me to splurge on some crown molding and light fixtures from the same era.
I wouldn't mind living there year round, especially given the things that have gone on around here lately. The dwelling that we're currently attached to has become increasingly volatile. I feel bad about biting the young human that mistook me for one of those giant, paper Halloween spiders that look like pinatas. He tried to take me inside and tape me to the wall with all his other decorations. I had to defend myself.
And I'm afraid the whole family is beginning to suspect that I'm the reason the cat disappeared. I don't feel bad about that one. The feline's violent reaction when I tried to mate with her was completely uncalled for. All that scratching and hissing was really off-putting. I had no choice but to disembowel it and bury it's carcass in the yard under the cover of night. Damn shame, too. The poor thing will never know what it could have had.
And most recently was the repeated stomping I endured from the largest human in the household. I didn't even get a look at the specimen until it took a few steps back, picked up a brick, covered its eyes and flung the brick in my direction. It looked like a male, but when it ran back inside yelling, "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," it sounded decidedly feminine.
I'm not gonna lie - the brick hurt like hell. I had to take some time off afterwards, but the bruises healed rather quickly. All of this was enough to make me seriously consider turning the summer web into our permanent home, but the schools over there leave a lot to be desired.
The Misses and I have to consider things like that now. The doctor says in a little over a week we'll have hundreds of new mouths to feed. So excited!
Today was a long day, but the guest web is nearly complete. At this point I'll just be relieved to have it finished. Spinning the guest web has proven a much bigger undertaking than the renovations I made to the main web last year. The addition of the breakfast nook and the downstairs bedroom were tedious, but they don't compare to the work that has gone into spinning a whole new web from the ground up. The plumbing was the real bitch. I really should have hired out for that, but hindsight is 160/160.
The in-laws better appreciate this thing when they're here for the holidays. Actually, I'm already looking past the holidays and into next year when we can spend five months at the summer web. That is my true masterpiece. The design is a classic Victorian with beautifully-crafted dormers and spacious vaulted ceilings. The hundred-year-old model needed a lot of refurbishing, so we got a great deal on it, which allowed me to splurge on some crown molding and light fixtures from the same era.
I wouldn't mind living there year round, especially given the things that have gone on around here lately. The dwelling that we're currently attached to has become increasingly volatile. I feel bad about biting the young human that mistook me for one of those giant, paper Halloween spiders that look like pinatas. He tried to take me inside and tape me to the wall with all his other decorations. I had to defend myself.
And I'm afraid the whole family is beginning to suspect that I'm the reason the cat disappeared. I don't feel bad about that one. The feline's violent reaction when I tried to mate with her was completely uncalled for. All that scratching and hissing was really off-putting. I had no choice but to disembowel it and bury it's carcass in the yard under the cover of night. Damn shame, too. The poor thing will never know what it could have had.
And most recently was the repeated stomping I endured from the largest human in the household. I didn't even get a look at the specimen until it took a few steps back, picked up a brick, covered its eyes and flung the brick in my direction. It looked like a male, but when it ran back inside yelling, "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," it sounded decidedly feminine.
I'm not gonna lie - the brick hurt like hell. I had to take some time off afterwards, but the bruises healed rather quickly. All of this was enough to make me seriously consider turning the summer web into our permanent home, but the schools over there leave a lot to be desired.
The Misses and I have to consider things like that now. The doctor says in a little over a week we'll have hundreds of new mouths to feed. So excited!
Monday, July 18, 2011
I Now Pronounce You...
For those of you who have had a wedding I recently attended or have a wedding coming up, the following is in no way a comment on your specific event. Yours was (or will be) beautiful. This is just a comment on weddings in general and was inspired by current affairs, so please don't be offended. If you are offended, then your cake was bland.
Weddings are fascinating. Not so much to watch, but the fact that they’re so popular. They’ve existed forever, but people still celebrate them as if the idea is brand new. And celebrate them we do. In this country alone they're a $5 trillion a month industry. Over the course of human history, weddings fall only slightly behind the wheel in terms of overall approval rating.
You’d think by now weddings would be more like getting an HD TV. If you don’t have an HD TV at this point, you probably get a lot of confused looks and demeaning comments from those around you (I’m not the only one who suffers through these, right?). Sadly, that part is similar to getting married. If you reach a certain age without marrying, then people start to think something’s wrong. However, no matter how long people think you need to “hurry up and get married,” they will treat you like royalty when the big day finally comes.
Once you get an HD TV, though, could you envision inviting 200 of your closest friends and family members to your house to see it, and expect them to bring gifts? Would you rent or buy clothes for the occasion? Even if you offered them free food and booze, would they attend your HD TV party? Only if you invited people to watch the Super Bowl on your HD TV could you get, maybe, 30 people to come over, but they would still somehow watch the Super Bowl if your HD TV didn’t exist. Probably on their own HD TV.
And yet weddings have this weird hold over us. Look at the Royal Wedding earlier this year. All of England stopped what it was doing to watch it, not to mention way more Americans than what should have. If that many people are going to watch a wedding, shouldn't they do so because they expect to see something different? Like a monkey performing the ceremony, the bridesmaids and groomsmen being replaced by convicts who were brought up on charges of arson and public indecency, or the attendees being divided up not according to whether they know the bride or groom, but by playground basketball rules – shirts and skins.
Granted, weddings haven’t looked exactly the same over the decades. Destination weddings became really popular for a while and are still the preference for a significant number of people. More recently, wedding parties have been taping themselves doing choreographed dances and uploading the videos to the Internet, though this is done so much now that it feels like it’s been going on since the mid-80s. Despite these changes to the procedure, the end result is still the same. Which is why I think more and more states, like New York, are legalizing gay marriage.
You probably think it has something to do with our evolution as a society, and the desire to grant people equal rights no matter their sexual preference. Well, that might have a little something to do with it. But I think it has more to do with all of us just wanting to see some variety. Especially now during the height of wedding season.
I guarantee at least one member of the New York Senate looked at his or her colleagues during the voting process a couple of weeks ago and said, “If I have to attend one more straight wedding this summer, I’m going to shoot myself.” (It was either that or they finally buckled from the threat of celebrities who have sworn they wouldn’t marry until everyone has the right to. Granting equal rights to all mankind is a nice little motivator, but it’s no match for seeing Brad and Angelina finally tie the knot!)
Besides just the variety, think how much easier it would be to attend a gay wedding. If my wife ever says to me, “We have six weddings to attend this year, but the fourth one is a ceremony for two dudes,” my response would be, "Sweet! Our gift can be beer."
Many critics of same sex marriage fear the next form of unions that states will recognize will be between people and animals. First of all, I can't begin to imagine how insulting that is to gay people. Two consenting adults marrying each other is just one step away from an adult marrying the thing that chews on my socks and pees in the yard? And keep in mind, if that thing – my dog – pees in the yard, he’s behaving himself.
But secondly, if people do start marrying animals, I'm fully on board with it. If we get a stack of invitations that include three gay weddings, four celebrity weddings, and one wedding in which Led Zepplin will reunite to play at the reception, I’m still looking most forward to a human/animal ceremony. The only thing I can think of that might create a better story to tell afterwards would be a human/food wedding (see the post immediately below this one).
You’re probably thinking to yourself, "But if you got an invitation from someone who was marrying an animal, wouldn't you be concerned for that person's mental health?" Of course I would, which is why I hope that invitation would come from one of my wife's friends.
Let’s face facts – we all love weddings and we’ll always go to weddings. We’ll tell the bride how beautiful she looks and how happy we are for her (or him) and the groom. We’ll smile and take pictures and wish them a lifetime of joy and togetherness. But the only thing that people are thinking while they’re watching the ceremony is, “There better be an open bar or I’m gonna cut somebody.”
So if weddings suddenly become a bit more captivating by featuring a man marrying an orangutan or a ham sandwich, what’s the harm in that? It’s all about that person’s happiness.
And my entertainment.
Weddings are fascinating. Not so much to watch, but the fact that they’re so popular. They’ve existed forever, but people still celebrate them as if the idea is brand new. And celebrate them we do. In this country alone they're a $5 trillion a month industry. Over the course of human history, weddings fall only slightly behind the wheel in terms of overall approval rating.
You’d think by now weddings would be more like getting an HD TV. If you don’t have an HD TV at this point, you probably get a lot of confused looks and demeaning comments from those around you (I’m not the only one who suffers through these, right?). Sadly, that part is similar to getting married. If you reach a certain age without marrying, then people start to think something’s wrong. However, no matter how long people think you need to “hurry up and get married,” they will treat you like royalty when the big day finally comes.
Once you get an HD TV, though, could you envision inviting 200 of your closest friends and family members to your house to see it, and expect them to bring gifts? Would you rent or buy clothes for the occasion? Even if you offered them free food and booze, would they attend your HD TV party? Only if you invited people to watch the Super Bowl on your HD TV could you get, maybe, 30 people to come over, but they would still somehow watch the Super Bowl if your HD TV didn’t exist. Probably on their own HD TV.
And yet weddings have this weird hold over us. Look at the Royal Wedding earlier this year. All of England stopped what it was doing to watch it, not to mention way more Americans than what should have. If that many people are going to watch a wedding, shouldn't they do so because they expect to see something different? Like a monkey performing the ceremony, the bridesmaids and groomsmen being replaced by convicts who were brought up on charges of arson and public indecency, or the attendees being divided up not according to whether they know the bride or groom, but by playground basketball rules – shirts and skins.
Granted, weddings haven’t looked exactly the same over the decades. Destination weddings became really popular for a while and are still the preference for a significant number of people. More recently, wedding parties have been taping themselves doing choreographed dances and uploading the videos to the Internet, though this is done so much now that it feels like it’s been going on since the mid-80s. Despite these changes to the procedure, the end result is still the same. Which is why I think more and more states, like New York, are legalizing gay marriage.
You probably think it has something to do with our evolution as a society, and the desire to grant people equal rights no matter their sexual preference. Well, that might have a little something to do with it. But I think it has more to do with all of us just wanting to see some variety. Especially now during the height of wedding season.
I guarantee at least one member of the New York Senate looked at his or her colleagues during the voting process a couple of weeks ago and said, “If I have to attend one more straight wedding this summer, I’m going to shoot myself.” (It was either that or they finally buckled from the threat of celebrities who have sworn they wouldn’t marry until everyone has the right to. Granting equal rights to all mankind is a nice little motivator, but it’s no match for seeing Brad and Angelina finally tie the knot!)
Besides just the variety, think how much easier it would be to attend a gay wedding. If my wife ever says to me, “We have six weddings to attend this year, but the fourth one is a ceremony for two dudes,” my response would be, "Sweet! Our gift can be beer."
Many critics of same sex marriage fear the next form of unions that states will recognize will be between people and animals. First of all, I can't begin to imagine how insulting that is to gay people. Two consenting adults marrying each other is just one step away from an adult marrying the thing that chews on my socks and pees in the yard? And keep in mind, if that thing – my dog – pees in the yard, he’s behaving himself.
But secondly, if people do start marrying animals, I'm fully on board with it. If we get a stack of invitations that include three gay weddings, four celebrity weddings, and one wedding in which Led Zepplin will reunite to play at the reception, I’m still looking most forward to a human/animal ceremony. The only thing I can think of that might create a better story to tell afterwards would be a human/food wedding (see the post immediately below this one).
You’re probably thinking to yourself, "But if you got an invitation from someone who was marrying an animal, wouldn't you be concerned for that person's mental health?" Of course I would, which is why I hope that invitation would come from one of my wife's friends.
Let’s face facts – we all love weddings and we’ll always go to weddings. We’ll tell the bride how beautiful she looks and how happy we are for her (or him) and the groom. We’ll smile and take pictures and wish them a lifetime of joy and togetherness. But the only thing that people are thinking while they’re watching the ceremony is, “There better be an open bar or I’m gonna cut somebody.”
So if weddings suddenly become a bit more captivating by featuring a man marrying an orangutan or a ham sandwich, what’s the harm in that? It’s all about that person’s happiness.
And my entertainment.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
The Next Logical Marriage Step
"Welcome, welcome. We are gathered here today to celebrate the joining together of Lyle and Bella in matrimony. We are privileged to bear witness to this grand occasion; this formal expression of true love. And we are privileged that so many have come before them to help pave the way for a union such as theirs to exist. When the nuptials between a man and a block of cheese can be officially recognized by the state of Delaware, it truly is a blessing. Many critics of same sex marriage have long feared that once gay and lesbian partnerships were afforded the same rights as a man and a woman's, then the next logical progression would be the uniting of man and beast. But nope. Turns out it's food.
"And how truly wonderful that is, especially for Lyle and Bella. For these two lovebirds, today is a very, very Gouda day. Ha! Forgive me. That's just a little cheese wedding humor. So let us begin. Lyle, please take Bella's hand."
Lyle picks up the block of cheese from a deli tray held by the Maid of Honor, his disappointed sister.
"Lyle and Bella have chosen to write their own vows. Lyle, when you're ready, we'll let you begin."
Lyle looks intently at the cheese.
"From the moment I first saw you in the display at Trader Joe's, I knew you were the one over all others. The way your cheddary sheen glistened next to the sausages and assorted chips and pretzels. Asiago, Feta, Colby, Gorgonzola - they all paled in comparison. As well as White Cheddar, for obvious reasons. More heralded cheeses didn't capture my heart either, like the snooty Swiss or the belligerent American. Sure, it was hard not to be tempted by the Mozzarella, but she's not really the type you settle down with.
"So I whisked you away, and we spent three glorious days watching the Food Network together. You even forgave me for the night I spent with those slices of Pepper Jack. For that and so many other reasons, I promise to never let you mold or pair you with inferior snack food. I will never turn you into whiz," Lyle pauses to collect himself as he begins to choke up, "and stuff you in a CAN!"
Many of those gathered at the ceremony awkwardly stare at the ground and scratch the back of their heads.
"And I will never insult you by baking a certain cake with your namesake and serving it to dinner guests. I will, however, tout your semi-hard texture, your non-offensive aroma, and your ability to enhance any situation involving beer or bread or bacon. I will keep you by my side during every meal, whether it be the finest occasion or simply eating breakfast in the car on my way to work. In short, I will cherish you for all the rest of my days."
"How lovely," the notary says. “Now for Bella's vows."
The cheese says nothing. A faint cough can be heard from the back.
"Excellent. Now for the rings. Lyle, please place Bella's ring on her... well, on her."
Lyle places an oversized onion ring around the cheese.
“Now repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed,” the notary says.
“With this ring, I thee wed.”
"Now Bella, please place Lyle's ring on his finger."
Lyle's sister rolls her eyes and reaches in to place the ring on his finger.
“Repeat after me. With this ring, I thee…”
“You know what, I think we’re good,” Lyle interrupts.
"Very well. The rings symbolize Lyle and Bella's commitment to one another; their pledge to live as one. And with that, you are officially wed. So by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!"
Amidst applause, Lyle kisses the cheese. Gasps replace the clapping as he then takes a bite.
"Well, looks like the groom is a little overcome by the proceedings," the notary nervously laughs.
Lyle takes a larger bite out of his new bride, this time while growling like a large jungle cat.
"Uh... ok. Let's see, the couple asked me to let everyone know there will be a reception with lots of wine and crackers at the West Valley Bingo Hall on the corner of 9th and Mellwood in roughly 30 min..."
Lyle shoves the remaining hunk of cheese into his mouth while emitting a loud, guttural moan.
"Sir, please. There are children present."
The crowd looks on in horror as Lyle brushes his hands on his jacket and wipes his mouth with his tie.
"Well, then," the notary says. "Thank you all for joining us."
"And how truly wonderful that is, especially for Lyle and Bella. For these two lovebirds, today is a very, very Gouda day. Ha! Forgive me. That's just a little cheese wedding humor. So let us begin. Lyle, please take Bella's hand."
Lyle picks up the block of cheese from a deli tray held by the Maid of Honor, his disappointed sister.
"Lyle and Bella have chosen to write their own vows. Lyle, when you're ready, we'll let you begin."
Lyle looks intently at the cheese.
"From the moment I first saw you in the display at Trader Joe's, I knew you were the one over all others. The way your cheddary sheen glistened next to the sausages and assorted chips and pretzels. Asiago, Feta, Colby, Gorgonzola - they all paled in comparison. As well as White Cheddar, for obvious reasons. More heralded cheeses didn't capture my heart either, like the snooty Swiss or the belligerent American. Sure, it was hard not to be tempted by the Mozzarella, but she's not really the type you settle down with.
"So I whisked you away, and we spent three glorious days watching the Food Network together. You even forgave me for the night I spent with those slices of Pepper Jack. For that and so many other reasons, I promise to never let you mold or pair you with inferior snack food. I will never turn you into whiz," Lyle pauses to collect himself as he begins to choke up, "and stuff you in a CAN!"
Many of those gathered at the ceremony awkwardly stare at the ground and scratch the back of their heads.
"And I will never insult you by baking a certain cake with your namesake and serving it to dinner guests. I will, however, tout your semi-hard texture, your non-offensive aroma, and your ability to enhance any situation involving beer or bread or bacon. I will keep you by my side during every meal, whether it be the finest occasion or simply eating breakfast in the car on my way to work. In short, I will cherish you for all the rest of my days."
"How lovely," the notary says. “Now for Bella's vows."
The cheese says nothing. A faint cough can be heard from the back.
"Excellent. Now for the rings. Lyle, please place Bella's ring on her... well, on her."
Lyle places an oversized onion ring around the cheese.
“Now repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed,” the notary says.
“With this ring, I thee wed.”
"Now Bella, please place Lyle's ring on his finger."
Lyle's sister rolls her eyes and reaches in to place the ring on his finger.
“Repeat after me. With this ring, I thee…”
“You know what, I think we’re good,” Lyle interrupts.
"Very well. The rings symbolize Lyle and Bella's commitment to one another; their pledge to live as one. And with that, you are officially wed. So by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!"
Amidst applause, Lyle kisses the cheese. Gasps replace the clapping as he then takes a bite.
"Well, looks like the groom is a little overcome by the proceedings," the notary nervously laughs.
Lyle takes a larger bite out of his new bride, this time while growling like a large jungle cat.
"Uh... ok. Let's see, the couple asked me to let everyone know there will be a reception with lots of wine and crackers at the West Valley Bingo Hall on the corner of 9th and Mellwood in roughly 30 min..."
Lyle shoves the remaining hunk of cheese into his mouth while emitting a loud, guttural moan.
"Sir, please. There are children present."
The crowd looks on in horror as Lyle brushes his hands on his jacket and wipes his mouth with his tie.
"Well, then," the notary says. "Thank you all for joining us."
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