Must Be The End Of The Month

So, I'm driving home last night, singing along with Theory of a Deadman, and when I crest the hill I see the right lane on Montgomery Ave is suddenly blocked - lots of cops and pulled over cars.

The nice people in the "fast" lane (the road is supposed to be 35MPH, right!) only made me wait a few seconds to get over. Who said courtesy was dead? Thank you, green subaru. At any rate, at the front of the obstruction is a sign "Agressive Driving Enforcement".

What exactly does that mean? They want us to drive agressively? Stupid sign. It should really say "end of the month FOP fundraiser". Truth in advertising and such.

Hey, it's better than raising taxes?

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Another Betty Neels Post!

You'd think I'm obsessed... well, I'm not. I'm just a collector.

So, back when I worked at Barnes & Noble, I got all the lists of the Betty Neels books available. I found lists, all partial, but eventually compiled what I believed to be the compendium. There was one book that seemed to be a rumor. I couldn't ever find a hint of it in the B&N system, though I found it twice on the internet.

Wikipedia listed it, when I looked this past week.

So I went to Amazon, and, what do you know, there it was... and it's DIFFERENT (those of you who read Betty know all her books are delightfully the same). I see why Harlequin didn't print it when she wrote it.

The first 1/4 of the book deals with the rich doctor trying to save his nanny from Poland, which, at the time, was under martial law. It was too much of a political statement for her, and for harlequin, though Mills and Boon published it. The M&B copy is worth, on Amazon, $30. Of course, at the prices Amazon lists, my Betty collection is worth thousands. To me it's priceless, of course. :)

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The Family Truckster

When John and I decided to have hatchlings, one of the first things we did was buy a new car. We got the Scoutback ... subaru outback... in 1999/2000 because we had a dog (Scout) and we didn't want her in the back with the baby when we travelled.

We no longer have Scout, but we still have the Scoutback. And let me tell you, it seems like half the people who had sprogs when we did also got outbacks. When dropping Stinky off at daycare, I'd often see another car that was exactly like mine, and two others in different colors.

Not so much these days.

The new family truckster seems to be the Honda Element. Like you had to go out and have a contest for an uglier car than the outback. No offense, I love my tank, but it isn't very esoterically pleasing.

The Element looks like a toddler designed it.

But it is THE car for the newly progenating to have. There were three of them in the lot at daycare today. So, I guess, as the ownere of "the car" from five or more years ago, I'm not in the hip crowd anymore. Boo hoo.

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Betty Neels Left On Time

One of my favorite fairy-tale (er… romance) authors is Betty Neels. Her stories are almost all alike. British woman, usually plain-looking, garners interest of (usually Dutch) rich, handsome, wonderful man. No s-e-x, just nice fluff. When I’m depressed or bored or flustered and need of calming, I pick one off my shelf and get lost in a world that is, for lack of a better term, gentle.

Her images of the Netherlands, especially, have made me believe that Friesland and Holland and the rest are just idyllic, peaceful places.

Too bad that’s a fairy tale, too.

Ever since the murder of Theo Van Gogh, I’ve noticed lots of stories about the issues of Islamists in the Netherlands. (Note that I don’t say Muslims. Islamists are, in this little blog, the crazy creeps who kill their daughters for being raped, who want to subject all non-believers to sharia, and who, in the end, are the big bad wolf.)

Now, the peaceful people of the Netherlands are not acting with cool rational. There have been riots when an ethnic police officer killed a native Dutchman. There are protests against a Muslim-only hospital which would boast gender-segregation and all the trappings of Islam.

This all reminds me of the incident of Bernard Goetz – the subway vigilante – who shot four young black men because he was afraid of them. Did he have reason to fear? Possibly. If he hadn’t been living in fear for years, he probably wouldn’t have been carrying a gun. Situations had forced a sensible, rational man to become paranoid and violent. The same thing is happening in the land of tulips and windmills.

Betty Neels died in 2001. She didn’t see all of this happening. I’m glad.

hat tip comments 32/33 in tim blair

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I Can Finally Type With Impunity!

We got 4-6 inches of ice on Friday. I spent all day Saturday hacking at ice (took a break to make Mom a birthday cake; decorating said cake made my respect for my sister-in-law aka baking goddess go even higher) before singing in the “really big show”. I didn’t drink anything beforehand, but you know, it wasn’t so bad. The audience was there to have fun (as evidenced by all the wine bottles they brought), so they were disposed to like everything. So, I turned off my self-critical ear and had fun – flirting with the little boy in the front while I sang my song.

The show was packed – which was surprising, given all the ice. I guess people wanted to get out after being stuck home the night before?

It was suppose to be the Ed Sullivan show – so we all dudded up like we were from the sixties. I looked like Carol Brady, mostly, though I was sporting some good fringe when we did “California Dreaming”. There’s one guy in the choir who is just excellent at mimicking – he was Ed, he did the “hello muddah hello faddah”, he did a Woody Allen sketch… The guys did the Lettermen, the Beach Boys, the Temptations. The girls did the Supremes and lots of solo stuff. (They also mimicked the original artists very well. They’re all so talented!!) It was, surprise surprise, a blast. I’d forgotten THAT’s why I did those plays and stuff. Because it’s fun!

So, anyway, back to the impunity. Sunday, I hacked away at my neighbor’s ice, so she wouldn’t fall and break her neck. After hacking away all day Saturday. All this physical work from a cube jockey = bad omen.

By yesterday, I could barely move. My arms and hands hurt from gripping the ice-breaker, and it was all I could do to type out the database commands. No blogging, for sure!

But now, I’m back. Cue maniacal laughter.

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Down in Birdland

So, I got my arse out of bed yesterday and went running. The time change has killed me, so this was my first run since Saturday. About 4 miles out (one mile from home), I felt a snap in my right calf. I finished out the "jog" - and by the time I got home, I could barely walk. Sigh. I can walk today, but steps still hurt. What say you real atheletes out there - should I wait a week to run again, or do you think I can run earlier (say, Saturday or Sunday)?

Last night was a rehearsal for Saturday's show. Whoa, I really suck at singing. It's drilled in when you hear yourself with a microphone. I'm thinking if I get a little plastered before Saturday night, maybe this will be doable. Then again, maybe not. Someone tell me why I agreed to do this? Never again.

I do have one good thing to talk about- I read a fantastic book yesterday. Tomorrow, the River, by Dianne Gray, is fantabulous. For a full review, see my amazon review to the right.

My mom's birthday is Saturday, and as a present, she gets to go home (the kids will miss Grandma a lot, but she misses her farmhouse.) Now, I think I should get her a present, but I have no idea what to get her. Maybe a box of chocolates to take home with her? Anyone have any ideas?

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Whatcha Doin’ Saturday Night?

Anyone want to come hear me sing?

I’ve been in a church choir for a while, but this year, they asked me to sing in this show they put on. I feel like I’m in high school again. I haven’t done this kind of schtick in years. Me, singing Karen Carpenter tunes. My brother John would be laughing his butt off.

When I was a kid, my mom used to have my sister and I go sing for her lodge and the “sunrise living” kind of places. We did the whole hum-and-strum guitar thing. Silly songs, Christian songs, whatever was easy. One time, we were singing while they were serving dinner at the nursing home. I was singing “The Rose” which my mother has always liked. When I was in the middle of the song, I heard the following:

Old Man 1: Pass the butter.
Old Man 2: What?
OM1: Pass the butter. (louder)
OM2: What?
OM1: (shouting now) Pass The Butter.
OM2: (also shouting) I Can’t Hear You. That Girl’s Singing Too Loud.

Needless to say, I haven’t done “dinner and a show” since. Saturday ought to be interesting.

(On a side note, Ron, if you’re reading this, Moth adores the hokey bird. Whose name is Mr. Chris Hokey Bird. It has almost replaced Daiwok the dog… but not quite.)

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So Close and Yet So Far

Stinky has become such an intriguing mix of little boy and big boy.

He has all the mannerisms of a tween - the eye roll, the vocab, the moodiness. Yet, at times, that little boy still peeks through. Last night, Daddy was reading Lion Witch Wardrobe to him, and he was hugging his knees while listening. He rubbed his cheek against his knee and giggled.

"My knee has face bugs, Dad."

Stinky is a hair-bear, which is weird since neither John nor I is. So I told him when he was big, he'd probably have more face bugs than his dad. (if you don't remember, face bugs is stubble)

His eyes got all wide, then he giggled again and went back to the story.

This morning, he was MoodyMan again, but just for a moment last night, I had SillySean back.

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It's Only Fair

I've been assigning new workers their buttons to push at Spaceleys for quite a while now. But yesterday, I was stopped in my tracks at the list of new hires.

We hired Jesus.

I feel so much better!

Then, in a stunning move of Equal Opportunity, we hired Vishnu today.

One last stunner? The ...ahem... gentleman who has been known as Satan by a number of us has "decided to leave the company to pursue better opportunities" according to a global announcement from upper management. Heh. I wonder if he'll contact the ACLU for deity discrimination?!

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Nighttime Ravings

So, all was quiet at the dusty aviary. The bratlings were snug in their bunks, Titus the Dog guarding them in his cowering kind of way, Grandma was sawing logs, and Mom and Dad were chasing Hypnos around in his realm when all of the sudden…

http://www.vulpes.org/foxden/sounds/fox1.wav

over and over and over again. I am a heavy sleeper, so I didn’t even really notice it until John stumbled across the room, lifted the curtain, OPENED the WINDOW (it’s still winter here) and sleepily yelled,

“Hey Fox! Shut up!”

As if the fox knows its name. (In hind sight, it reminds me of the scene from the Crow when FunBoy is calling “here, birdy birdy!”)

Now, of course, the fox knows it has company, so it starts talking more…

John ended up slamming the window down, which scared foxy enough that he went to another yard and serenaded someone else.

So, does that qualify as in like a Lion or in like a Lamb?
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