33tekfan’s Weblog

There was a pile of leftover Christmas gifts on a small table. I decided to take care of them - throw out the boxes and trash, and put away whatever items were left, including a thermometer that needed it’s batteries activated.

I took the thermometer in to the kitchen and set it on the counter. I went to the bottom “junk” drawer to find the little tiny screwdrivers. Asked P-Man if he knew where they were. While he was thinking, I decided to empty the junk drawer to see if I could find them. Once the drawer was empty I decided to throw away the “real” junk and organize the rest of it. Then I had to do the other drawers - which included the silverware and cooking utensil drawers - which entailed filling and running the dishwasher.

Then P-Man located the screwdrivers (in a completely different cabinet) and we proceeded to activate and hang the thermometer.

2 hours after starting the process.

And I wonder why I don’t get more accomplished every day.

Small deeds done are better than great deeds planned. ~Peter Marshall

My children have never used, or apparently even seen one of these:

P-Man has been talking about hot air popped corn for some time. He is not a fan of microwave popcorn, and corn popped on the stove, in oil, just didn’t hold the same appeal for him as the air popped. So we gave him one of these for Christmas.

Tonight he used it, and the kids reacted in the same way I imagine they’d act if a space ship landed on the front lawn. They were jostling each other for viewing position and laughing hysterically when the popping started.

It amused me, horrified me, and made me feel really old all at the same time.

There are no seven wonders of the world in the eyes of a child. There are seven million. ~Walt Streightiff

This piece originally appeared on Joe.My.God. It is fantastic, and although maybe a day or two late, I wanted to post it here.

Dance Of The Sugar Plum Lesbians

Grand Central Terminal functions as the mechanical heart of midtown New York City, pumping out several thousand workers and tourists on one beat, then sucking in several thousand more on the next.

The rhythms of the terminal are fascinating.

Beat. Four thousand, inbound from New Haven.

Beat. Three thousand, outbound to Westchester.

Worlds collide on the main floor.The tourists gawk up at the gloriously ornate ceiling and uselessly flash their digital cameras at objects hundreds of feet away.

The commuters rush up to the track displays to determine their track number, then dart across the terminal floor, dodging the milling tourists, heads down, like running backs heading for the end zone.

It’s mesmerizing. It’s majestic.

And sometimes, like tonight, it’s magical.

I’m walking through the massive main room just as the holiday laser show begins on the ceiling. To the tune of Take The “A” Train, the laser depicts two trains arriving from different directions. The trains stop opposite each other, and a reindeer leaps out of each one and crosses over to the opposite train.

The laser traces the outline of one of the zodiac constellations painted on the ceiling, and the Cancer crab leaps to life and becomes the Crab Conductor, waddling down the center aisle of the car, punching the reindeers’ ticket stubs with his claws.

I move over to the edge of the room, near the entrance for Track 25, so I can watch the reaction to the show.

As usual, I’m more entertained by watching the audience than by watching the actual show.At the ticket windows, standing in front of signs that say “Harlem Line” or “Hudson Line”, commuters tilt their heads painfully back to view the show directly overhead. The tourists cluster in delighted circles, holding each others’ elbows for balance as they nearly bend over backwards.

Some people move to the edges of the great hall, as I have, to remove themselves from the traffic flow while they watch. Among those that come to join me on the perimeter of the room is a lesbian couple. They stand quite close to me, the taller woman behind the shorter one, with her arms wrapped around her, supporting her a bit, as they both lean back on the marble wall.

The shorter woman is stout, with a large firm chest. Her hair is short and brushed back into what might have once been called a ducktail. She has an ornate tattoo on her left forearm, and she has a leather wallet protruding from the rear pocket of her jeans, attached to her leather belt by a short silver chain. She has more than a passing resemblence to Tony Danza, her big boobs nothwithstanding, so naturally (in my head) I name her Toni.

Toni’s girlfriend is blond, her short ponytail dangles just above her collar. She is wearing long Christmas tree earrings which nearly brush her shoulders. Her lanky, sinewy limbs are bound in a tight running outfit, over which she is wearing a school athletic jacket. I imagine that she might be a coach at Yale or Harvard, perhaps a girls lacrosse coach, or maybe track and field.

Coach is squeezing Toni tightly and they bounce together to the music a bit. Coach looks over at me and catches me smiling. She nudges Toni, who looks over at me too, and we all grin goofily at each other for a moment.

Overhead, a new show begins. The familiar opening notes of Tchaikovsky’s Dance Of The Sugar Plum Fairies ring out as the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building sprout arms, bow to each other, and begin waltzing across the ceiling.

I look around the room and it’s as if time was frozen for just a second, every person stopped in mid-stride, eyes cast upward, mouths open in silent joy.

Toni pushes away from Coach, turns around and delivers her a bow as deep and as elegant as the one just depicted overheard.

“Madame, may I please have this dance?” she asks Coach.

Coach looks around a bit awkwardly, “You are TOO much!” And she giggles.

“Madame, I must insist!” says Toni, as she takes Coach’s hands into hers.

Coach relents and she and Toni begin a beautful, slow waltz, moving in half-time to the music. As you might have guessed already, Toni leads.

As they dance, their eyes remain locked on each other. Toni is giving Coach an intense look, her lips tightly curled into a satisfied smile. Coach is grinning from ear to ear, and again she giggles.

All around Coach and Toni, the tourists, the businessmen, the students, the conductors, even the guy with a broom, they’re all watching. Some are expressionless, but more are smiling, and some of them…some of them are frantically fussing with their cameras, eager to capture this magical New York Moment.

Serendipity prevails, the tune ends, and Toni dips Coach backwards with a dramatic upsweep of her free arm as a firestorm of camera flashes erupt around them. Toni pulls Coach up and close to her, and they hug. There’s another camera flash, and the crowd begins to move along.

Then.

“Hey, look!”

The laser show is being concluded with giant sprigs of mistletoe appearing over our heads. This time, it’s Coach who bends down and plants a long tender kiss on Toni’s non-lipsticked mouth. There’s another flash of cameras from the delighted audience.

Toni takes Coach’s hand, and they begin to move off towards the exit.

“Oh, don’t stop!” says a disappointed woman, still rummaging for her camera.

Toni looks back over her shoulder and says, “I never will.”

The mechanical heart of New York City, Grand Central Terminal, beats again, but this time I hear a different rhythm. This time I hear a double beat.

I hope I have given proper credit and linked appropriately.

We took so much cardboard to the dump today, I can see why it is called Boxing Day. Oh, wait…I don’t live in Canada…and that’s not REALLY what Boxing Day is. But still, we took a ton.

Our Christmas was really good. When I put my kids to bed last night, I asked each of them what their favorite part of the day was, and The Captain in all of his charm said “Spending the day with our family.” God, I love that kid!

We were all home together again today and spent the day relaxing, playing games, and making crafts. After the trip to the dump (and the side trip to WalMart to get some 1/2 off Christmas stuff for next year!).

364 days until Christmas! Don’t you just hate people like me?

Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful. ~Norman Vincent Peale

The Diva’s horse was very funny during her riding lesson on Monday. They have put a mirror up at the far end of the ring, and her horse had not been used in the ring since the mirror went up.

Sometimes my daughter has a hard time getting her horse to actually stay in the ring while they are riding. Not Monday. Her horse was VERY interested in the hunka hunka new horse that he kept seeing every time he approached the far end of the ring. It was hilarious.

They would ride toward that end, his ears would start to twitch, and he would head straight for the good lookin’ horse in the mirror. She would steer him away and he would go fairly willingly, with just the tiniest backward glance at the new kid.

Narcissistic bastard.

Horses and children, I often think, have a lot of the good sense there is in the world. ~Josephine Demott Robinson

Santa is bringing a Wii for Christmas this year.

This weekend, my children went to their father’s house to celebrate Christmas with him and his family. They called me yesterday morning to tell me what their father had gotten them. A Wii.

The conversation took place on my cell phone as P-Man and I were out doing errands.

“Hi Mom! Guess what Dad got us for Christmas?!”

“What , honey?”

“A Wii!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“A Wii?” (with slightly less enthusiasm now) as I look over at P-Man who mouths the word FUCK. Yeah, my thoughts exactly.

I love Christmas. I was so excited to give them the Wii. We planned ahead, knowing they might be in short supply again this year, and we’ve had it hidden at P-Man’s mother’s house since late September or so. Excitement? Not so much now. I will probably hear something like “How come Santa didn’t know Dad already got us one?”.

Well, because Santa and Dad don’t communicate well. Oh, we get along ok - we don’t fight. But we don’t go out of our way to keep each other informed either. In my defense, I have tried over the years but it’s rather like banging my head against a brick wall. Since that gets old after a while, I have stopped. So I am mad at myself for not trying harder, and I am mad at him for not trying at all. Both of the kids also want Nintendo DS games systems. If we had communicated better, one of us could have gotten the Wii and one of us could have gotten the Nintendos.

I was pretty upset and P-Man tried so hard to make me feel better. When we got home he immediately got online ato see if there were any available Nintendos - supposedly there are some in stock at our local Walmart. He wanted to go purchase them right away, but I said no. Can you even imagine? Two Wiis, Nintendo’s, AND iPods for each of them? Plus…all the “smaller” gifts and clothes, etc. No way. I wanted to return the Wii and get the Nintendos but he still wants to keep the Wii for all of us here. So we’re leaving it as it is. Two Wiis - one at each house.

Now I know that in the whole scheme of things, this is a pretty good problem to have. We are so very fortunate to have the means to provide these types of things for our kids. There are kids who want a Wii and won’t get one because there aren’t any available. There are kids who won’t get anything for Christmas. There are kids who are cold and hungry, right here in our country as I sit and type this in my warm house with my hot coffee on my desk. I know this.

But I’m still a little disappointed and some of the excitement is gone.

Open your presents at Christmastime but be thankful year round for the gifts you receive. ~Lorinda Ruth Lowen

Hey it’s snowing here! Again. Clearly we’re going to have a white Christmas so enough already.

I’ve been mulling over this post a little, because I’m not sure exactly how to word it.

I’ve been spending some time in my son’s classroom this week. I really like most of the kids in there. Most. One little girl though. Oh. My. God. If I wouldn’t be arrested and then probably sued, I would slap the living daylights out of her.

I am not a violent person. I rarely even kill bugs. That’s mostly because I won’t go near a lot of them, so that doesn’t really prove my point so you’ll have to just trust me on this one. I’m not violent. But I would like to shake her until her teeth rattle around in her head.

She is the mouthiest, brattiest, meanest, know-it-all little monster I have ever met. Ever.

There are tables in my son’s classroom, as opposed to individual desks. Five children per table. There are five girls at the table the brat child sits at. That would be problem number one. Never, never put 5 females together without some sort of buffer, like a male. I don’t care if they are 8 or 87. It doesn’t work.

Project # 1. Snow scenes made with rice. First they pencil sketched a snow scene, then used glue to adhere white rice. Brat child drew a character from a video game (I don’t know which one, or how it was considered snowy) then proceeded to ERASE THE DRAWINGS OF EVERY OTHER GIRL AT THE TABLE. Because they weren’t good enough. When I asked her what she was doing, she replied that she has taken 3 years of art lessons and she was going to draw each other girl’s picture for her because “they will look better that way.” Since I couldn’t respond with “Look here, shit head, leave them alone to do their own pictures”, I said “Well, since these are going to be gifts for your parents, maybe they would like TO MAKE THEIR OWN.” One little girl whispered thank you and said they had been trying to tell her that.

Project # 2. Work in teams to assemble a foam elf door hanger to give as gifts to other teachers in the school. They had a bag of materials and an instruction sheet, as well as the already done example hanging on the white board to go by. That group of girls was the last one done, mostly because the brat child would disassemble anything that any other child had done, and do it again on her own because “it looked better that way”. After the elves were assembled, they were responsible for cleaning up their areas. She started to walk away because “another group needs her help”. I told her she needed to help her group clean up before she decided to go “help” anyone else.

Project #3. A Picture find. Sort of like a “Where’s Waldo?” with a list of items that needed to be located. A couple of the girls at her table had their hands up so I went over to see what they needed. They asked what a menorah is. As I was explaining it to them, the shit head actually told the teacher on me! “She’s helping them, Mr. H” I give the man credit, he did not laugh at her (or kill her). He replied “That is what Mrs. T is here for, to help us with our projects.” As I circulated around the room, I noticed her circling items on the papers belonging to some of the other girls at the table. The teacher also noticed and called her out on it.

Project #4. Scale drawings. Working in groups of two, the children had to take a section of a smaller drawing and transfer it on to a bigger piece of paper. Theoretically (!) when they put the large pieces together on the bulletin board, they will all match up and look exactly like the smaller picture. They did individual practice sheets before attempting the larger picture. Again, she was erasing everyone else’s papers and DOING IT OVER FOR THEM! Again, I went over and said “Brat child (*name changed for privacy), they are not going to learn how to do this if you do it for them.” The girl whose paper she was currently redoing said “That’s what I keep telling her - she won’t listen!”.

My major my freshman year of college was Elementary Education. Funds were low, so I didn’t return to college the next year - I found a job in a daycare. When I did return to college, I changed my major. After just one year of working with children, I knew that was not the job for me. I know some of you will say there is a difference…but not enough for me to ever even consider teaching. Thank God/Goddess there are people, like Mr. H., who are willing to take on the challenge - and are good at it.

Me? I’d be locked up in jail or in an asylum by now.

There are three good reasons to be a teacher - June, July, and August. ~Author Unknown

The Diva got her first ribbon for a show yesterday. It was a combination school/show and there were no placements, just participation ribbons. But still, she had to make it through the jump course cleanly to get a ribbon, and she did it! It has become an ornament on the tree - front and
center!

I stopped in at Walmart yesterday. I’m looking for a cheap tea kettle. The place was mobbed. I strolled through, nonchalantly, smug in my knowledge that not only am I done with shopping, I am done with wrapping. Yay, me! (Anyone who wants to can call me a bitch now).

We are in the middle of another snow storm.

The Year Without a Santa Clause is on again. Go Heat Misers!

I am on my second Bloody Mary. Yum.

My son says I am the best mom in the world because I made some of his favorite foods today. French toast, bruschetta, and corn chowder. Not all at once.

Christmas, children, is not a date. It is a state of mind. ~Mary Ellen Chase

Today started out bad, bad, bad.

It snowed - again - last night. We got about 4 or 5 more inches. School was not delayed or cancelled so I had two grumpy kids wondering why there was school when there was so much snow on the ground.

After they left, I decided to head out to do some errands. I wanted to brush off the car and get it started so it could warm up a little before I left. I could not find my keys anywhere. My keys are ALWAYS in the same place…along with my wallet and my phone. Those are the only three things I always take with me when I leave the house. Wallet? Check. Phone? Check. Keys? Nope.

I had to think about the last time I had my keys….Tuesday evening. Riding lessons. Ok…I got us home…so the keys are somewhere in this house. I replayed the events of the evening - stopped to take off boots in mudroom/laundry room; put dusty barn smelling coat in washer; threw away empty coffee cup. The obvious place to start was the mudroom. After I didn’t find them there, the next thought was that I was going to have to go through the trash. I donned my latex gloves and ripped open the bag. There was my coffee cup from that night - no keys though. I checked under furniture and appliances (we have a cat who likes to take things and make them her own…but her normal M.O. is legos and beads…so I didn’t really think she had taken the keys….). No keys…but several crumpled pieces of paper, two crinkle toys, 14 legos, and 23 beads were located.

I decided that I still needed to get on with my day, so I took the spare that P-Man keeps with his things.

I went to the redemption center with our returnable cans…and scanned the table as the guy counted up my returns…thinking maybe they keys had fallen in there. No such luck.

To get to my next stop, I needed to pass the Ford garage so I decided to swing in and see what the process is for getting a new key and fob made. They could do it today at 2:00, it will take about 20 minutes, and it will cost me about $60. Holy crap! I made the appointment and said “I’m going to keep looking so you may hear from me later, cancelling this!”

As I got in the car, P-Man called - like he usually does - to see how my day was going. I said “I’m pretty sure I know the answer to this but I’m going to ask just in case I’m wrong. Do you happen to know where my keys are?”

Crickets.

“Um, check my leather coat pocket.”

“WHAT?”

“Um, yeah. I used your keys when we went to The Diva’s concert the other night. I might have forgotten to put them back.”

“Are you kidding me? Do you know what I’ve been through this morning?!!”

His response was that I should have called him first to see if he knew where they were before spending all that time looking. Here’s the problem with that:

I can’t take credit for that title - it’s from my friend, L-Weed.

George Mitchell’s report is out - all 409 pages of it.

“I urge the (Major League Baseball) Commissioner to forego imposing baseball’s rules on performance enhancing substances, except in those cases where he determines that necessary to maintain the integrity of the game,” the report said.

“There need to be consequences as a result of wrongdoing,” Conte said about the Mitchell report. “This report favors those who control the money in the world of baseball.” (Victor Conte, BALCO owner/Adam Tanner, Reuters)

There’s not much more I can say about this. I am very disappointed that it appears no sanctions will be imposed. At the very least, perhaps some of them have hurt their chances of getting into the hall of fame. Although I do not particularly care for Roger Clemens (loved him while he was in Boston…then he wanted to go home to Texas…via Toronto…via New York. Lame.), I do believe he has earned himself a spot in the hall of fame. Until I saw his name on that list. How can a player be inducted with the knowledge that his performance was enhanced?

Oh…and…one would think that Eric Gagne could have pitched a little better in Boston this year if he had really been juiced. Go figure.

Baseball is the only field of endeavor where a man can succeed three times out of ten and be considered a good performer. ~Ted Williams