Christmas Tree Killings

Guilt is a pretty powerful emotion. Moms know this and, by the time you are old enough to say 'I'm sorry', you know it too. And there are a lot of things to feel guilty for in life: opening the Christmas-wrapped Spider-man comic book, rewrapping it, and then only confessing after you'd been accused and found guilty; eating all 63 of your brother's Easter jellybeans because you'd previousy gorged on your own; murder...

Okay, so that last one seems a bit extreme, and I recognize that I'm crawling way out on the Christmas tree limb here, but I have come to realize that I am not a fan of a live Christmas tree being hacked out of the forest, used for two weeks (tops), and cavalierly thrown aside with egg shells and grease drippings.

My father and oldest sister have asthma, so growing up, we could never have a real (I dare not say 'live') Christmas tree for a few days before having to throw it out to ensure my sibling and papi continued to breathe. Eventually, we got a fake tree and have used one of those ever since. But two Christmases ago, I was living in Montana with a native-Montanan for a roommate. I also worked with people from Montana and they always went out into the forest, picked their own tree, cut it down, and hauled it back to the house. I even knew of a family who looked for the biggest they could find so that it would scrape the top of their vaulted ceiling. A co-worker and her husband invited my friend and I to come with them and, seduced by many years of hallmark and the thought of a real, live, pine-scenty tree, we succumbed.

The first step in a Christmas tree killing was to buy the tag. Yep, just like when you go hunting. The Forest Service sells them for $5.00 each. Definitely a better deal than elk hunting. Early one Saturday morning at the beginning of Christmas, she and I awoke and dressed in all the warm layers we could find, got in my coworker's truck, and drove out somewhere into the beyond. For hours we all trekked up hills and down, saw where a forest fire had wiped out life and how it came back again.

A snow-covered valley, flush with early afternoon light. A silence which only heavy snow can produce, nature holds its breath. I sat down on a tree stump and looked around. The sight was truly breathtaking (not just because my legs and lungs were giving out). As my co-worker, husband, and roommate began looking at trees, I continued to sit. And suddenly that silence, broken only by shouts of tree sizes and unwrapping of saws and ropes, seemed a bit sad to me. Montana has forest fires every year. Some quite severe. These trees had survived. They had survived devastating fire, and Japanese pine beetle, drought, animal maulings, all other forms of disease and insect, and the woodsman's ax. Year after precarious year they had lived this way. And now they were going to die for $5.00, so my roommate and I could have a tree for a few weeks. They would never again be home to birds and small animals, they would never provide shelter or food, never reach for the sky, never purify the air and soil. They would die because of tradition. Not even my tradition. I felt awful. My head hurt. My eyes grew heavy. My body ached. Was I linked to the trees? Had I somehow tapped into the spirit of the forest, sharing an awareness of death?

The trees were chosen. The ax came down. Again and again and again. Two trees fell. Rope encircled branches, binding tighter and tighter. Thrown on to two sleds, the trees seemed smaller, diminished. No longer a part of the great life that surrounded them. We began the long haul back to the car. Up hill and down. Each step became harder. I grew disproportionately weaker than each hill should have made me. Trance-like, I kept one foot in front of the other only with effort. Finally, salvation. An old blue truck. The trees loaded, we headed back down the mountain. My eyes closed.

Opening them again, we had reached our apartment. Enter the tree. We decorated it with ornaments we had on hand. I declined the firm Christmas party in lieu of five hours of sleep and a week of the flu. The tree was gone with neighbors' turkey and mistletoe.

Do I oppose Christmas trees? No. Do I think anything negative of people who have real ones? No. But in that moment, sitting out there in the snowy silence, thinking about all it took to grow even one of those trees, I realized how special they really are. That they are, in fact, more significant than two weeks can give. I believe the best hunters are respectful. They understand that they are taking something's life to continue their own. They do not waste an animal, they do not poach, and they do not help others do so. They respect the natural environment and do their best not to disturb the land and keep it healthy for life to continue. But I also know that not everyone is a hunter. Some people get their meat from a grocery store. Some people eat tofu. And Christmas trees are the same. Some find it incredibly significant to go with family and friends into the forest. Others enjoy the local tree lot where every tree is guaranteed to be wide and fluffy. Still others have opted for fake (yet surprisingly real-looking) trees.

As for me, when I have my own apartment again, I've decided that I would like to buy a tree sometime in the summer. Let it grow indoors and decorate it come Christmas. The following spring, I will grab some friends and find a quiet little mountain valley. There, I will leave a piece of Christmas to grow, my tradition for many years to come.

Carriers

Last night I watched the movie, Carriers. I can see why it went almost straight to dvd. It isn't that the acting was bad, I think they played their parts well. It wasn't that what happened wasn't realistic. It was. And that, in fact, was the problem. It was realistic in an 'all the main characters do all the wrong things and then most of them die' sort've way. (Yes, sorry, spoiler alert.) And because of that, there is no real hope, either for the characters or for humanity. In fact, it is the main characters' loss of their humanity that is the most depressing of all.

So, in honor of a really depressing movie about a pandemic that pretty much wipes out humanity (though not nearly so tear-inducing as I Am Legend when he lost his dog, yes, I wept), I thought I would write a blog on things to do/remember in the event of a major pandemic with 100% fatality.

First, keep in mind that there are no rules. Only common sense and compassion. If you lose either one, you will most likely die when you either do something stupid which catches up to you or you do something cruel which comes back to bite you. Keeping a set of rules is too rigid and doesn't take into account that at some point you will likely be on the other end. Also, if your rules are flawed, your plan is flawed. A flawed plan gets you killed. They had rules: the sick are already dead. Consequently, whenever anyone got sick, they were afraid to tell (allowing them to infect even more people) and they left them behind. This included parents, a man and his daughter, a girlfriend, a brother...everyone who tied them to any real reason for life. They left them sick and helpless and with no supplies and the knowledge that they were going to die, alone. One of humanity's worst fears. And they did it over and over again. And each time, they reinforced in their own mind the knowledge of what would happen to them. By the time they reach the beachhouse (more on that later) there isn't really any reason. They were going to hide there as family and loved ones. And all that was gone. In the end what they reached was a place, devoid of all meaning beyond a haunting reminder of what they had left behind; themselves.

Now for the other things they did wrong (the short list): 1) they put facemasks on after they enter buildings (it's a plague people, very contagious, and 100% fatal--put the masks on BEFORE you enter the obviously contaminated building); 2) upon entering every building, they yell out (maybe alerting others to your presence isn't a good idea, after all, you're a looter, maybe someone else has the same playbook); 3) they have only one weapon between them--a gun (you just watched someone get hunted down and shot by 'sport hunters', shouldn't you at least have a baseball bat?); 4) they stole a Malibu (a Malibu? THIS is your choice for post-apocalyptic vehicles? Seriously?); 5) they never get supplies ahead of time (note: get food and medication before you are starving or bleeding from a gunshot wound, and always get it when it's available); 6) they have no plan beyond the beach (do you fish? b/c if not, maybe the beach isn't the best choice. Maybe say, mountains, or places with water you can actually drink.)...

There were lots of other things done wrong. Truth is, most disaster movies are great b/c they teach you not what you SHOULD do, but you SHOULDN'T do. They're like Grimm brothers' fairy tales, only with explosions and monsters. Don't talk to wolves dressed like grandmas (or carry an ax if you do), don't kill geese that lay golden eggs (just trick them into thinking we have 12, not 24 hour, days), don't take up sewing or anything that involves sharp objects (though napping IS a good idea for beauty enhancement), and never eat apples (save those for teachers the day before your big final).

So in the end, Carriers may not be the best movie to watch with the kids, nor does it serve as a model for disaster (try the tv series Surviving Disaster for that), but it may be the best thing to watch to remind you of the importance of preparedness and humanity. With the first, you need not fear. With the second, you need not become what we fear. In the end, saving humanity is done only by saving it individually. Not exactly Christmastime material, but a valuable message nonetheless.

Costco Living

Now that the holidays are here, the Costco trip becomes a little more packed with chocolatey-goodness and a little less with triskets. I enjoy Costco. And, if I ever decided to write a teen adventure novel, it would probably involve a kid finding a way to live at Costco. For only a hundred bucks a year or so, he or she would have it made. There's the really comfy leather chairs and tv set to watch your favorite movie at 3am when security has called it quits. Next you have all the clothes and beds and blankets. You have bathrooms. You have food. You even have electrical equipment. If you could somehow carve yourself a little room in the midst of all the stacks of tp, I think you could pull it off. And of course, in order to write accurately, I'd need to try it myself (it just wouldn't be right to pen a novel with no real experience eh?). I could hire a lawyer from my jail cell. I could probably even turn that experience into a novel and then, of course, the talk shows and autobiography. As I sit here and think about it, I could probably get at least 3-5 books out of Costco living. Hmmm.

In the meantime, I will simply enjoy the free snacks. Today's delectable? Strawberry shortbread cookies. Who knew the same Spunkmeier that makes white chocolate macadamia would now put fruit into their sugar cookies. Suddenly, a sugar cookie falls into a major food group. Oh, you could drink a v8. Or, you could eat about 6 strawberry shortcake cookies. They have real pieces of strawberry in them. I'm not making this up. Go try it. Delicious! Also good, the meatball with pineapple inside it (or what I am sincerely hoping was pineapple). Tasty. And I'm not a big fan of weird pig parts blended together and shoved inside an intestine. (Now that I've described it that way, you probably aren't either.) Cinnamon raisin toast. Cinnamon raisin english muffin. (Both tasting remarkably similar. No surprise there.) My sister enjoyed the shrimp skampi. I myself avoid things that crawl on the bottom of the ocean and resort to cannibalism and garbage for late night snacks. She said it was delicious. I'll take her word for it.

I once heard that a guy took his date to Costco to eat. Yep, free snacks. I'm not sure if this is ingenious or tacky. I think it depends on the guy and the girl. It could be kind've fun. You could even bring disguises and challenge each other to see who can stop by the SAME snack area without the Costco employee catching on. You'd just have to watch out for security of course. Then again, that might add to the experience. Who knows.

Well, enjoy your big food stores. Eat your fruits and vegetables. Try to stay out of jail. But if you do go to the pokey, turn it into a money maker. It's important to bloom where you're planted.

Fat Doggin' It

As I sat around yesterday, full to the brim with holiday feasting, reading the very last of the Harry Potter novels, wiping the tears away, I was grateful for a day. Most people have never enjoyed a bit of fat doggery, but since being introduced to it by my brother, I have had nothing but the sincerest respect for the wonders of fat dog.

(queu music, perhaps 70's polyester...no?...okay, poor college student look then...better...begin flashback)

It was a hot, dry summer, the likes of which the great Salt Lake Valley hadn't seen in eighteen years. My brother, a tall, strapping lad of twenty, had recently spent an evening dining in the company of friends. They lay outside upon the grass, celebrating its success. Though neighbors' lawns revealed the consequences of a rain-free summer, he and his friends lay on a patch of bright green; the restaurant having been successful in their watering campaign. Comfortably lazy, he realized that wonderfully full, restful state he was hovering ever more near to was the same contented state often seen in canines after a particularly pleasant day. Having shared his delightfully insightful discovery with his friends, he thereupon named the feeling 'fat dog'.

Now, to be truthful, I'm not sure this is how it actually started. But suffice it to say, sometimes you have literary license. The point is, my friends, that 'fat dog' is a wonderful term for the way we all feel when we have eaten well, feel safe, warm, and content, have nothing to do for several hours, and can now simply slip into the peace which eludes us so often. Buddhist monks may term this 'nirvana' but I am not a Buddhist monk and so 'fat dog' feels more appropriate. If Buddhist monks had fat dogs, they might have renamed their quest for oneness with the universe. Dogs, after all, seem remarkably centered. It is only their owners who have neurosis. There may be one or two out there who seem a bit helter-skelter but likely they have adopted such quirks out of a sense of loyalty to their two-leggeds. Regardless, 'fat dog' is a wonderful term which is surprisingly versatile.

"I was fat dogging just last Wednesday after tea when...". Or, if you are American, 'I was fat doggin' it after lunch."
"Where were you this afternoon?" "In the atrium, just enjoying a bit of fat doggery."
"I feel everlastingly fat dog after that meal, dear." "Oh John, you are so kind; it only took fourteen hours to prepare that seven course meal, but thank you."

Now these hypothetical conversations are just a drop in the bucket to the many ways you can use this term. And if you ever run into the occasion where you are, perhaps fat dog to the nth degree (as I and a friend were once in NYC after a particularly delicious but terribly waist-expanding meal) you could always say you were 'fat horsing' it or, for toppers, feeling 'fat dinosaur' (although without further scientific study, we cannot positively state that there was ever such a thing as a fat dinosaur).

But, whatever your preference, enjoy the holiday weekend, eat lots of leftovers, and find a quiet, warm place where you can 'fat dog' to your heart's content.

We Regret to Inform You

This just in...NO global warming. That's right. After years of spouting about the evils of capitalism and America in general because we were giving the earth a fever which would lead to the annihilation of life as we know it, it turns out that this is, awkwardly enough for a whole bunch of people in general and Al Gore in particular, not true.

I'd be feeling a bit embarrassed right now if I were him. Meat-eaters cause more greenhouse gas emissions than the average American (Al Gore, perhaps tofurkey this holiday? Or, maybe just turn out some lights in your house which uses up more energy than some countries.) Turns out, scientists have been trying to get the truth out for awhile and have been consistently suppressed by some very powerful people in government. For more information, look at the Wall Street Journal, which recently cracked the story or Fox News.

Anyone feel like we just fell in to the middle of 1984, minus the rats? Apparently, the federal government (read certain people in positions of power) recently decided that scientists should no longer publish scientific papers which disagree with their opinions. The underlying foundation upon which all science is based (the law of reason and neutral research)is being targeted by those who would suppress all research and all discovery unless it is used to bolster opinions and beliefs that apparently can't be bolstered by something as trivial as, say, the TRUTH. (the motto of the entire federal government these days seems to be "You can't HANDLE the truth".) Strangely enough, (sarcasm there) this is exactly how dictators run their countries.

I'm going to make a prediction. No, I am not clairvoyant. I do not have "the second sight" as Professor Trelawney of Hogworts claims to have, though I must admit that it does feel a bit like Umbridge just took over the school (yes, I just finished The Order of the Phoenix after reading until 5:30am). My prediction comes because it is the inevitable step in the developing pattern. Throughout the history of civilization certain cycles have repeated themselves over and over again. It is therefore with some dreaded certaintly that I can say what I do now.

The government is not listening to the people's voices. Though people first thought that if we only spoke louder, or with more voices, or with better data, we could show the government that the majority do not want what they are doing, we have seen a consistent pattern of absolute and total disregard of the American people over the last several years. It has become apparent that they are no longer listening to our voices. Now people are using their votes. And the government seems to want that stopped as well (trying to extend legally mandated term limits, voter registration fraud, perhaps planning for 'crisis' to eliminate civil liberties such as voting altogether). I predict that unless the government realizes that it is, in fact, "By the people, OF the people, and FOR the people" that you will begin to see acts of civil disobedience because of Americans' frustration, anger, and determination to turn things around. Some Americans won't know what to believe. Others will give up. Some will join with the body in power and will, in fact, help suppress others (Inquisitor Malfoy anyone? We see this already occuring). And others, in an Order of the Phoenix moment, will decide that they will not sit idly by while truth is suppressed and those who say it are removed or smeared. They will create secret Harry Potteresque D.A. meetings to teach people what our civil liberties are and how to use the laws to fight back, take a more active approach magicking a swamp down one of the halls, or openly denounce the system and "give her hell, Peeves". They will fight in the only way they feel is still left open to them.

I hope that day doesn't come. I hope that the government will listen to the people again. But if the current trend continues this seems unlikely. At that point, each person will have to look very carefully into their own mind and heart and make a decision, knowing that there WILL be consequences to whatever choice they make. On this holiday, God Bless America, God bless us all, and may we be worthy of that blessing for many years to come.

You may now return to your regularly scheduled non-rant blog.

Hippo's Hero Moment

A few people have mentioned (okay, just one) that they don't think of themselves as 'heroes'. They're 'just sidekick material.' This led me to ponder about the true meaning of heroes, the role of sidekicks, how good chocolate cake is. (Sometimes my thoughts wander.) Here's my conclusion: everyone's a hero and a sidekick. Depends on the adventure. Even Batman has been a sidekick. This is the Justice League's way of keeping us all humble. The trick is to learn if this is YOUR adventure or someone else's (i.e. am I back-up support or is this my responsibility to save the population?).

Let me illustrate my point with a little story about Hippo. Hippo is usually Stars the Mighty's sidekick (one of many). He is eight inches long, four inches tall and a beautiful pink. He has long eyelashes, bright pink toenails, and yellow ears. He has a big heart and lots of giggles. Lots of giggles. All the time in fact. Giggling is actually Hippo's super power. Once he starts, it's hard for anyone not to join in. Even bad guys forget to take over the world when they are laughing with Hippo. He's just that much fun. But the story of Hippo's giggle is a story for another day. Today, I want to tell of the time when Hippo Saved Ducky. Perhaps I should let Stars the Mighty tell you the story. (And yes, he does tend to tell his stories in third person. Heroes do that sometimes.)

Stars was sitting in his Den of Solitude and he realized Hippo was not giggling. "Hippo, why are you not giggling?" And Hippo said "Because you are sitting on Ducky." And Stars went *gasp* and jumped right up. And Stars asked, "Are you okay Ducky, do you need mouth to mouth?". And Ducky said "yes" and then Ducky's little voice was heard "thank you Hippo". And Stars gave Ducky kisses and he gave Hippo kisses and Hippo started giggling again. The End.

So there you have it, ladies and gents. Everyone can be a hero to someone. And giggles and kisses are always welcome. ;)

Stained Glass Cookies

Saturday: the bake sale. I will be selling chocolate cake and painted cookies. You use evaporated milk with food coloring as the 'paint' and they look like stained glass cookies. If stained glass became edible.

I have never participated in a bake sale before. I'm pretty excited. Except for the fact that I'm kind've a germophobe. Think about it. You are eating food that complete strangers cooked. They could lick the bowl. They could lick their fingers. They could, in fact, lick the bowl with their licked fingers. "Ew! Gross!" (The Truman Show) This does not even begin to cover the other things that could be in their kitchen. Dirt. Hair. Cockroaches.

It's only because I've lived in NYC that I know the depths of disgust-i-ness that a kitchen can sink to. I have two 'all-time most disgusting kitchens' that I either 1) ate food from or 2) helped to clean. Incidentally, both were in Staten Island (though this should, in no way, be read as an indictment against Staten Island's generally clean reputation).

The runner-up was a home filled with garbage. Literally filled with garbage. This lady never threw anything away. Not coupons. Not receipts. Not bubble-gum wrappers or empty bottles. Weird. We would clean it all up (after she requested we sort it) and then, the very next week, we would return to find out she had pulled it all back out. Her kitchen was filled with maggots, cockroaches, and dirty dishes. She cooked food for us too. I once ate fried rice (actually not bad) watching cockroaches crawl around our plates and, yes, a small one come FROM our plates. I am amazed that I survived NYC intact.

The number one kitchen also had cockroaches everywhere. Thousands of them. Millions of them. Whole family clans which had longstanding feuds with other cockroach clans. They were in the fridge (better air-conditioning I suppose), in the cupboards between plates, in the pan of long-term grease sitting on the back burner of the stove. They were even on the ceiling where they cleverly sky-bombed down on top of us as we tried to clean. I swear I saw some of them with little parachute packs and black ski-masks. When cockroaches go commando. (I think there was a movie about this once.)

We survived. And after several years of intense therapy I no longer involuntarily shudder when I see cockroaches in ninja-wear. Perhaps I should offer them cookies. I'll see what the therapist thinks. ;)

True Bravery

"Dumbledore raised his hand. The room gradually fell silent. 'There are all kinds of courage,' said Dumbledore, smiling. 'It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom.'" (p306, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling)

Today, I read a letter my friend submitted to The Daily Universe, a campus newspaper at the University she attends. Now this particular friend has never been one to shy away from speaking truth and I respect her for this. But today, I think she went above and beyond. She took a stand for her beliefs and she did it without the safety of a costume, an anonymous blog, or a secret identity. She put her name to it for all the world to read. Just as our founding fathers did. And that takes bravery. I'm not sure if you are aware of what happened to those that signed the Declaration of Independence. Their lives were not pleasant or easy after that fateful decision. When they pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honour, they did just that. Most of them lost their lives and their fortunes. But because of their courage and integrity, I believe they never lost their sacred honour.

Her letter decried a certain book series which, although very popular amongst women and young women in particular, promotes unhealthy relationships and is, according to the legal and moral definition, pornography. This is especially disheartening considering the author's religious background, which consistently and repeatedly denounces pornography or anything like it. It is also disturbing because of the author's intended audience.

I do not believe my friend opposes or dislikes the people who read those books. In a sense, she is standing up to friends, the way a true friend would. A true friend reminds us of the very best of who we are and the world we live in. A true friend is the best kind of sidekick you could ever have. And that is why it was Mr. Longbottom's points that won the House Cup for Gryffendor despite the acts of bravery performed by Harry, Hermione, and Ron. As Galadriel from LOTR stated "even the smallest person can change the course of the world." You just have to bravely take a stand.

Wailing for Waffles

This just in...buy your eggos while you can. According to a recent article on Money Central, Kelloggs is facing a waffle shortage. Two factors are forcing the public to 'leggo the eggo'. The first, flooding in a bakery in Atlanta, Georgia. The second, repairs to their largest waffle bakery in Rossville, Tennessee. Apparently, Kelloggs is going to have to 'gasp' RATION.

Now I've never been a big fan of frozen pastries or breakfast of any kind (unless it comes frozen and someone else puts it together a la McD's sausage egg mcmuffin) but this just seems like a sad commentary of our current world crisis. Kind've like when Christopher Reeves passed away and Kenny Rogers sang a song about how "we even lost Superman."

But rather than decry the politicians or government or Mother Nature for what is a sad predicament, I'd like to focus on the silver lining. Krusteaux and Bisquick. These two companies should be feeling a small sense of relief, as should everyone who believes in homemade waffles. And by homemade, I mean the kind from a box made at home, not from ingredients you mix by hand, which is called 'scratch'. If I wanted to 'scratch' for food, I'd be a chicken.

My favorite waffle? Less important than the shape. It's gotta be square. How else can butter so perfectly enter each and every square? What else but a square waffle allows you to move the syrup bottle back and forth and fill in each little indent with a small pool of maple-y goodness? Nothing but a square my friend.

I once debated this point. My opponent argued for the Belgian. Sure, a round waffle on a round plate has a certain sense of being one with the universe, but this should only be considered a legitimate argument by intellectuals who read books like Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and stare at art which is 'so esoteric'. Come on. Let's be real. You have a fork. You have a knife. You cut in straight lines. Every piece is equal. The way George Washington intended. Our founding fathers would be proud. Viva la galleta cuadrada!

The City That Never Sleeps

New York City. The Big Apple. The City That Never Sleeps. And why is that, exactly? I've spent some time thinking about it. I've got a theory. It has to do with the mattresses. And in a nod to appellate lawyers everywhere, I believe New Yorkers can't sleep for the following three reasons: mattress shortage, bedbugs, and wrong kind of mattress.

First: mattress shortage. It's a big city. There's a mattress shortage going on. I've lived there twice. I've never seen a mattress store. Ever. You have to know someone. I'm picturing secret deals made by desperate newcomers in the back alley. Organized crime? Please. This city has bigger problems.

Second: bedbugs. As a kid we all heard the refrain: "Good night. Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite. If they do, get a shoe, beat 'em 'til they're black and blue." It's not quite as proactive as I'd recommend, but it is justice. You do the crime, you do the time. Still, it didn't mean much. Until I lived in Queens for awhile, renting a furnished apartment. Yes, Sarah, there really are bedbugs. And these little guys could be the reason no one sleeps. They live on the bottom of your mattress. And they are crafty. Think squirrels. But buglike.

The third reason I believe mattresses are the problem comes down to the mattress used. Just imagine if New Yorkers had tempurpedic ones. I've seen the commercials. You sleep. Your partner jumps up and down on the bed to see if a wine glass spills. (Why are they doing this, exactly?) No matter, you're still sleeping. This could be the answer to grumpy cabbies. But then again, this could increase crime rates. Someone breaks in to your apartment, and now that dogs over 40 lbs are banned from the city, you'll sleep right through the burglary. The robber could even come in, eat your food, sleep in your bed a la Goldlilocks, steal your stuff and get out before you know it. But you probably wouldn't mind b/c you're well rested. And well-rested people are happy people. But still. Can you imagine a New Yorker waking up next to someone they didn't even know? Oh...wait.

So, maybe that's why it's the City That Never Sleeps. ;)

Hollywood's Hayley Mills Connection

Two nights ago, my family saw 2012. In case you've been under a rock for years, 2012 is the date the world as we know it will end. Courtesy of a Mayan prophecy predicting 12/21/12 as the end. After watching all 2 1/2 hours of almost total annihilation, I have come to realize a few things (Spoiler Alert).

The one I'll share today is that Hollywood is in love with Hayley Mills. More specifically, Hollywood has never kicked the idea of The Parent Trap. You remember this movie? Two girls meet up at camp. After much shock and consternation that they look EXACTLY alike, they realize they are twins. Their parents are divorced and one or both have found someone new. But deep down, maybe really deep down, the parents are still in love with each other. After some pretty crazy shenanigans or situations, they ultimately get back together to have that perfect family. And yes, the S.O. (significant other) dies in an act of self-sacrifice.

Okay, that last part wasn't exactly how The Parent Trap ended, but take out the cute song 'Yeah, yeah yeah', throw in the apocolypse, evil government conspiracies, and a survival plan that could ONLY work in the movies, and it would have.

Here's what I've learned. If you hope to survive the impending doom our country is, per the Mayans, headed toward, then you need to be a part of the following:
1. Divorce. This is the number one quality for survival potential. Married couples only survive in disaster movies that involve a part of a country. If it's the whole world, as a past contestant of a fashion reality show said, "I'm in, you're out." You're an S.O.? Depends. Was he about to propose? Congrats! You're going to make it. Have the ring? Trade it in for a coffin from Walmart. You aren't going to make it. (Yes, they sell coffins online--top price--$8000.).
2. Divorce and your ex's new S.O. has minimal talent in something that can save your life. 'Oh, honey, my new boyfriend has taken a few flying lessons.' Watch how he flies a small aircraft through California's skyscrapers collapsing and Yellowstone exploding and a HUGE Russian plane through crumbling Paris and China's mountains. Whether it's driving some kind of vehicle the average person can't, or having strange connections to someone with tickets to Noah's arc, this is critical.
3. Divorce and your ex meets breadcrumbers and/or has military survival skills. Have you noticed this one? Oddly enough, your ex is always the one who can...shoot a rocket launcher; hotwire a car; turn a piece of metal, a tub, and electricity into an ozonator to give you fresh water. And if he/she happens to somehow have a connection to a nutjob who helps him put together all the little crumbs (i.e. the breadcrumbers)...you just might have the makings of survival.
4. Divorce but your ex still loves you. The marriage didn't end b/c of money, cheating, abuse, or general jerkiness. You two are, in fact, amazingly decent people. The kind of people everyone else roots for, despite impossible odds and the fact that everyone else (along with La Casa Blanca) is being swept away by a tidalwave.

Which means that, yes, you guessed it. Somehow, you will survive. Your S.O. won't. But that's okay. Because in the end, your daughter, age 7, has finally learned to sleep without a fear of wetting the bed. And that's the chirpy optimism Hayley Mills' movies were known for. Guess Hollywood isn't cynical after all.

Molasses Flood

Did you hear of this? Apparently, there was a town that had a flood of...molasses. Yes, that's right. Sticky, brown molasses. The stuff you put in, say, molasses cookies. This fascinates me. I feel like I somehow wandered in to a Powerpuff Girls' episode. Hmm. I must investigate further.

Cookie anyone?

Jury Duty

Yes! Finally, after years and years of waiting, I have been called to jury duty. In law school (Yes, my secret identity is attorney. No one would suspect an attorney of being on the Forces of Good.) Anyway, in law school I was told that I would never be called to jury duty. For some reason, lawyers don't like other lawyers evaluating their case. Hmmm. I wonder why. ;)

And for years, it was true. I mysteriously never received a call for jury duty. But at long last I have. Unfortunately, it's for a town I don't actually live in (my parents' address). So, we'll see what happens.

I know a lot of people complain about jury duty, but for those of you looking for a job think of it this way...you get paid. They made a movie about that once. Also, this is part of being a superhero. Everyone is innocent until proven guilty. Never go into a situation assuming the worst of a person. Give them a chance. Look for the evidence. Just like on a date. Everything you need to know about a person they usually reveal in the first 30 minutes of the date. Have you ever noticed this? It's just that most of us don't pay attention. We're too nervous about how to cut salad or what item to choose. Not that jury duty is like dating. (Except that it is. I'll leave you to think about the reasoning behind that.)

What the...Fork?

You remember that tv series Eerie, Indiana? A teenage boy lives in a town where, well, 'eerie' things happen. There's an episode with a mom who lives in her foreverware house. (Think tupperware but with the added bonus of making the product never age unless not sealed properly.) Or the episode where a kid gets braces and some massive headgear allowing him to overhear dog thoughts. (He was later killed by the dogs b/c he learned they were trying to take over the world. I personally think they had, themselves, been brainwashed by squirrels, but I digress.)

I am a bit convinced that my town is like that. Except it would be called Random, Oregon. Today while walking to the mail I saw a fork sticking out of a metal pipe on the side of a tavern. Who does this? I mean, granted, I often walk around the main streets of my town with a plate full of delicious grub and think 'oh, if only I had a fork to eat this with....' Apparently, some genius bypassed this problem by simply putting forks in random metal pipes throughout town.

The next random thing I saw was a whirligig. You know how in the summertime people put these sticks in their yard that spin in the wind? Well, this one was shaped like a fish. The tail was the whirligig part. And it was conveniently situated so as to nearly take out the eye of anyone between 5'4" and 5'7" using the sidewalk by the petstore. Why does a petstore have a whirligig anyway? (And has anyone considered the liability issues on this? Call my secret identity Attorney Girl but someone may want to rethink this one.)

Three blocks past the post office and down an alley I find an orange, used, cement mixer in someone's front yard filled entirely with gravel rocks. Hmm. Two blocks past that I find a clown car painted black and cleverly renamed "smart" by the auto industry. (Hey Wallstreet, Barnum and Bailey just called, they want their clown cars back.)

So let's recap. A fork. A fish whirligig. An orange cement mixer. A clown car (er, "smart" car). I know. You see it too, don't you? The makings of a really great B movie. The kind where the evil genius has initiated the final countdown to total annihilation of the planet; the plan "elegant in its sheer simplicity" (nod to The Middleman). The heroes of our show running down center street trying to save the day.

"What we REALLY need is a Turnorathromeiter."
"But we don't have the means to make it."
"You're right. If only we had a fork, a fish whirligig, and an orange cement mixer."
"Wait. I think I saw a fork sticking out of a random metal pipe on the side of Longfellows Tavern." Moments later they've assembled all they need. But how to get it back to the hero lab? Ahh. Thank goodness. A clown car parked right here, right where we need it most. After loading up the fork, the fishspinner, and the orange cement mixer, our professor jumps in the driver's seat. Everyone else has to make their own way back. This is, after all, a very tiny car. But luckily for us, this is the moment where the superhero finally discovers (with 1/2 hour left of the show) that they can 1. run faster than a speeding bullet 2. fly 3. teleport or 4. stick out their thumb and get a taxi (in which case, they are not the superhero after all, but merely conducive to furthering the plot and will probably sacrifice themselves so the superhero and true love can be together in the end). This saves the day and allows for a follow-up movie played by all new actors, exploring the superhero's angst at discovering they are, in fact, a superhero.

Something to think about while I go grab that fork. I've got a plateful of sushi.

And the award goes to...

(suspenseful drum roll) JODI BROWN!!! The winner of the Hero Award is Jodi Brown, with her family and friends winning the Sidekick Award. For those in the audience who don't know what the Hero and Sidekick awards are, let's give a little background explanation. (Cue musical montage...) Oops. We only have a musical montage for why squirrels are evil and rule the world. That and some video for Scooby Doo 3. Squirrels really ARE evil!

Well then, I'll just have to explain instead. First, we must go to the infallable, and ever unflappable, Mr. Webster. Or, in this instance, Merriam-Webster. (I am resisting the urge to make a joke about the hyphenation of a dictionary.) The word 'hero' dates back to the 14th century. Latin heros, Greek heros with little lines over the e and o. Tragically, I do not have a Grecian alphabet on my keyboard. Tear trickle. There are about 7 definitions. I have chosen the ones that suit my purposes, of course. 1c: a man admired for his achievements and noble qualities d : one that shows great courage. (Hippo would like me to point out that a hero doesn't just have to be a man. A hero can be a woman or even a hippo. This is a very valid point. Thank you Hippo.)

'Super' means of high grade or quality. So, super + hero = someone admired for his/her quality achievements and high grade nobility or one that shows high grade courage. Heroes are those who face their arch nemesis, their own personal weakness, the evil villain of the week who is not their arch nemesis, and earth's quite regular teetering on the edge of total disaster with courage and pluck. They don't give up when everyone else is screaming in terror or deciding that the Evil Villain Health Care Package looks good enough to join (admittedly, the high-collared cape gets people too). Heroes recognize that life will have some difficult moments but they face them anyway.

And a sidekick? Starting in 1906, a sidekick was "someone who closely associates with another as a subordinate or partner." A sidekick isn't the one going through the same trial as the hero (i.e. they aren't going to die from a kryptonite tennis bracelet). Their challenge is to support the hero and help the hero successfully face the trial.

So why Jodi Brown and her family and friends? Check out this week's The Veeda Weekly blog. Read her Momterview and you'll know. Kate Braestrup (author of Marriage and Other Acts of Charity) said: "It is a brave thing to try to love at all, let alone completely and always. It is a brave thing--and yet it is the only thing." Jodi Brown's story is an example of love, bravery, and daily endurance. (The chair idea is also really cool and I look forward to passing it on or using it as needed.) So thank you The Veeda Weekly. (Our own Daily Planet perhaps???)

Tell me what you think. Do you know someone who should be given a Hero or Sidekick Award? Email me or post a comment!

Until next time remember, Face your trials with courage and remove your cape while mowing lawns. Even if it's your job, worker's comp claims only pay 66%.

Dreams

Sunday morning in the fall. The day you want to wake up gently, look out the window dreamily, lay back in bed for five minutes, and then start your day. Didn't happen. Instead, I found myself waking up dazed at my incredibly weird dream. Could be that I couldn't sleep last night until around 3am. Could be that I recently watched several episodes of a tv series (now cancelled--no surprise) and ended on the episode with the vampire ventriliquist dummies. (So many things wrong with that!)

Regardless, in my dream they were going to turn Patricia Brigg's "Preying for Mercy" book into a t.v. series and I was going to be on it. But realistically, I told myself, I couldn't be one of the werewolves. I'd be a bit tiny. Who'd fear that? "Ooh, what a cute little wolf. She's so sweet. Who wants the bone?" Grrrr. Just thinking about it would get someone's hackles up. If they had hackles. So, no, not a werewolf. But there are only so many characters a show can focus on.

And of course, because it was my dream I was absolutely certain I'd be a main character. (Could this be a mental echo from setting up a blog or getting on facebook? Deep down you must be at least a little narcissistic if you think someone wants to actually read what you have to say each week.) This leaves vampires. But even in my dream, I knew I'm not the vampire type. I mean besides the fair skin. Otherwise...uberbeautiful in an exotic, runway model sort've way? Nope. Super tall? Nope. Accent? Nope. Not unless you count the occasional slip into the weird blend of east coast/west coast/Rocky Mountain states that I have going. Oh well. It's a dream. Go with it.

I was going to be a vampire. Not just any vampire. THE head vampire. And because in the dream her character had a brother and in real life I have a brother, in my dream I thought, 'Great, my brother can play that character and we'll actually look like brother and sister.' (I didn't notice my dad shaving his mustache off, but I did think of this. My logic is spotty today at best.)

I can't tell you what happened from there because the dream shifted after that. I was late for a movie. It was 8:15pm. I still hadn't changed. But, at least I had almost located mascara. (Weird the dreams you have as the economy continues to tumble. Am I subconsciously concerned with shortages? I AM almost out of mascara.) I'd gone across the street to where Cougar Dental used to be located south of campus to two different salons. The first had no black mascara. It did have glittery mascara. White glitter. Blue glitter. Light brown glitter. Blonde glitter. And my eyelashes were strangely about 1 1/2 inches long. I asked about black glitter mascara. Nope. But I knew they were going to take that idea and make millions. The second salon had nothing. I turned back, almost frantic, and made my way back to my second story apartment. And there, at the base of the spiral, wooden staircase was another small store. It had mascara for $1.85. I ran up the stairs to get cash and that's when I realized it was 8:15pm and I still hadn't changed my clothes or put the mascara on. Then I woke up.

No wonder I have a headache.

Getting Started

Girl America here! Stars the Mighty and I just flew through to drop off some applications. As you may have heard, we're putting together a team, the Forces of Good. And because every Superhero has some Rules Incarnate that can never be violated, here at Sidekicks Wanted we have a few rules too.
1. No Profanity or vulgarity. We are, after all, the good guys. As in Christopher Reeves' Superman/Clark Kent kind of good guys. Keep it G-rated or keep it out.
2. Never reveal my secret identity, or yours for that matter (beyond your initial application in). Just think of all the trouble people get into once they learn who's friends with the girl in the cool outfit.
3. Take serious stuff seriously. Giggle at all the rest. (Yes, thank you Hippo, very astute of you.) I'm not a philosopher. I'm a superhero. There's a difference. I may discuss world peace. I may discuss striped socks. (I may even argue how striped socks lead to world peace. Which they do. But that is a blog of a different day.)
4. You are always welcome here, unless you serve the Evil Squirrels. Then, of course, we will chase you out. And probably not give you any cheese. (For more information on the evilness of squirrels, see www.evilsquirrelsruletheworld.com/blog/ .)

To apply for a position, send me a brief bio indicating your backstory and your powers, include why you want to be one of the Forces of Good and your philosophy on helping humanity. And don't forget to specify which position you are applying for.

Finally, thank you Rat Child and Dr. Thumbs--my boots really sparkle! (And somewhere, a girl from Kansas and a green faced lady with a broom sigh in envy. Hahaha.)

Toto, let go of my foot.