beancounters

Jiggy? Meh

Me: I have a problem, I think. The internet isn't funny to me anymore.

Bunny: What things on the internet?

Me: I mean the entire internet. It isn't as funny as it used to be. I mean, everyone's passing around this kittens by kittens video, saying it's hilarious, and your dad and I watched it this morning, and all we could say was 'meh.'

BB: Meh?

Me: You know. It was just so-so. Meh.

BB: Meh.

Bunny: Oh my god! You're saying it wrong.

Me: How do you say it?

BB: Meh.

Me: Meh.

BB: Meh.

Bunny: You're just - it's just wrong.

Me: Okay, pronounce 'meh' for us.

Bunny: ...

Me: Really. We want to know. How is it pronounced?

BB: Let's hear it. We'll get a tape recorder.

Bunny: A tape recorder?! Oh my god!

[BB and I walk away, shamed out of her presence]

Me: You and I are just not jiggy enough for her.

Bunny: OH MY GOD

Feliz December 10

Christmas makes me a wild-eyed stress monster, and it always has. I don't think about the days leading up to Christmas logically, in terms of to-do lists, pleasurable tasks and nice family events. I resist all things associated with the holidays, and blow up when faced with something that ought to be done. I'm so predictable, in fact, that you could set your calendar by me.

For instance, it's December 10, right? Today is traditionally the day I wonder if I will really bother to mail Christmas cards this year. I celebrate December 10 by getting on the phone and picking a fight with my husband. It goes a lot like this:

Me: It's just that there's so much to do at Christmas. I'm so stressed, and you don't even know.

BB: Like what, sweetheart? 

Me: Like, how about the Christmas cards? I wonder if they'll even get out this year. I wonder if you even thought about Christmas cards this year.

BB: I did think about Christmas cards.

Me: But you never thought about just doing them, did you? Huh?

BB: I thought about asking you how you wanted to handle --

Me: SEE? It's always all on ME!

At this point, having already experienced 20 Christmases as my husband, BB shifts the conversation with practiced ease to a less volatile topic, like Prop 8 or Zimbabwe.

Tonight, at his insistance, we will get out the cards and gather 'round the kitchen table to sign and address them. We will close December 10 with the traditional stamping o' th' mailers and a friendly game of Hide The Wyndham Hill Christmas Albums.

Thanks for the laughs

(No chickens, ducks, pigs, goats, stoats or geese were harmed in the making of this main dish.)

Check in here for a list of dirty things you can say in front of your grandma on Thanksgiving.

More contributions from Twitter:

@santaispissed The elves are stuffing the turkey and singing "John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt." I am cleaning the guns.

@thelordyourgod THOU MAYST THINK THE TRYPTOPHAN-SLEEP THING IS A MYTH, BUT THE LORD YOUR GOD THINKS NOT. AND REALLY, IT'S ALL ABOUT WHAT HE THINKS ANYWAY

And in case you missed it, the whole country got rick rolled at the Macy's Day Parade. The internet is over.

Happy Thanksgiving, blog folk!

Tales and teeth from suburbia

What's been happening lately in the world of Pam? Primarily attempting to get a new water heater installed. It's been eight days! Last Friday, the floor model water heater we bought was installed, but when it came time for the pilot light to ignite -- eh, not so much. Sears wouldn't consider replacing the defective heater unless a Sears technician came over -- the following Tuesday.

Now, here's what's weird about that. The installer identified the defective part. Couldn't Sears have worked with that guy to decide the fate of the heater? Instead, they sent another tech, who BTW took his own sweet time meandering over to the vicinity of our house on Tuesday, thank you very much. The second guy charged Sears another $132 just to confirm what the first guy had said.

With the blessings of the second guy, I finally went to Sears and had them do an exchange on the heater for a brand-new model. The first installer came back today and swapped out the heaters - charging Sears for the labor. When all is said and done, I'm out a few hours and Sears is out I'd say $500. That's not even mentioning the insultingly faux-polite yet frustratingly unhelpful phone service I got from the national service center. I'm still trying to sublimate that particular memory. In this day and age, you might want to rethink the Sears stock in your portfolio.

In other news, our dog Sammy got his teeth cleaned. As his third owners of record, we're not surprised nobody ever brushed his teeth before we got him. But by the time we did, our brushing efforts didn't counteract his dental problems.

He's still a little groggy after yesterday. Also, he is disgusted with us all and has written more than one person off his Christmas card list.

One more thing, which I submit to you as a blatant misuse of digital technology: the veterinarian sent us home with full-color pictures of his yucky, plaque-ridden teeth. Maybe it's a helpful visual to some, but couldn't I have opted instead for a nice, friendly essay? A letter? A telegram?

(I won't show you the grungy teeth today, but if you people don't start leaving more comments on my blog, I'll post them for Friday Dog-Blogging.)

Brr

Does life know when you're a little money ahead? Because within days of this fortuitous circumstance, our water heater went out, for good.

BB will do what he's paid for - he will wade in amongst the male sales staff that line the basement of the Sears in Citrus Heights, buy a new water heater & arrange to have it installed.

Meanwhile, there's a small matter of getting clean. Boy, I hate cold showers.

Update: advice from a Twitter friend (because I've been bitching on many social platforms today)

Navy shower: one limb at a time, turn water off between limb washing/rinsing. Shiver. Repeat. Coffee.

Spatially oriented

My whole family's been playing Fantastic Contraption since I put up the link on Saturday. Heard the music coming from BB's computer, but I'm not sure what level he's on. Bunny just came in to get some advice on level 11 (Mission to Mars), while I've been working on (and having nightmares about) level 14 (Four Balls). It's obvious I must create some kind of water wheel-looking engine, but how?

I'm not that good with these spatial relations puzzles. Well, I'm pretty good, but I get crazy-impatient after a short while and I just guess at the answer, hoping my intuition was working behind the scenes to get the answer right.

I remember in high school, taking the ASVAB proficiency test. Every senior had to take it at my school. (Or was it voluntary? I can't remember. All I remember is that I had no intention of going into the Army, so I didn't devote the same level of care to it that I had to, say, the SATs.)

Things were going swimmingly - math, grammar, etc - until we got to the spatial relations section. Here, you were shown a complex shape, and had to fill in the Scantron bubble for whichever shape - A, B, C, or D - was the exact same figure turned in another direction. I played along for the first few questions. Then I got crazy-impatient, closed the test and arbitrarily filled in the rest of the Scantron bubbles with A,B,C,D,A,B,C,D, etc.

It was an unusually reckless thing for me to do. I was kind of proud of myself, and hoped that my pathetic score of 25% on the spatial relations test would make me too bad a prospect for the Army. Ha-ha!

Isn't that the dog's breakfast

Good morning - or so I'm told. I'm not sleeping well, which I've decided to attribute to the summer heat and not to darker forces.

By contrast, the dogs have been up early and have already completed their arduous morning routine. They get up at six and go outside, sometimes barking at the fence to threaten the same dogs they've been threatening for five solid years. Pleased with themselves, they roll back inside just when BB or I am making coffee, and mill around the feet until they are given one dog biscuit apiece. Daisy eats hers on the rug; Sammy takes his outside again so that, if Daisy tries to grab his, he can see her coming. Then they regroup to find the other adult. They pester, cajole, and herd that person into the kitchen from wherever he/she is, so they may be given more dog biscuits. Replete and happy, they knock off for the morning.

Daisy's favorite sleeping spot is under the couch, which is only accessible from the back. For obvious reasons, I can't take a picture of it.

Here's Sammy's favorite spot - the dog bed next to my desk chair.

He looks like a cross-section of a dog fetus, already harnessed in utero. Weird. And on that note - I'm outta here.

Bring forth the cheerful accused

Monday morning. What a terrible idea. Whose idea was this, anyway? Have that person brought before our tribunal immediately.

BTW, who wants to be on the Monday tribunal? I got two slots left.

All I did this weekend was sleep. This is almost literally true. Sleep, and shop for groceries at a warehouse store which was named "WinCo" but should have been named "Economies of Scale". I shopped, paid for the stuff, bagged my own stuff (which I hate because I always think the cashiers despise me for taking so long), brought it all home and put it away. And then went back to sleep.

If I took Mental Floss's What animal are you? quiz, I'd probably find out I'm a two-toed sloth. How did you rate? Your answer may help you secure a slot on the Monday tribunal.

Change of guard, change of grade

I can't believe it's Friday already. Hasn't it been quiet on the blog this week? Mornings, when I normally post, have been hectic and fraught with drama.

For one thing, it's the first week of school for our seventh grader. That means three showers must be taken between 5:50 and 7:10 - and that means we must time the bathroom usage down to the minute. When I'm not using my allotted bathroom minutes, I'm resisting the urge to pack my baby's lunch, pick a cute li'l dress and matchy shoes for her to wear, and fuss with her schoolbag. She practically has to threaten bodily harm to keep me the hell out of her stuff.

This is also the week my new boss took command. Have I mentioned my new boss? No? We will start by naming her ... Newboss. Yesssss. Old boss - him what hired me originally, and gave me a false sense of optimism in a government gone mad with state budget fever - suddenly leaped up and applied for a lot of jobs at other agencies, then accepted the first offer he received, and transferred. Transferred so fast, not even Mr. Roark and Tattoo would've had time to wave good-bye.

Now, I'm in a weird position. First, old boss really trash-talked Newboss when they were coworkers. And though I reflexively ignored 99% of what he said, of course, that 1% that stuck inside my head is hard to shake. Secondly, everything about my job is exactly the same, except I have to meet all new criteria, and I'm not sure what that is yet.

Alternative employment

If the economy ever really fails, and/or if Arnold gets his way, I think I could make a living as a pet psychic.

After all, there will still be rich people in the area. They will be in need of somebody to help them spend their money. And the pets I've known have usually been willing to perk up a bit for a 15% cut.

Golden Gate-apalooza

Golden Gate
Originally uploaded by beancounter

California Adventure is a more recent addition to Disney. It's dedicated to two things: the California of misty legend, and the more recent Disney movies and TV show tie-ins.

We visited CA Adventure on our 3rd day, so we were beginning to show signs of ride-fatigue. Otherwise some of us would have checked out the roller coaster and the Ferris wheel. As it is, we were content to walk/ride around and experience a meta-view of the state. We traveled through a movie set, saluted the military/industrial complex, then hit a redwood forest, took a left at the San Francisco Victorians, and ate lunch in a cantina, serenaded by a high school mariachi band.

Between the two parks is a huge expanse of concrete acreage that looks like a no-man's land. To keep people's attention - or maybe to keep them from congregating there for very long - Disney blasts heroic theme music at something like 120 db. So as you're leaving CA Adventure and walking (briskly! briskly!) toward the Disneyland entrance, you feel like Indiana Jones making a daring escape.

It wouldn't surprise me if, ultimately, CA Adventure is formally folded into Disneyland proper, instead of being billed as a separate park. It's great-looking, but not enough of an attraction to stand on its own.

Our second home

Our second home
Originally uploaded by beancounter

We've been back since Monday night, but had to jump right back into the work routine. This morning I am finally uploading some photos from our trip and will share 'em 'round very soon.

I would, however, like to show you a photo of what became our second home at Disneyland - Haunted Mansion. We went on this ride maybe a half a dozen times in the 2 1/2 days we were there. I kept steering BB and Bunny toward it as we walked through New Orleans Square on the way to Frontierland. Or else I would bargain my way in - "I will go with you on Splash Mountain again if you'll swing through Haunted Mansion with me after."

I'm happy to report that Haunted Mansion has undergone almost no changes in the years. It's still as animatronically cheesy as I remember it! Unlike 'Pirates of the Caribbean', which has been almost completely cannibalized and revamped to match the movies. Thank goodness Disney's movie of 'Haunted Mansion' was such a bomb. Otherwise there might have been dreadful animatronic Eddie Murphys staring at me throughout my favorite ride.

Blocks o' fun

How was your Fourth of July? We hosted a block party on Friday night. Weren't sure how many to expect. When we informed our neighbors a few weeks ahead, they'd make noises of interest but mentally pencil us in as Plan B for their holiday weekend. Plan A would invariably involve somebody's brother in-law's kegger up in Rio Linda, complete with firearms, alcohol, and bottle rockets. There was no way we could compete with such excess of riches, so we would just smile and leave the invitation open.

Some who were invited did not turn up; others who were not exactly block neighbors turned up at the last minute. It all came together somehow. Party alchemy.

Early on, I realized our neighbor the shut-in hadn't yet come over. Now, you'd think knowing she's a shut-in, there'd be no question to ponder. But I walked over anyway to remind her she was welcome. It turned out she hadn't been sure we'd really meant to invite her! She made an appearance, fruit salad in hand (called ambrosia [?]), and was soon commisserating about the real estate market along with the best of 'em. We shall upgrade her status to mostly shut-in.

Only a few people stayed for home fireworks. Small controversy: Neighbor Bill has a new wife who is big into out-of-state fireworks. She had roman candles and such from their recent trip to South Dakota. I didn't mind - I'd never seen such things in action - but N. Bob and  my husband were extremely nervous. They kept muttering things like "$750 fine." No matter that we've never seen a patrol car on our block in all the years we've celebrated on this street.

It didn't help neighborly relations when a flying missle bounced off of N. Bob's truck. He proceded to douse his driveway (!) with enough water to fill a swimming pool. I guess this is a subject they'll have to handle diplomatically if we're all going to stay friends.

Misunderstood

What if the Frankenstein monster was not a monster after all? What if he was just a grouchy 45 year-old whose calf muscles always froze up in his sleep, forcing him to walk off-balance and stiff-legged from one end of the laboratory to the other in order to switch on the coffeemaker?

No, I'm not speaking from experience. Just wondering.

Drop and give me, er, a few

UR's doing it. Maya's doing it with a spreadsheet. IT is the one hundred push ups challenge.

To improve your strength, fitness and general health all you need to do is commit about 30 minutes of your time per week, and follow the push ups training program as closely as you can. I promise you will feel much better about yourself and much more confident after just a few short workouts.

Strictly out of curiosity, mind you, I myself got down on the floor and assumed the position. With my right shoulder still so troublesome, I'd assumed I couldn't even do two push ups, but on the initial test, I made it to eleven. And I coulda done more, if I weren't, you know, such a pansy. So I'm going to take the challenge. My goal is 100 "lady" push ups (knees as fulcrum).

Then again: 30 minutes of exercise per week? I don't know; that's going to cut into my Twitter time.

Flash Beancounter of the 21st century

So, my daughter was bringing us up to date about a girl who was her best friend in fifth grade. "Nossin is in Bangladesh visiting her grandparents this month," says Bunny. "Did you know Bangladesh is just a little island? I thought it was bigger at first, but then I looked it up on Google Earth." The two of them email each other every day. Because there's a 13-hour time difference, they have a running joke. One will claim to be tired and ready for bed, while the other calls BS, says the sun is out and it's time to get out and play.

I'm sorry. Can we stop and rewind a moment? Can we pause and reflect on how wonderfully science fiction-y this is? We are living in a world of interactive maps and vast stores of information available - literally - at the touch of a button. And a world where it's possible to send letters instantly to your friends on the other side of the planet.

Sure, we don't all have flying cars yet, and we don't all dress in silver jumpsuits, but shoot, we're only eight years into the 21st century. There's time for Flash Gordon to show up.

The Birds of Bodega

I neglected to tell you that our family attended a wedding in early June, in Bodega Bay.

Bodega Bay, of course, is the site where Alfred Hitchcock filmed The Birds. We'd been looking forward to seeing the bay because of that; and in fact, locals could point out to us the major landmarks, such as the diner where Tippie Hedron got stuck in the phone booth, and where Suzanne Pleschette (or was it Tippie again?) foolishly took all her schoolkids out of the reletively protected building and made them run down the street and get pecked a lot.

(I loved Tippie, though. No matter what she was up to - hiring a little motor boat to play a trick on a guy, driving a ratty ol' pickup truck, or discovering dead bodies - she always, always knew where her purse was. The mark of a truly self-possessed woman.)

I first saw this movie when I was eight, on a little television, with commercial interruptions, during some afternoon movie show. And still, that movie was so horrifying to me, I watched most of it while crouching behind the living room couch!

Fast-forward to Bunny's first viewing. She's ten, and this time it's being shown on a big-screen TV. During the scene with the school children running down the street, I looked around - no Bunny. She'd crawled behind the couch and was watching the movie from there. I hadn't told her my story or anything.

How did you handle your first viewing of The Birds?

Dateline: Childhood home

Life has taken on a routine here at Mom's. In the morning the cat comes into the living room and wakes me up, demanding to be put outside. However, she doesn't always go out the door once I open it. Her going-outside rate is about 50%. Tomorrow she gets a firm foot nudge if she acts so picky again.

Then my bro showers and leaves for work. I make my mother some tea and a Continental breakfast (okay, a breakfast Jan) before I go to the coffee shop and read what's going on in the liberal press.

When I come back, I either clean house, or I sit down to my laptop and attempt to write a section of my thesis. My mother was right; this is a great place to concentrate on writing. The good news on the thesis is, I'm farther along than I was when I quit last summer. Hoping my advisor likes the progress when he deigns agrees to see me later this month.

Later in the day, between meals and such, we've been watching DVDs of the first season of Arrested Development. I skipped it when it was on network TV, so I'm, like, the last to know how great it is.

This morning, I've been sweeping and rearranging the furniture on the backyard patio. Very dusty work. Central Valley dirt is really more like sand. I remember sweeping the porches when I was a kid, noting that the shifting sand seemed to collect on the porch again almost immediately, seemingly overnight. It was obviously futile to push a pound of sand the few feet from porch to yard, only to have it come back again. I wanted to give up this unwinnable battle with the sand and wind. My parents took a dim view of my fatalism, though.

Drive-thrus and local brews

Happy Monday, blogfolk. I'm staying at Mom's house this week, while she continues to recover from bypass surgery. Not sure how much I am authorized to relate about her recuperation; suffice to say, she is doing well and is cheerful.

Bunny really misses me at home. We are hoping that text messaging, email and phone calls will get us through the week. BB has not had time to miss me yet, as his head is still full of my last-minute instructions about watering plants and freezing the hamburger.

Went for a walk this morning, as I do every morning I am here, to buy a cup of coffee at a local shop. I like this place better than the Starbucks half a block over. There's a big table near the front door that's always occupied by a loose confederacy of neighbors who read the paper and discuss all manner of things. If this were an episode of 'Friends', they'd be the stars and they'd be young, white and thin; as this is real life these neighbors are middle-aged and multi-ethnic, yet still obviously the stars of the shop.

This morning, I was reading the paper at a remote table when a guy dressed in power-casual (LLBean shorts, spotless white t-shirt, baseball cap, expensive running shoes, an assortment of keys, wallet and Blackberry in his hands) came in and addressed the Friends.

"I'll give any of you a $20 Starbucks gift card," he announced (instantly raising our hackles) "if you can solve the problem of the double-parking in front of Starbucks."

The Friends lifted their eyes from their newspapers and gazed out the window at Starbucks. The problem was that, beside the cars parked legally at the curb, other cars were sitting in the street, idling, waiting just to get in the drive-thru line. It was a mess. "Well," said one, "they're not our cars, and we don't know the customers. They're not breaking the law. I don't know what you expect us to do about it."

"There's no ordinance against stupid," said another. I closed my eyes in pleasure. This just might be my new slogan, now and forever.

LLBean man turned and left - without buying coffee. In the shop where he was standing. Where there was no line.

"The power of persuasive advertising," murmured another Friend as they all returned to their papers.

Highway 99 blues

It's going to be quiet here the rest of this week, I think. I've been traveling to and from Modesto since last Friday, when my mother had bypass surgery. She's doing well. Healing is slow but things seem to be progressing the way they should. But it's crucial I visit the hospital again tomorrow, because I'm reading a mystery out loud to her, and the plot is starting to get tense.

By the way, if you like dogs and you like mystery novels and you'd like to avoid boarding the Dean Koontz Express during summer vacation, I highly recommend Dog About Town. Mom wrote a review of it a few months ago. The narrator (and detective) is a black Labrador named Randolph. Yeah, I know, but trust me, it works! And we're on the second book now.

(My mom, on the subject of Dean Koontz: "Pam, would you like to read this? It's about a man who's running for his life from a shadow government ... wait, that's every one of his books. Hmm. Well, this one has a green cover.")