Go Ahead. Smooch It Up.

Little Lisa loves Valentine's Day, and so do I.

The Top 8 Reasons I Love Valentine's Day:

1. It has colours! Red, pink, and even white. Sparkles optional (only not really).
   
2. The theme! I love anything with a theme, like Vegas hotels and Super Bowl parties.
   
3. The theme of Valentine's Day is LOVE! A whole day dedicated to love? That totally rocks.
   
4. I like having an excuse to dot all my i's with hearts.
   
5. I have kickass Valentine jewelry.
   
6. Champagne, strawberries, chocolate.
   
7. Heart-shaped cookie cutters.
   
8. Did I mention celebrating love?

Here are a couple of happy (and fun) links for when you're not drawing hearts on your notebook today:
Anahata, the heart chakra
Monkey makes Valentine's Day cookies (this is so cute I can hardly stand it)

And, if you're reading this before you get dressed for the day, think pink.

Happy Birth Days!

I'd like to extend a warm welcome to two brand new humans and future UFF readers:

• Daphne Chareau, born yesterday morning in New Jersey
  
• Fynn, born this afternoon in K-W, Ontario (probably getting me the closest I'll ever come to being an auntie! W00t!)
  

Both babies, moms, dads, and Daphne's big sis Little G* are totally rockin' their now-with-33-to-50%-more families!

Congratulations!

*Not her real hair. Or mine, for that matter.

Biter

Last night I received the following email:

From: K-Dog
Sent: Monday, February 12, 2007 11:46 PM
To: Gillian
Subject: Biter

Look at the dolphin in the picture, biting my name.

I don't think Dog does a lot of drugs or anything, so I was quite puzzled.

It turns out he'd forgotten to include the context-providing link.

This is still cracking me up.

Alternate Realities

This afternoon, Bri and I attended a Heart Opening and Purification Workshop led by Nancy Allen at Lucky Lotus Yoga in Fort Greene, Brooklyn. The first hour of the workshop was spent discussing reality and karma, which to me is very interesting stuff. One story that Nancy used to illustrate illusion was this one:

Say you have a pen. When you look at the pen, you see a pen, and you know that it's an instrument to write with. Then a dog comes in the room, and you throw the pen. What is the pen to the dog? It's a toy. The dog knows it's a toy, as surely as you know it's a pen. Then say the pen is sitting on the ground, and a bug walks up to it. To the bug, it's a giant hill. Again, the bug knows that as surely as you know it's a writing instrument and the dog knows it's a toy. And so in that moment, you have three equally valid and accurate realities.

Nancy's point was that nothing has its own reality; it has whatever reality we assign to it. We *give* the reality to the object, or the situation, or the person - it doesn't have innate quality in itself. This comes from Patanjali's Yoga Sutra IV.3:

We must destroy the veil of the quality of things. Then we must become as gardeners.

I guess the point is, next time you see something as having a negative quality, try to figure out how you can change your perspective to change the quality of your experience - that is, don't assume that the quality belongs to the object/situation/person, but that you are responsible for the quality that you see. Then, if you can, plant a seed (that's the gardening that Patanjali was talking about) with positive intention.

I'm pretty psyched about this idea.

Caturday

Presenting a new feature on UFF: Caturday, featuring the lovely Miss Memphis:



Inspired by Gillian, who blogs about her cat SheBang every Friday. And really, how could you not be inspired by a redheaded Canadian geek-girl named Gillian, who loves cats? The similarities are eerie. I wonder if her mom was ever a nun.

Observation

"I guess this happens when you live with another creature for 10 years, but I think Memphis and I have similar personalities."

"Yeah. You're both big and orange."

Groceries And The City: Part 2

In the heady days of FreshDirect first delivering to the BK, I was receiving at least one order a week from them. I loved that each fresh-food item had its own label that said, "Packaged for Gillian on ." I loved not lugging around the granny cart, and not carrying bags up the stairs. I also loved the occasional freebie that FD threw in. I had the idea that FD should team up with Epicurious so that when I was browsing recipes I could just add all the ingredients to my cart, and not long ago, FD introduced shopping by recipes! Woot!

On the other hand, while I kind of loved having boxes for recycling newspapers, but I didn't love the excessive packaging stylings of FD (they've since gotten much better about consolidating items).

Last year, a new outpost of Fairway opened in Red Hook, Brooklyn, about 2 1/2 miles south of our apartment in Park Slope. One Sunday morning, on a mission to check out Baked, also in Red Hook, DLang and I walked down to the 'hood. We ate delicious scones with strong coffee chasers, then walked down the street to check out Fairway.

I felt like I was home. Fairway in Red Hook has the little happinesses of a suburban grocery shopping experience, like a parking lot (!) and aisles wide enough to accommodate bona fide shopping carts. They have bins of neatly-stacked, fresh produce. And then there are the things that make shopping at Fairway a special experience, like signs enthusiastically recommending a particular goat cheese or coffee blend, and the half-dozen or so samples of olive oil from around Europe and even California.

Subsequent visits, the second of which was on Saturday, did not disappoint. This weekend, after stopping at the deli and meat counters, I took a coffee break in the café, which is right on the water and has a spectacular view of the Statue of Liberty. When I finally arrived at checkout with an overflowing cart, there was no waiting at all, and I breezed right on through. (Did I mention that Fairway delivers for the same price as FD?)

And so, while I'm still quite enamoured with grocery shopping while sitting on the couch in my pajamas, I'm going to take a little break from FreshDirect and start a weekly brick-and-mortar grocery shopping adventure. I think I could get used to a Sunday morning walk down to the water, a stop for breakfast, and an hour (or two) wandering up and down the aisles of this amazing store.

P.S. Brianna posted an excellent NYC grocery store rant yesterday - it's very frustrating living in a NYC neighbourhood in which Key Food, D'Ags, or even Gristedes are your best grocery options. At least when I lived on the Upper West Side, the 24-hour Duane Reade at the end of my block sold Ben & Jerry's.

Groceries And The City: Part 1

On a recent trip to D.C., one of the highlights was a visit to Trader Joe's. The brief stop made me long for suburban grocery stores with wide aisles and 56 brands of salad dressing and the irony of throwing reusable cloth shopping bags in the back of one's Subaru wagon. This weekend, then, when I found myself with both a rental car and a Super Bowl party shopping list as long my iPod playlist, I did what any displaced small-town girl would do: I went to Fairway.

My first NYC grocery experience was surprisingly good. I'd just moved into my apartment on the Upper West Side, and had nothing except a couple of suitcases. My company put me up in a hotel for two nights during which time I purchased a futon, bedding, and a towel. As my truckload of stuff wasn't due to arrive from California for another week or two, I wandered out to Broadway and found Zabar's. I went upstairs to the housewares section where I purchased a plate and glass (both of which I still have and use). I had a brief affair with Zabar's, going there regularly on my way home from work to buy some exotic cheese or other and delicious loaves of Eli's bread.

At some point I ventured a few blocks south and into Fairway, and I was hooked. The quality of Fairway's produce rivaled that to which I'd become accustomed in California. I found exotic sauces like pomegranate marinade, and I spent way too much money on them. I always bought more than I could carry home, and usually ended up taking the bus. Once, while toting about 6 bags, one of which contained a giant bouquet of fresh basil, I overheard a kid exclaim, "Dad! Something smells like spaghetti!"

When I moved to Brooklyn, I was disappointed in the lack of good grocery stores. I almost immediately started visiting the green market regularly on Saturday mornings, and supplemented our pantry with unexciting (and sometimes downright discouraging) stops at D'Agostino's (overpriced) or Key Food (yuck). Shortly thereafter, FreshDirect started delivering in our 'hood, and I started regularly internetting my way to yummy food (and wine! and beer! and even kitty litter!) delivery, which I didn't even have to carry up five flights of stairs.

To be continued...

Super Sunday!

I started watching football about 10 years ago, kind of by accident. I'd just started dating J, and when I visited him for a weekend during football season, he spent most, if not all, of Sunday in his sweats on the couch. At first it seriously ticked me off. The sun was shining, the outdoors beckoned, and there we sat, eating pizza and watching JB, Terry, Howie and Chris yuk it up during halftime. Then it occurred to me that not getting dressed and lying around for a WHOLE DAY without anyone caring is actually pretty sweet! After that epiphany I started to learn and appreciate the game, jumped on the Broncos bandwagon, and the rest is history. I don't watch other sports on TV because the commitment is too great. The beauty of football is that it's one day per week (two if you have cable), and since each team only plays 16 games per season, they all count. Plus it's a really smart, strategic game.

Although my interest has waxed and waned in some seasons, I always love the Super Bowl. I love the commercials. I love the scandal. I love the food. Every year for the past 10 years I've had a Super Bowl party. Even last year when my yoga teacher training fell on SB Sunday and we decided not to throw an official 'do, about 10 people showed up anyway!

I have a few Super Bowl Party Must-Haves:

1. Guacamole
I make chunky guac with tomatoes, red onions, lime juice, cilantro, and garlic. Also lots of salt and pepper. I'm a little worried about the guac this year as the avocados in these parts are woefully under-ripe. I bought 6 yesterday that were still quite green and they're currently stashed away with a couple of bananas in a paper bag in a cupboard, with a group of little avocado ripening fairies casting magical spells on them.

2. Whoopie Pies
These are really good. I make them every year. My friend Meredith has said when she gets married she wants me to make her wedding cake as a stack of whoopie pies.

3. Betting. On whatever. $5 that the Bears will win the coin toss? I'll take that bet. $2 that there'll be a flea-flicker in the first half? Done. If you're coming to my Super Bowl party, be prepared to gamble.

4. Team Colours. I strongly encourage you to dress in the colours of the team you're supporting. Can't decide? Look at the team colours, look in your closet, and pick something that matches. I really like team colours.

Happy Super Bowl Sunday, everyone! Go Colts!

Groundhog Day!

In today's episode of Adventures in Google, I found this little tidbit about Canada's own Wiarton Willie. Scandalous!

Happy Groundhog Day, everyone!

Happy Birthday, Mom!

Infiltration

Little Lisa went back to high school today.

I laugh aloud. Plus, mad props to her for using "hilare" on her blog.

Local News

Arr!

My pirate name is:

Mad Morgan Flint

Every pirate is a little bit crazy. You, though, are more than just a little bit. Like the rock flint, you're hard and sharp. But, also like flint, you're easily chipped, and sparky. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from piratequiz.com.

Power Move

On Monday's The Show, Ze Frank asked for some power moves. Please note: Power moves are not about being cool, they're about being awesome.

Mostly because I could, I recorded my own power move:



P.S. I love my new Mac. <3

More JetBlue Awesomeness

If you can't make it to our Super Bowl party because you have to fly across the country, at least you can get some free beer!

Travel Bliss

On Friday night I flew to Toronto for the weekend. Before that, though, I spent a whopping 7 1/2 hours (no, that isn't a typo) at LaGuardia. Waiting. Sometimes patiently, sometimes, not so much. (Interestingly, both of the Air Canada flights from LGA to YYZ that were scheduled to leave after mine actually left hours before mine did. I chalk this up to something about airlines that I don't understand.)

Fortunately, I love traveling and I even love airports. There's an Ani DiFranco song that sums up my feelings quite nicely.

My recent flight home from California was on the Friday night redeye. I hate to admit this, but the older I get, the more aware I am that, while a good idea in theory, the redeye isn't so hot in practice. I hate the idea of spending a whole day traveling across the country, however, I just end up sleeping the whole day I get home. Anyway. The redeye on JetBlue has its advantages. In addition to the DirecTV and awesome snacks, passengers on these flights receive the Bliss Shut-Eye Kit.

My first experience with Bliss dates back to 2000, the year I first lived in NY. I was working at a company that shared office space with BBC America, and Ian, one of the radio reporters was doing a piece on Bliss. As part of the story, he had to bring someone to have a treatment at the spa. I eagerly volunteered to be his guinea pig, and the service (a Hot Salt Body Rub) was scheduled. (The weekend before the appointment, I fell asleep in Central Park with my t-shirt cleverly pulled up so that I could get some sun on my underexposed belly, which wasn't so smart, but we went ahead anyway.) The treatment was amazing, with the only drawback being that Ian basically saw me naked. It's kind of hard to jam a microphone in someone's face with your eyes closed, and it was a full-body treatment. (Trivia note: Bliss was started by a woman from Saskatchewan. Yay Canada!)

The Shut-Eye Kit is a brilliant cross-promotion between JetBlue and Bliss. It's a little ziplocky bag with an eye shade, earplugs, a teeny tiny sample of Lemon Sage Body Butter, and a one-use amount of minty lip balm. I love the Shut-Eye Kit. For one, it's free. Free stuff! On an airline! A discount airline, no less! Secondly, it contains really practical items. I'm not a huge fan of earplugs (they always fall out, except for those really squishy green ones, which these aren't), but the eye mask rocks, and wearing one really is the only way to sleep on an airplane. And, it's well-designed. Good design makes me happy.

So thanks, JetBlue, for kicking it up! I will admit though that I had absolutely no trouble sleeping, little kit of fun or not, when my flight finally left LGA at 1:30am on Friday. Er, Saturday.

On The Mat

While recent UFF postings have been sporadic, I'm sure that my faithful readers (both of you) are keeping up using the wonders of modern technology (Praise RSS!) and you'll be happy to know that I have many inspiring entries in store. That pesky day job keeps getting in the way of blogging. Donations are welcome.

And now back to our regularly scheduled programming.

During my recent trip to California, I had the opportunity to attend an introductory Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu class at the Ralph Gracie Academy in Mountain View. I'm pretty sure that had such an excursion been suggested to me a few years ago, my response would have been a firm "Thanks but no thanks." However, given my recent forays into athleticism (see: Triathlon, Marathon, and Boxing), and safe in the knowledge that knowing nothing about martial arts AT ALL meant that I'd have nothing to prove, when MFD suggested it to me, and I believe somewhat to his surprise, I enthusiastically agreed to try it out.

The Academy is located in kind of a strip mall on El Camino Real in Mountain View. I borrowed a gi and changed in the bathroom, in which hung the sign: "Please! If you must throw up, do it in the toilet, not the sink. Thank You." Heh. And, ew.

I warmed up a little, and then one of the resident black-belts, Gumby, came over to help with my introductory lesson. He explained the principles of jiu-jitsu, and showed me a number of moves, including the oopa (mount escape), guard pass, and posture in guard. I practiced each one a bunch of times. I was kind of meh at some of them, including the bridge, which is strange because Urdhva Dhanurasana is one of my favourite yoga postures. He also showed me three attacks: the cross choke, the Americana shoulder lock (that's a good instructional video, but remember kids, these are trained professionals. Don't try this at home), and an armbar from mount. Watch out: If you lie still and don't defend yourself at all, I could really annoy you.

Both Gumby and MFD (who goes by Canada in these parts) were incredibly patient and encouraging, and the experience was surprisingly unintimidating. After about half an hour of instruction/practicing, Canada asked Don (whose nickname, if he has one, I didn't catch) to spar with me. Ack! So much for unintimidating. I kind of didn't want to do it, but hey, I was there, so I tried out my new moves.

In sparring that first time I learned something valuable: Jiu-jitsu is *hard*. Don, a brown belt, was very nice to me, and I'm quite aware of the fact that he could have kicked my ass from here to Sunday (read: effortlessly choked me unconscious and/or broken one of my limbs). Don, should you ever read this, thanks for not doing either of those things. I really like having two functioning arms. I tried to apply some of the stuff I'd learned, but in the moment, it was difficult to remember which hand went where and when. The technique seemed logical but complicated, and I really appreciated the amount of work these guys put into training.

To round out the experience, I watched Canada and Don spar for a while. To my untrained eye, these guys looked amazing. I also extra-want to keep both of them on my good side (see: unconsciousness, broken limbs).

Big thanks to everyone at the academy, including Batata (who runs the place), Gumby, Don, and Canada. I felt very welcome and would love to come back next time I'm in the Bay Area. ('Course then I wouldn't have that whole "know nothing" excuse to fall back on.)

Postscript: At lunch afterwards, almost immediately after we sat down, Don asked me how much I weigh. I told him, and he replied, "Yeah, you're pretty robust for a girl." I'm totally taking that as a compliment.

MAXIMum Embarrassment

Yesterday morning when I arrived at work, there was a magazine (face-down) on my desk. On the magazine was a post-it note which read, "This was delivered to our building by mistake," and signed by one of our developers.

I turned it over, and it was the latest issue of Maxim. (I have no idea if that link is SFW; the cover of the magazine certainly wasn't.) Oh, and my name was on the address label.

Last year I bought something online and got one of those offers for a free (or super cheap) magazine subscription. As a joke, and because I like to keep abreast (literally) of what's in vogue in frat houses, I subscribed to Maxim.

Turns out the guy who brought it in lives a few doors down from me and apparently, of all things, that piece of mail was misdelivered. I love ya, USPS, but, ouch. This one's going to hurt our relationship.

Firsts

Gillian (Yay it's really snowing!)
Originally uploaded by emptysquare.

First (big awesome) snowfall in NYC this year.
First blog post straight from Flickr.
First blog entry using my new MacBook.

I'm feeling awfully grateful these days.

(Thanks to Jesse for snapping this pic.)

Oh my.

I just discovered that my mom's on Facebook.

I'm even too old for Facebook, and I'm only on there because Little Lisa, our Waterloo Co-op student last semester, told me it would make me cool. It didn't work for me, and it definitely isn't going to work for my mom.

In related news, I'm pretty proud of Mom for sending her first Evite last week, for her retirement party. Next thing you know she'll have some kind of retirement blog. I fear the internet is getting too easy to use. Web developers of the world, unite in the name of obfuscation!

California Dreaming

My high school Geography teacher Mr. McDonald instilled the fear of God in me about the San Andreas Fault and told us all that California is non-ecumene* and that you couldn't pay him enough to live there.

Earthquake-schmearthquake: California kicks ass.

I'm here in the Bay Area this week, working remotely. The weekend included another feeble attempt at surfing (I got a bit further than when I tried last Spring, but still didn't get up on the board) and hanging out with this cool dude:

With 32+ years of experience at being a very enthusiastic person, I'm learning to that liking a lot of stuff is a pretty good problem to have. It's still a problem, though. Imagine, for example, if you went to Small Town, Iowa to visit someone. (Play along with me. Maybe it's your mom's cousin or something.) As you drive by the local diner, you glance in the window and see the locals sitting at the counter, and you immediately wonder what it would be like if that was *your* local diner, and they knew that on Sundays you liked your eggs over-easy and your bacon crisp and your coffee with milk instead of cream, and the waitress called you "Hon" (which, to me, is the sign of an excellent diner waitress). Anyway, that's kind of what happens to me whenever I go somewhere. I have imagined myself living everywhere from Paris, France to Paris, Ontario, usually much to the dismay of anyone to whom I've mentioned these grand fantasies. (On the large majority I don't actually follow through, but there were those 2 little cross-country moves.)

All of my wanderlust is particularly bubbly here in California, for a whole host of reasons, and also because even though I only lived here for 18 months back in 1998-2000, my friends here are like family.

Plus, the weather is really good. In January, 10°C is "cold." Everything is relative.

*Good word, eh? Despite his earthquake-alarmism, Mr. McDonald was a good teacher.

Round 2

This morning I met with John again for Boxing Day: The Sequel. He kicked my ass even harder this time. I shadow boxed! I jabbed! I uppercutted! I hit the speed bag! I did sit-ups and crunches and tricep dips!

Last week I picked up the book The Gleason's Gym Total Body Workout for Women, and learned that I was correct about the 3 minute rounds with the 1 minute rest in between. The point of this is to get your body used to going all-out for 3 minute intervals (the length of an actual round). It's really cool to learn about a whole new sport!

John told me today that his favourite boxing movie is Rocky (which I haven't seen!) and that The Champ made him cry. Another one I'll have to see is Raging Bull, which was filmed at Gleason's.

I'm going back on Friday. I hope I get to jump rope and try the sand bag soon!

Happy New Year!

We rang in 2007 with a lot of Guitar Hero and champagne. I can almost guarantee some kind of entry that's actually worth reading tomorrow, after I've fully recovered. In the meantime, go take the Superhero Quiz.

I hope that this year is your best yet!

I am Spider-Man:
Intelligent, witty, a bit geeky and have great power and responsibility.

Spider-Man		90%
Superman		85%
Robin		80%
Wonder Woman		75%
The Flash		75%
Catwoman		70%
Supergirl		70%
Iron Man		60%
Green Lantern		55%
Hulk		50%
Batman		50%

Click here to take the "Which Superhero are you?" quiz...

Vote Early and Often

Ultra Fine Flair is on the Z List on Squidoo. Go there and show your support for UFF. It'll motivate me to keep the high-quality (if by quality, you mean frequency) entries coming in '007.

That link again.

Boxing Day

In Canada, December 26 is Boxing Day. This year, I celebrated Boxing Day on December 29 with my first trip to Gleason's Gym for some real, honest-to-god boxing training.

Since my office moved to DUMBO in May, I've been thinking about going to Gleason's. But there was that whole marathon thing going on, and time was at a premium, so I didn't do anything about it.

On Wednesday, after a nice long holiday break filled with wine and cookies, I caught up with a couple of my co-workers, one of whom told me he'd been to Gleason's and thought I'd really dig it. He gave me his trainer's card, and I called him immediately to set up an appointment.

This morning I met the trainer, John Douglas, for the first time. On Gleason's Web site, John says, "I like training ladies because of their never say die attitude and I would never deny them the opportunity to box." Right on. I'd told him on the phone that I've never boxed before, and he was really reassuring. When I walked into the gym today I felt a little nervous and giggly about it, and John was super nice the whole time. I warmed up for 10 minutes on the treadmill, then got down to business. First, John wrapped my hands (which made me feel totally hardcore), then we climbed into an actual ring (!) and he talked me through some basic combinations (just into the air for starters). A bell rings every few minutes (I'm not sure of the exact timing, but around 3 minutes), and during the "on" time, people are training, and in between "rounds," everyone rests. There's a 40-second warning bell before the round ends.

After a few rounds of air-punching, I donned a pair of white 14 oz. gloves, and John held up pads for me to punch. That part was really fun, and really exhausting. We moved next to a bag that's suspended from the ceiling and floor, and John instructed me to left-right jab it for the next few rounds. I kind of started to get the hang of that. We then moved to the speed bag, which was tricky to get the hang of. I did get better after a few minutes of practicing, and I'm looking forward to trying that again. We ended with a few dozen situps and crunches.

The cost is really reasonable - today I paid a $15 gym fee, and $25 to John for an hour of training. If I end up going more than once/week, I'll join the gym for $80/month. I loved working with John - he called me "Champ" a lot and was really supportive.

And as I write this entry, I've finally settled on a New Year's Resolution:

Kick Some Ass.

Go Bills!

DLang's Christmas gift from me was a pair of tickets to the Bills game on Christmas Eve. The drive to Buffalo from Waterloo is about 2 1/2 hours, so a 1pm game seemed well-timed for us to get back for Christmas Eve festivities (and a good day-long respite from my family, although I must say, all of the 'bergs were quite well-behaved this year). We donned our Bills jerseys and headed out at 9:30, and with a brief Tim Horton's stop in St. Catharine's, made it to Buffalo at noon. Parking near the stadium was only $10, and DLang was practically moved to tears at seeing the plethora of Bills garb adorning the fans streaming into Ralph Wilson Stadium.

We found our seats and they rocked - 5 rows from the field! (I'd bought them from a season ticket holder on Two Bills Drive.) The guy sitting next to me was there with his son, and they very generously shared their fleece blanket with us. Sitting next to DLang was a kid around 10 years old, there with his mom. At one point, the Bills kicked a very unlikely field goal, and D commented, "That's the most improbable field goal I'll ever see in my life!" The kid replied, "That's the only improbable field goal I've ever seen, because I don't know what improbable means!" Aw.

I have to admit, the highlight for me was seeing the Buffalo Jills. There's nothing like a pretty girl to brighten up your day, and it's even better if she's in a totally cute little Santa outfit and waving around silver pom-poms. I really love cheerleaders. Apparently I have the pipes to be one, too, because at one point the guy next to me asked if I'd been a cheerleader. (He later asked me if I'd been a singer. I told him no, I'm just really loud.)

Despite The Bills' heartbreaking 30-29 loss to the Titans, we had a fabulous day, and I was reminded of how much I enjoy fandom - there is really nothing like cheering your heart out for something. I also really like high-fives. At one point I went to buy us hot dogs, and a bunch of guys sitting along the aisle were high-fiving everyone who went past. It was awesome, and I'm going to try to incorporate high-fiving into my daily activities in the new year.

Crackers

Every year my family includes Christmas Crackers with our holiday meals. Apparently this is a tradition adopted from the Brits, as DLang had never experienced such merriment until he was treated to a Christmas Chez Gutenberg. (I'm going to avoid reading the Christmas Cracker Wikipedia entry until after I've written this entry so as not to taint the reader's view with confirmation that my family really is a bunch of freakshows.)

For those of you not acquainted with Christmas Crackers, here's your primer. A Christmas Cracker is a tube about the size of a paper towel roll, tied so that it kind of looks like a big bon-bon. Running through the tube is a cardboard snappy thing, that when pulled apart, makes a snap kind of like a cap gun. All crackers contain a tissue-paper crown, a slip of paper with a joke, and a little prize.

My family has pretty strict rules about cracker usage. First of all, cracker-pulling is a two-person show. No exceptions. Each person holds one end of the cracker to pull it apart. My brother was particularly adamant about this rule this year. The next guideline is that you have to hold the end tightly enough to pull apart the cardboard snapper inside. This is kind of a given, but newbies tend to be light on the holding of the cracker, and it's disappointing not to hear the crack. (Sunny insists that you should hold the snapper between your fingers, but I prefer to just grab the whole end tightly.) And, you have to wear the paper crown. No exceptions to that, either.

This year we had two different brands of Chrismas Crackers. With Christmas morning pancakes at the Lesbians', we had extra-super-deluxe crackers from The Bay. Deniser brought these over and they were Fancy with a capital F. First, they were decked out with super-sparkly daisies, which I LOVED. Glitter everywhere. We cracked 'em open and found seriously the best prizes I've ever seen in a Christmas Cracker. For example: my prize was a little silver picture frame, and DLang got a little magnifying glass (that he actually really liked). The other sweet thing about these crackers is that each of the six crackers came with a different coloured crown! The jokes were corny, but hey, good clean wholesome fun often is.

Later at Shirley's, we had President's Choice Deluxe crackers. The prizes were considerably less good than The Bay's. My "prize" was a luggage tag (booooring). Dos got a keychain-whistle which wasn't bad, and a couple of the prizes were Christmas-themed (DLang got a little Santa tin), which is kind of OK. The crowns were festively red and green.

The PC version is a much better value (I don't know exactly how much they cost, but I'm pretty sure my mom wouldn't have paid more than $20 for the 8 crackers, while The Bay's version rang up at $30 for 6), but if you wanted to impress a date or something, The Bay's are worth the splurge.

I have grand plans to make my own crackers with kickass prizes for next year. I was thinking it would also be a nifty way to propose to someone (make your own cracker with the ring as the prize), but I also have visions of the cracker-pull resulting in the ring flying into some heating grate somewhere. I think I'll stick to mini-staplers and the like.

Black Christmas

A couple of caveats about today's post:

1. I've been in Waterloo for the past 3 days and the intarweb is a little hard to find in these parts. Seriously, I'm typing this entry on an iBook that's about 8 years old with a dial-up connection. (Sirrah! proudly told me yesterday that she'd ordered part of my Christmas gift from the internets. Then she said that actually she'd had Gregoire order it from work because their connection at home isn't secure. Aw.)

2. I've been drinking some wine. Probably more than half a bottle.

OK, on to your regularly scheduled programming. I have good things in store for you, Gentle Reader. The week in the Loo so far has been rather eventful, with Bartleby (Sirrah! and Gregoire's Labradoodle Extraordinaire) and Charlie (their in-utero baby who I've now felt kicking twice!). Yesterday involved some maternity shopping in which I tried on a faux-bump pillow (I'm going to be a supercute pregnant lady) and in which I cracked wise about a vibrating toy ("I have those, but mine aren't shaped like little lions."). Today I had a visit to Sunny's storage space to clear out a "few" (read: 15) boxes of my stuff that actually amounts to my entire high school memorabilia (totally kickass rocker picture of me to be posted next week when I have access to a scanner - I looked like Kim Mitchell for a while there) and, the highlight: My ABBA records. Awesome.

Anyway. As per usual chez Dr. Sirrah!'s, we like to watch a movie. We thought a seasonal film might be in order, but Sirrah!'s choice, "One Magic Christmas," wasn't available, so we opted for the Canadian horror classic (and recently remade) Black Christmas ("If it doesn't make your skin crawl, then it's on too tight!") starring, among others, Margot Kidder (of "Superman" - and her affair with Prime Minister Trudeau - fame). Incidentally, Canada has quite a good selection of horror films. Last year at Hallowe'en DLang and I found Ginger Snaps (Tagline: They Don't Call It The Curse For Nothing) at our local video store and were not disappointed. Hot redhead goes all werewolf. I recommend it. And then of course there's our very own David Cronenberg - Crash is one of the hottest thrillers I've ever seen, but I digress. And Sirrah! is yelling "The Changling, Gill!" at me as I write this, so check that out, too.

"Black Christmas" is the story of a sorority house terrorized by prank phone calls ("It's the moaner again!") and eventually, murder. [Gregoire just told me that because of their primative internet connection, as long as I'm writing this we can't use the microwave. Heh.] So yeah, if you like a good holiday horror flick (and really, who doesn't) this is a great pick. There are some good Canadian accents (although it seems to claim to be set in the US of A, as represented by the American flag on one of the detective's desks). There's good suspense. And you can enjoy this movie without having to endure Michelle Trachtenberg (Dawn in "Buffy The Vampire Slayer") or Lacey Chabert (of "Party of Five" fame), both of whom appear in the remake (and are really, really annoying).

I have to go because Gregoire wants to logon to his gaming newsgroup to write about our earlier game of Poison, of which The Wife (Sirrah!) won two games in a row. Tomorrow we're driving to Buffalo for the Bills-Titans game, and then we'll be back in the evening for The Box and hopefully a viewing of The Sound of Music. I bought extra Kleenex for the occasion.

Christmas Spirit

I really wanted to write about the Holidailies prompt for today, but then Christmas exploded on my dining room table and I kind of need to do something about that before I jet off to Toronto on Thursday morning. In an attempt to post before midnight, here are the day's highlights.

First stop: Barnes & Noble:

"Do you have a Barnes & Noble Card?"
"No."
"Would you like one?"
"No, thank you."
"You'd save 20% off of these hardcover books" [gestures] "and 10% off the rest."
"No, thanks."
"Would you like to know how much you would have saved if you had a card?"
"Sure."
[Scans books.] "$20."
"Oh. Actually, can you hold these books for about an hour? I have some other shopping to do and I don't want to carry them around." Read: My husband's business partner has a B&N card and I'm going to swing by their office and borrow it so I can save the 20 bucks.

Next stop: Lucky Jeans.

"I need some help."
"Sure, what are you looking for?"
"A new pair of jeans. Let me be honest with you. I'm 5'8" and 160lbs, and I don't want skinny jeans. Can you help me?"
"You're funny. And, yes." And, she rocked it. Awesomely, Lucky Brand jeans come with a fortune in the pocket!

Much of the rest of the day was spent wrapping presents. I cheated on my boyfriend by shipping some stuff via UPS, but, hey, all's fair in love and Christmas shipping. I am now in the midst of packaging up 40 (yes, 40) takeout boxes' worth of Christmas cookies for my lucky co-workers.

Stuff That Makes Me Cry

Movie:
The Sound of Music
I've seen this movie at least a dozen times, and still. Still! It doesn't take long, either. Opening scene. Maria on the mountain, twirling around in her apron. The last time I watched it with Sirrah! she looked over at me 2 minutes into the movie. "Gillian! I can't believe this!" Yeah. How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria does me in.

TV Show:
Once More, With Feeling (the Buffy musical episode)
I know! This one's a surprise to me, too, but I went to the sing-along this weekend and had tears streaming down my face practically the whole time. WTF? (Shut up, Brianna.)

Song:
The Babysitter's Here by Dar Williams
DLang and Buddy used to put this song on just to watch me cry. "She's trying not to cry." "How are you feeling, Gillian?" "Ooh! Are you biting your lip?" "Are you OK, babe?" "Is that a tear?" Jerks.

Album:
Christmas Songs
In particular, Boney M's version of Mary's Boy Child/Oh My Lord. I don't know what to tell you about that one. Do They Know It's Christmas used to have an effect, too, but I think I'm over it.

Food:
Onions
It's pretty bad. I think I might be somehow allergic.

Cookielicious

Today is my annual Christmas-Cookie Baking Day. (By "day" I do mean 24 hours, but they're usually not consecutive, because of bothersome things like sleeping and working that get in the way of the cookie baking extravaganza.) Every year I mark my calendar to spend the last, or second-to-last weekend before Christmas baking crazy-ass amounts of cookies. It's a family tradition, really. My mom does the same, and when we arrive at her house for the holidays she has stacks of Tupperware filled with baked goods. Family faves are peanut butter cookies and Nanaimo Bars, a delicious Canadian treat with a coconutty-chocolate base, a layer of vanilla custardy stuff, and a thin chocolate top. Delish. She also makes chocolate chip cookies, which used to be quite crispy, but not in the good way, in the greasy way. A few years ago I told her the truth about her chocolate chip cookies. Gently, of course.

"Mom, your chocolate chip cookies... aren't very good."

She looked at me and blinked. "I know they aren't. I don't know what to do about that."

I was so surprised! My infallable, domestic-goddess mom, didn't have a good chocolate chip cookie recipe! Crazy, that. I hooked her up with a couple of my favourite recipes, and her chocolate chip offerings have definitely improved.

My cookie to-do list this year includes Oatmeal Cranberry and Chewy Chocolate Gingerbread (both from the 2001 Martha Stewart "Cookies" holiday special magazine, which has proven to be an excellent investment at $5.95, Extreme Triple-Ginger Spice Cookies, Maple Stars (which I usually make as snowflakes), and my absolute favourites, Chocolate Chip and Peppermint Crunch Crackles (OK, maybe they're my favourites because I get to crush the peppermint candies with a hammer). Since I'm thinking about them (and my mouth is watering slightly), I think I might squeeze Nanaimo Bars onto the schedule, too. And I've been eyeing a recipe for Pecan Caramel Shortbread Fingers in that Martha Stewart magazine. We'll see how that goes.

The Box

My family's Christmas is quite predictable. Christmas Eve, the Lesbians make VATS of pasta (usually fresh fettucine, with both meat and white sauces - Classico brand is preferred), and we all make the usual enough-to-feed-an-army jokes. After dinner we grab bottles and glasses and slip on whichever pair of Birkenstocks or slippers we can find by the back door, and nip out through the cold night to the studio in the backyard. The Studio used to be a way-too-small garage that was converted a while ago. It's now a cozy little cabin that houses a wood stove, a comfy futon, and, this time of year, the Christmas tree. Once we're all settled (wine poured, feet tucked under blankets, fire stoked), we open The Box.

I don't know when the tradition of The Box was started, but it has to be, oh, at least 15 years old. Sunny (one of the moms) gathers small presents all year, then wraps them up and ties coloured curly ribbon to each gift and puts them in a box. (I'm pretty sure she's been using the same box the whole time, too - it's giftwrapped itself, and 2 white stuffed bears sit on the top.) The curly ribbons are cut long and grouped by colour, and she has as many colours as there are people participating in the annual ritual. The numbers have ranged from 3 or 4 to as many as 6 or 7, depending on who's coupled on any given year. Each person chooses a colour (or is assigned one by the bossier members of the family). The rules are simple: You can trade, buy, sell, or give away any gift - provided you can negotiate an agreement.

Gifts range from a single sock, to a festively-decorated bathroom towel, to a little pouch (often hand-knitted by Sunny) containing 5 shiny Loonies (that's the Canadian equivalent of 5 bucks - sort of). Some of the presents are great - I have DLang and my wedding picture displayed in a silver flowery frame I scored from The Box last year. Some are of limited value (see: single sock) and require one to Buy! Sell! Trade! Most are gathered up at the end of the evening, occasionally one is left behind and I'm pretty sure I've seen a couple that have been recycled over the years.

With the first official Langenberg Family Christmas approaching, I've been thinking a lot about traditions, and I've realized that tradition is way more important to me than ever before. They are what make my memories of growing up really special, and I am excited about continuing old traditions, and starting new ones, with my new family.

Zany Hijinks

Last night DLang and I rented a car to return a shelf to Ikea in New Jersey. The visit to Ikea itself was mixed - returning stuff there kind of sucks. There's a take-a-number system involved, which cost us our dinner of Swedish meatballs and ligonberry sauce, although we did enjoy 50¢ hot dogs on the way out. Interesting tidbit about food at Ikea: A friend of mine's wife is Swedish, and she claims that the food at truckstops in Sweden is all as good as Ikea food, which makes me happy because a) it confirms that Ikea's Swedish food is authentic, and b) it validates my belief that Ikea food is good. On the way back, I missed the ramp for the NJ Turnpike North, so we decided to drive through Staten Island and take the Verrazano Bridge. Zany hijinks ensued.

Part 1: As we drove past a sign for the Verrazano

"Wow, D! This route is awesome! It's so fast!"

"Gillian, you have no basis for making that statement."

"What are you talking about? We just passed a sign!"

"That sign had no information about distance. The last time I drove this way it took half an hour to get through Staten Island."

Minutes pass. We crest a hill and see the Verrazano in all her glory.

"Am I allowed to get excited now? Or do I have to wait until we're actually *on* the bridge?"

Part 2: Going through the toll booth

"Here's money for the toll."

"Give me enough to pay for the next person's, too."

"What?"

"Give me $12. We'll do a good deed and pay for the next person's toll. It'll be nice!"

"Babe, no."

"Oh come on. I'll pay you back."

"I'd rather have the cash."

"We'll be like that person's Secret Santa!"

"Fine. You're going to blog about this, aren't you?"

"You're cute."

Kick Some Ass

Many years ago, my good friend Jon lent me The Pursuit of Wow! by Tom Peters. I was pretty new to the world of business books at the time (read: I was vaguely aware that there was section of them at Chapters). Jon (himself a business-school graduate) thought that I would get a kick out of Tom Peters' enthusiasm and passion, and he was right. While the book is business- and service-oriented, many of the tidbits of wisdom are applicable in one's personal life. (Take this review with a grain of salt; I haven't read the book in nearly 10 years. But it did leave an impression on me. Another grain of salt: I was 23, and particularly impressionable at the time that I read it.)

What I really took from reading Wow!, and another Tom Peters book, The Circle of Innovation: You Can't Shrink Your Way To Greatness, was that no matter what I'm working on, there's some opportunity to do it in an outstanding way.

Last weekend I caught a TBS-showing of "School of Rock." (Note to TBS programming-type people: Thank you for the good movie weekend on TBS. Thank you for showing Legally Blonde and for not editing the part where Elle says "Did you see him? He's probably still scratching his head," and Paulette replies, "Yeah, which must be a nice vacation for his balls." I laugh aloud just reading that line. Awesome. Thanks also for showing Mean Girls, which reminded me of how much I loved La Lohan before she got all grody. DLang just came in and announced that CNN reports that she's going to AA, and is hilariously quoted as saying, "I haven't had a drink in seven days. Or anything. I'm not even legal to, so why would I?")

Anyway. "School of Rock." Right before the end of the movie, when the band is about to go on stage, Dewey Finn (Jack Black) leads the kids in a prayer:

God of Rock, thank you for this chance to kick ass. We are your humble servants. Please give us the power to blow people's minds with our high voltage rock. In your name we pray, Amen.

Awesome.

And might I be so bold as to suggest that we don't just use it before a rock concert - no! Because, as it turns out, every single day, the God of Rock gives us a chance to kick ass.

(I proposed to DLang that we adopt this as our morning prayer, and he enthusiastically agreed. Thanks, Dewey, for the reminder.)

Skirting the Issue

"Hey, I was wondering if you could make me a Christmas tree skirt. I just use a blanket right now and it doesn't work, exactly, and it looks kind of fugly."

"Um... Well, sure, but you'll have to describe it to me."

"Mom, you know, a Christmas tree skirt."

"Hm. I'm sure I could, but I'm not sure exactly how it would work."

"Ma, I'm sure you've made one of these before." Long pause. "You know, the thing that wraps around the bottom of the Christmas tree! To cover the tree stand."

"Oh! I thought you meant a skirt for you, somehow shaped like a Christmas tree, and I was trying to figure out how the top of the tree would get around your waist!"

Weekend Update

Friday

Last night, Mr. Electric and Dr. Funstuff held their annual holiday party. In past years, this party has been rife with scandal, and this year was no exception. While tearing up the dance floor, one of the guests of honour went ass over teakettle (over DLang) and landed on her face, resulting in a trip to the emergency room. Today's update: An hour and 2 stitches after arriving at the ER, she was back in business, apparently out drinking until 4am. Sue, you're an inspiration to us all. Meanwhile, back at the Fortress of Fun, there was an incident involving the Lego Death Star Lego, a candle, two shirtless men, and an explosion. The staff photographer was on hand, so we should have pictures shortly. Be afraid.

The lovely couple pictured here are Blake and Allison. Blake puts the Flo in Flocabulary, and Allison doesn't care if you spell her name with one "l" or two (but as my readers know, UFF is all about accuracy). Also, Allison and Brianna both look really cute in red dresses.

Saturday

This morning I went to the local greenmarket to purchase the Langenberg Family Christmas Tree: 2006 Edition. A lovely Fraser Fir beckoned from the edge of the lot, and as the tree guy was sawing off the trunk for me, a woman walked up to inquire about the cost of evergreens.

Woman: How much are the trees?
Tree Guy: $10 per foot.
Woman (pointing to an 8' tree): How much would that one be?
Tree Guy: $80.

The woman walked away. I looked down at my 6' tree and panicked.

Gillian: Um, how much is this tree?
Tree Guy: $40. She was wearing fur--she can afford to pay more.

Lesson learned: Dress down for the greenmarket.

And finally, this afternoon I headed to Wall St. to assist at yoga teacher training. On the way to the subway afterwards, I passed the New York Stock Exchange, which is all dolled up for the holiday season. USA! #1!

Love Letter to the United States Postal Service

Dear USPS,

You don't mind if I call you that, right? USPS? It just kind of rolls off the fingertips.

Lately I've been thinking about our experiences together over the years. We had that long-distance relationship for a while, you know, when I didn't really talk to you directly. Despite me having to use someone else to communicate, you always came through for me. In 1998, you really helped me make the decision to move to the United States, with your promises of self-adhesive postage stamps and Saturday mail (both of which I love to this day, USPS. Thanks for those).

Lately, I've really enjoyed our electronic communications. The way you let me calculate postage, and even print shipping labels, without even having to visit you in person - those little things mean a lot to me. In fact, the other day when I needed to send something to my friend in Canada, you even sent me - for free! - the stickers I needed to properly label the package. That was really nice of you, USPS, and I appreciate it. I'm grateful that you continue to improve yourself - it makes me want to give you extra-nice stuff.

I also want to express just how happy I am whenever I receive something from you. I think about you a lot, and whenever I get email from our receptionist to let me know that I have a package at the front desk, my heart smiles in the knowledge that you're thinking about me too.

There is one little thing I was wondering about. Sometimes you seem a little distant, and after I see you in person I feel weighted down, and like the walk home is really far. And sometimes you're just not accessible to me when I need to see you. Now, I'm not asking for you to be available to me 24/7, because I know that wouldn't be healthy for you. But maybe sometimes, especially during the holidays, you could keep the doors of communication open just a little bit longer. That would really help me to feel more secure in our relationship.

Well, that's about it. I just wanted to drop you a quick note to let you know how important you are to me. I know this is a really busy time of year for you, and I'm thinking about you, USPS, and I'm looking forward to our extra communications this holiday season. I have all the faith in the world that you can make it through to January, so hang in there!

Love,
Gillian

What Would Vanna Do?

Whenever I hear someone complain about his or her job being useless, or feeling ineffective at work, I say, "Hey, it could be worse, you could be Vanna White! She doesn't even have to turn the letters anymore - sure, she touches them and they light up, but that's a formality. When someone solves the puzzle, the letters light up automatically. She just stands there!"

I haven't thought much about Ms. White in a while. My parents (the lesbian contingency) are Wheel Watchers (hee), so about the only time I see the show is when I'm visiting. She was brought back to my consciousness this afternoon, when my brother sent me a link to a site about Girls of the NES, on which Vanna is featured along with the likes of Linda from Double Dragon, and Princess Toadstool. The very clever author of this site writes, "Vanna White fucking rules," and I'm inclined to agree, for the following reasons:

1. Vanna hasn't aged. She's been the "co-host" (and I use that term loosely, because her hostingness is debatable) of WoF since 1982. After minutes of scouring the interwebs, the earliest dated photo I could find was this one from 1981, called a Las Vegas cheesecake glamour photo (hilarious!). Cute! And from the official Wheel of Fortune web site, in Vanna's Style section no less. The woman is 2 months from 50, and look at those legs! Look at that skin! Look at her hair! She looks terrific. Well played, Vanna.

2. She's crafty. Say what you will about crafts, but I like 'em. Vanna crochets, and she has several stylish pattern books available, including Vanna's Afghans All Through The House and Vanna's Favorite Crochet Gifts.

3. She's a serious actor. Vanna's IMDB listing proves it. In addition to the many appearances she's made as herself, she portrayed Channel 102 News Anchor in Double Dragon: The Movie. And she held the title role in 1988's made-for-TV movie "Goddess of Love" (which I just added to my Amazon wish list, because, awesome).

4. In 1987, Vanna appeared in Playboy. When I was in college, I had a roommate named James. To put it bluntly, James was a dick. When I broke my foot, James was eager to run errands for me (and frequently "borrowed" my car without permission). When he moved out, he took with him a month's rent, over $1000, from me and our other 2 roommates. He did, however, leave behind a stack of Playboy magazines (to which he had subscribed, further proving he was "that guy"). After James' departure, I thought it would be funny to leave the Playboys in the bathroom, and in the year I lived there, I read a lot of Playboys (no, really, the articles are really good!). (Occasionally after we had people over, I'd notice a particular issue would have disappeared. Most of them reappeared after the next get-together. Heh.) Anyway, Vanna, Playboy. Props to her. If you're going to appear naked in a magazine, that's the place to do it. I did find a picture of her cover shot, and while I'd rather see breast cleavage than ass cleavage, she looks cute, and the PLAYBOY title is quite clever.

5. She was recognized in the Guiness Book of World Records in 1992 as "Television's Most Frequent Clapper," and according to the Honolulu Star-Bulletin, she averages 720 claps per show. (Apparently, Wheel of Fortune is the Most Syndicated Television Game Show. Who knew?)

6. She's a muse. Weird Al has a song about her called Stuck in a Closet with Vanna White. And in 1987, some dude named "Dr. Dave" recorded a song called "Vanna, Pick Me A Letter" which I remember really, really well and can even sing (as DLang can attest), however, it seems my self-proclaimed intarweb-searching queendom is at stake tonight because I can hardly find any info about it. I did find the lyrics, and they're genius:

Vanna pick me a letter,
No one does it any better
I dream about you (Hey, Vanna, is that an all-over tan or what?)

7. Earlier this year, Vanna got her own star on Hollywood's Walk of Fame.

8. She has fans. They're called, "Vannafans." Aw.

And so, gentle readers, next time you find your job unfulfilling, ask yourself, "What would Vanna do?"

Post Script: Writing this entry has me lamenting the days of shopping with one's Wheel of Fortune earnings, during which my brother and I would yell at the contestant's poor selections.

Winner: "I'd like to buy the player piano for $1500, Pat, and the antique carved giraffe for $450."

G: "What? That guy is an idiot! I totally would have bought the big-screen TV!"

Pat Sajak: "Sounds good. We'll put remaining $85 on a Service Merchandise gift certificate for you!"

Good times.

Do They Know^WCare It's Christmas?

This year, I attended an 80's-themed Hallowe'en party. You can see DLang in that video about halfway through, decked out as Robert Smith and vamping with Madonna, and I'm near the end as Cyndi Lauper also with Madonna (who was clearly a total lip-sync whore). One of the songs they played was Band Aid's "Do They Know It's Christmas?"

Confession: I used to love this song so much that hearing it actually made me a little teary. And by "used to" I mean as recently as last year. It reminds me of high school and Brit pop and my first-ever cassette tape (Wham!'s Make It Big) and makes me all sentimental.

After hearing the song a few times on the radio this year and listening more closely to the lyrics, it still makes me tear up - only now, because I'm laughing so hard. There was a famine in Africa in 1984 when the song was recorded, and I'm sure that when Bob Geldof was inspired to record the song to raise money for Africa, he had the best of intentions. Let's review the lyrics to see how they've held up since the song was first recorded 12 years ago.

While the first verse is grasping a little for a good rhyming scheme, the words are relatively innocuous:

It's Christmastime,
there's no need to be afraid
At Christmastime,
we let in light and we banish shade
And in our world of plenty
we can spread a smile of joy
Throw your arms around the world
at Christmastime

That's a nice sentiment. Let's continue:

But say a prayer,
pray for the other ones

Hm. Who are these "other ones" for whom George Michael asks us to pray?

At Christmastime it's hard,
but when you're having fun
There's a world outside your window,
and it's a world of dread and fear
Where the only water flowing
is the bitter sting of tears

The "bitter sting of tears" - that's classic. And it only gets better.

And the Christmas bells that ring there
are the clanging chimes of doom

That's dramatic.

Well tonight thank God it's them
instead of you

Can you say, "white man's burden"?

This next part is one of my favourites:

And there won't be snow in Africa this Christmastime
The greatest gift they'll get this year is life

"We feel sorry for Africa, because it doesn't snow there. And also, they don't have Christ, which we as famous British rock stars know that everyone needs, oh, and George, can you pass the eggnog? No, not that one, that's Sting's vegan mix without the rum. Right, that's the one."

Where nothing ever grows
No rain or rivers flow
Do they know it's Christmastime at all?

Really? Because it's very important that EVERYONE know it's Christmastime. (You'd definitely have that impression if you went to my hometown, where the local Tim Horton's has a Nativity Scene as big as a Honda Civic. The first year I lived in NY I vowed that I was going to meet a nice Jewish boy and bring him home for the holidays, but it didn't happen, well unless you count D2 but he only lasted 4 months and they didn't overlap with the holidays and anyway he was a jerk. It's also further proof that the world is a funny place when you feel the need to insert multiculturalism and religious tolerance into your half-lesbian family.)

Here's to you raise a glass for everyone
Here's to them underneath that burning sun

"Thanks for that eggnog, that's the stuff. I heard Bob was going to get us some ice, too. No, we're not going skating, Sting. Go back to your tofunog. Simon, tell Boy George I'm going to be in the third stall, he'll know what I'm talking about. Cheerio!"

Do they know it's Christmastime at all?

Semi-Famous

Just like Sandra Lee is semi-homemade*, I'm now semi-famous! A Datalounger posted a link in the forums to Ultra Fine Flair. While the Kwanzaa Celebration Cakestravaganza isn't exactly how I'd like to be known for my culinary prowess, I'll take it. And might I encourage you to also read about how I made croissants from scratch?

Happy Holidailies!

It appears that at least a couple of people have stumbled on UFF from Holidailies. Without further ado, here is a totally cheap intro to this blog (format plagarized from The Write Coast, another Holidailies participant).

Sunday Meme: Finish the sentence

I’m always: a redhead.

I say too often: "That's so awesome!"

I think flowers are: an awesome (hee) gift, especially cut flowers, because their entire purpose is to make someone happy.

My favorite Beatles song is: "Octopus's Garden"

My parents are: women.

I hate: raisins in stuffing.

I love: daisies, good red wine, and things that are orange.

I was born: on the first day of Summer!

Sometimes I try too hard: .

I work well on things: with other people.

My childhood was: happier before I went to therapy. (It's true.)

I love to read books about: people.

I’m addicted to: the bean.

I drink too much: of the bean.

My earliest memory is: standing up in my crib and saying, "Hello, World!" (which my mom says I did every morning).

The last place I went on vacation was: Connecticut.

I think living far away from: most of my family is probably a good thing.

I want to live closer to: my best friends (who are spread out over 2 countries), Sunny, and the Pacific ocean.

The President is: American. Don't blame me.

The Media is: busy.

Right now, I should be calling: my mom.

The glass is: full of sparkling water.

If I could go anywhere it would be: Paris. No, Santa Cruz. No, Waterloo. No, Madison. No, Andalucia. No, Brazil. Ack!

Life is: a trip. Someone should sell tickets. I'd buy one.

I love the TV show: The O.C.

I don’t get enough time to: be alone.

One of the nicest things someone has ever done for me is: be my friend no matter what.

When no one’s around, I really like to: sing along.

My all-time favorite movie is: "Raiders of the Lost Ark."

If I had a million dollars: I would buy you a green dress.

My dream job would be: working with food and people.

My dream life would be: the one I'm living.

I hope: Memphis lives forever.

I would like: Denver to win the Super Bowl.

I dream about: everything. I had one about breastfeeding a few months ago. It was lovely and peaceful.

I have nightmares about: losing love.

In five years, I want to: be a mom.

On my desk is: a decorative Kleenex box.

My favorite website is: Dooce, because Heather's writing inspires me.

NYTimes Article

Here's a link to the article I mentioned yesterday. It's worth reading.

Context: The Sequel

This morning on the hour-plus trek to Central Park to run the 7th of 9 NYRR qualifying races I need to complete this year for guaranteed entry to next year's NYC marathon, I flipped through the NYTimes Magazine, and almost skipped an article entitled, "The New, Soft Paternalism." (The Magazine section on NYTimes.com isn't updated to this week yet; I'll add a link tomorrow.) On first glance, the article appeared to be about gambling self-blacklisting. However, I turned the page to the following highlighted text:

According to Hume, the self that inhabits your body today is only similar to, not identical with, the self that will inhabit your body tomorrow.

Huh.

That's kind of not what I surmised yesterday.

The article goes on to say that "the self that will inhabit your body decades hence [will be] a virtual stranger."

This got me thinking about my own convictions; the ideas, opinions, and *values* that I consider to be so strong that they are unchangeable and define who I am.

About 6 weeks ago, I attended a workshop entitled "Managing Difficult Conversations" (based on the book "Difficult Conversations"). My biggest takeaway from the workshop was the concept of an "identity quake." The book surmises that

three identity issues seem particularly common, and often underlie what concerns us most during difficult conversations: Am I competent? Am I a good person? Am I worthy of love?

When any of these issues are challenged, we can be knocked off-balance, or have an identity quake.

Now, about those convictions. When a challenge to one of these convictions involves an identity quake - that is, my belief that I am competent, a good person, or am worthy of love is questioned - it becomes much more difficult for me to change my mind, because I believe it (the idea, opinion, value, or belief) defines who I am. Although it doesn't happen all the time, I've certainly caught myself sticking by something I've said simply because I said it with such certainty that changing my mind would be second-guessing my very self.

That is, no matter how much I value someone's opinion, if I'm in a state in which I believe my identity is challenged, I'm less likely to objectively consider a different angle. On the other hand, if I'm confident in Who I Am, it becomes OK for me to change my mind about something, even something I once believed absolutely-and-without-a-doubt. Aha! There's that context again.

It seems to me that it takes a good deal of self-confidence to change what one holds as a firm belief, and that it might even be a sign of strength to change a fundamental conviction.

Context-Sensitive

Context

Pronunciation: 'kän-"tekst
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, weaving together of words, from Latin contextus connection of words, coherence, from contexere to weave together, from com- + texere to weave -- more at TECHNICAL
1 : the parts of a discourse that surround a word or passage and can throw light on its meaning
2 : the interrelated conditions in which something exists or occurs : ENVIRONMENT, SETTING

NYC has been unseasonably warm this month. Today, December 1, the temperature reached the high-sixties (that's high-teens for you Readers-of-the-Commonwealth). I've found myself strangely annoyed by this warm-spell, and couldn't quite figure out why I've been longing for a temperature drop when I really hate being cold. I then realized that it's all about context. If this was March, or April, I would be praising global warming for bringing us an early respite from Winter. As it is though, it's December, and in the context of the Northeast, we expect December to bring near-freezing temperatures and snow (and fuzzy sweaters and wooly socks).

A few years ago, two of my best friends (Sirrah! and MFD) were living in sin with their respective significant others (who were, to be clear, not each other). Sirrah! really wanted to get married. MFD didn't (but his girlfriend did). When I talked to Sirrah!, I was all, "Dude, WTF? If he doesn't propose to you soon, I will!" (Kind of funny, actually, because Sirrah! and I have long agreed that cohabitation would destroy our BFFship.) However, when I talked to MFD, I had the opposite opinion: "Marriage is overrated! She should just enjoy living (and breeding) with you." It's all about context.

There is a very old Sufi story about a man whose son captured a strong, beautiful, wild horse, and all the neighbors told the man how fortunate he was. The man patiently replied, "We will see." One day the horse threw the son who broke his leg, and all the neighbors told the man how cursed he was that the son had ever found the horse. Again the man answered, "We will see." Soon after the son broke his leg, soldiers came to the village and took away all the able-bodied young men, but the son was spared. When the man's friends told him how lucky the broken leg was, the man would only say, "We will see."
(Source: Yoga Journal)

This story is usually used to illustrate gratitude, but it also helps me to appreciate the value of context. The two concepts are, of course, related, and the point of this story is really that the people, events or things for which we are grateful may depend upon the context in which we experience them.

We can create context, too, and many of us do so regularly, often without even realizing it. When I complimented Brianna's manicure yesterday, she said she loves manicures, but doesn't get them often: "If I always got them, it wouldn't be special." (Manicures in NYC are cheap; getting one weekly would cost about half as much as buying a latte every day at Starbucks.) Bri is creating a context in which she doesn't take a luxury for granted. Similarly, if I want to develop a particular skill, I would do well to associate myself with people who have that skill and from whom I can learn.

I'm starting to realize that one's self can be context-sensitive, too: My context is the set of interrelated conditions in which I exist. The answer to the question, "Who am I?" might vary depending on when, where, why, and how I am at any given moment. However, I think there's a fundamental answer that isn't context-sensitive, one that has to do with core values. There is a me that doesn't depend on any external settings, and just *is*, and the challenge to answer that question at the most basic level is both exciting and daunting. Further, I'm more likely to find that "me" if I put myself in contexts that are nurturing and supportive to those values.

And with that last sentence, I'm pretty sure UFF can now be classified as "New Age."

The Blogging Fun Continues!

Welcome to December! Friends in NY - you might think it's actually late-April from the weather (the flowers on my block certainly do, as they continue to bloom rather enthusiastically), but no, here we are, only 24 short days until Christmas. W00t!

Though the end of November means that NaBloPloMo is over, Holidailies is just beginning, and I've signed up as a Portal Participant. That means if you look at the Holidailies site, you'll see Ultra Fine Flair listed along the left side, which also means that Blogger better watch out, because traffic to UFF is going to SKYROCKET!

And you guys can say you knew me way back when.

Kwanzaa Celebration Cakestravaganza

A few days ago, Brianna IM'd me a link, which I unfortunately clicked.

Go ahead, click it. I dare you.

I watch the Food Network a lot. It's like my porn. Nine times out of ten, when DLang comes home later than me, I'm sitting on the couch, eating something of questionable nutritional value (hi bag of chocolate chips!), and watching FoodTV. I can watch just about anything on that channel, but should Sandra Lee's show "Semi-Homemade" come on air, I'm out. I'm all for convenience, but come on Sandra! A few weeks ago (while searching frantically for the remote control to END THE HORROR) I glimpsed her scooping out the insides of a pumpkin pie and a cheesecake, and mixing them together to make a pumpkin cheesecake filling. It was just wrong.

Now, in all my years of using the World Wide Web, I've seen some crazy shit - however, I don't think I've seen anything quite like Sandra Lee's Kwanzaa Celebration Cake. It's offensive and wrong on so many levels. For one, the recipe includes a store-bought angel food cake, corn nuts, and canned apple pie filling. Those things DO NOT GO TOGETHER. (Frankly, canned apple pie filling doesn't go with anything, although when we were grocery shopping for Project: Kwanzaa Celebration Cake, Brianna charitably suggested that a non-baker might use it to bake an apple pie. She's nicer than me.) Next, the recipe is on FoodTV.com, Now, I know Thomas Keller isn't exactly vying for a slot on the Food Network, but there are some respected, reputable chefs who contribute, and what exactly do Mario Batali and Wolfgang Puck think of the "food" that Sandra "cooks"? Thirdly, look at her, and think hard about what this woman knows about Kwanzaa.

Let's look at that picture again:

WTF?

Anyway, we decided to get together and create this culinary delight. A quick stop at Key Food and $20 (we also bought ice cream) yielded the necessary ingredients. (Brianna had the more reasonable ingredients at home, like vanilla, cinnamon and cocoa. Somewhat surprisingly she also had corn nuts, which is good because we actually couldn't find those at the grocery store.)

I sliced the angel food cake in half and placed the bottom on Brianna's grandma's silver platter. (We really are just that classy.) Brianna mixed up the frosting, and despite my protests and the recipe CLEARLY stating that we should use a large bowl, she insisted upon adding the mix-ins directly to the frosting cannister, claiming, "That's how Sandra would do it." Spillage was minimal. We then frosted the cake (Sandra doesn't use a crumb coat) and got to the fun stuff: Canned apple pie filling. 21 ounces of it.

"There's no way this is all going in that hole."

"Make it fit. Come on, just jam it in there."

Hehe. That's what she said.

Next came the fun stuff: pumpkin seeds, popcorns, and corn nuts.



Why, Sandra? Why? What compelled you to put corn nuts on a cake?

Three Jim & Gingers later, we had assembled our masterpiece. Either Sandra's cake (and thus her hole, hehe) was much bigger than ours, or she was daintier than her recipe called for with those toppings, because, dudes, look at this thing:


(We forgot the candles.)

We actually did taste it and then rinsed our mouths with turpentine, because turpentine was less offensive to our taste buds than store-bought vanilla frosting mixed with cinnamon and cocoa. Then we drank some more bourbon.

Photographic evidence is available on Flickr.

Brianna's recap of our cakestravaganza is on Random Access Babble.