Brainiacs, Ho Ho Ho, and Wedding Videos

I've been missing out on an feeling all you parents with children who do competitive activities are probably used to: glee that my kid BEAT someone. See, Daniel has never, ever done anything that could be construed as competitive; as a matter of fact, the second any endeavor even hinted of competing with other kids, Daniel lost interest. Oh, I tried to encourage him when he started school, figuring that a little healthy competition is useful, but he couldn't care less about soccer or basketball or T-ball or any other sport. He even dropped out of Boy Scouts when it was time for the little wooden car race thingie (sorry, I can't remember the official name).

So you can imagine my shock when he voluntarily joined the Brain Game team at school. So far, they've done fairly well and even gave last year's state champs an extremely close match. Last night, he came home after a meet with another high-ranked school, and he dragged in looking dispirited. Fearing bad news, I asked "Well, how did it go, son?" He grinned suddenly, did a victory fist, and exclaimed "We won by ONE POINT because I answered the last question right!!" I haven't seen him that excited since he got his new computer last year. I asked him what the question was, and he rattled off a convoluted string of words, from which I picked out "World War II" and "island," and the answer was "Guam." I've been proud of him countless times in his 17 years, but I think this was the first time he's been proud of himself at the same time, you know? Apparently he did have a competitive streak buried somewhere; he just had to find something he cared enough about to compete in, I guess.

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Kevin had some interesting news when he got home from work yesterday afternoon, too. Guess who's playing the W@lgreens Santa next Monday? Ha! Yes, he gets to take the day off from developing photos, listen to greedy kids recite lists of things they yearn for, and wear an itchy fake beard and a hot, sweaty suit. Why he's excited about it, I have no idea! I'm afraid I'd approach it with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner marching to the electric chair, but he's already practicing his "Ho, ho, ho" chuckles. Naturally, I plan to drop in that day and take several pictures. I hope no overly excited tots pee on his lap.

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I've been editing several online courses lately, which are usually short, adult-education-type classes on a mix of technical and "lifestyle" topics: a beginner's guide to Photoshop, an introduction to wine tasting, tips on low-carb diets, digital video editing, and the like. Later this week, I'm starting one on wedding videos, and I can't wait to read the tips for hysterical, control-freak brides who are frantic to make sure they have a PERFECT record of their big day. I don't understand the fervor over taping a wedding. I know couples were doing that when I got married back in 1985, but I didn't see the point. I mean, does anyone actually watch these things? Ever?

Well, actually I can say I've seen one couple who watched theirs, but it was one of the more surreal experiences I can remember. My ex's little brother was marrying Jenny the Future Cocaine Addict and Major Hoor, and after the reception, most of his family gathered back at his parents' house to watch the couple open presents from out-of-town relatives. Mind you, the wedding had taken place approximately three hours before. After opening gifts, Jenny cried "Let's watch the video now!" I thought she was kidding and started laughing appreciatively at her sarcastic wit, but she was dead serious. And I'll be damned if everyone didn't sit down and watch the video breathlessly, as if it contained a shocker ending, such as the bride shrieking "No, I don't!" and racing down the aisle or something. Maybe if I watched sports and were accustomed to instant replays, I wouldn't have found viewing a record of something that had JUST HAPPENED so strange, but I did. The, uh, camera "work," performed by my ex's father, was nausea-inducing, too. The first five minutes of the tape consisted of wild swoops between the ceiling of the church and my father-in-law's feet, accompanied by his muttered curses. When he finally settled on a point midway between those two extremes, he couldn't decide between VERY CLOSE UP, at a range that allowed us to see my brother-in-law's nose pores in crystal clarity, or so far away that the priest, couple, and attendants looked like ants.

I suspect one of the first guidelines in this wedding video course will be "Do not let a relative take the video." If it's not, you can bet I'll suggest it.

Searching for my doppelganger

I just saw this facial-recognition test at Robyn's and had to try it out. First, I tried it with my high school picture:

Eh, a little boring. Then I tried it with a more recent picture:

These results were funnier. Oprah will no doubt be delighted to know she resembles a middle-aged white woman. Heh. I have to confess that I tried to be a wisenheimer by trying a picture of Charlie first. The program didn't find any matches for a chihuahua, however.

Pottery Barn can bite me

Indiana weather is just plain screwy. Friday morning, it was 6 degrees. This Friday? It's supposed to be in the mid-50s. Yeah, I have no idea what to wear from one day to the next. Does the weather change that much in other, non-Midwest parts of the country? I've lived in almost every region but New England, and I don't remember the weather being so capricious elsewhere. Maybe I'm just getting old and crochety and prone to bitching about the weather . . .

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The other day, I took down all the curtains in the dining room to wash them. That room has four big south-facing windows, so there's almost too much light, especially this time of year when there are no leaves to filter the sun. Anyway, yesterday I was stringing lights on the Christmas tree, which I set up next to the piano in there. I happened to look over at the dining room table and was struck blind by the unimpeded sun hitting the billion dust particles everywhere. The whole room looked frumpy and shabby--and God, incredibly dusty--which sent me into a frenzy of floor-mopping and dusting and throwing away piles of junk mail on the secretary in the corner and picking up scattered dog toys, and FUCK.

You know, I look at rooms in decorating magazines or those damn Pottery Barn catalogues that show up faithfully every couple of weeks in my mailbox (even though I haven't ordered anything in three years), and I long for a house that looks as serene and ordered and tidy, with everything looking clean and crisp. My house is a hodgepodge of hand-me-downs, leftover-from-college pieces, some inexpensive antiques I've refurbished (back when I had time to strip paint, sand, and stain), and a few newish things. I hate feeling this dissatisfied, and I suspect much of it has to do with a vague weariness over life in general, not my house specifically.

Also, I'm mad at catalogues and magazines for promoting this myth that EVERYONE BUT ME is neater and more organized and takes better care of his or her home. They set me up for feeling like a failure, damn it. And to be honest, I let them. Why do I think I have to meet some impossible standard a superior marketing snot in San Francisco or NewYork, with way more disposable income than me, decided to create to make me feel bad about myself? I've been in other people's homes (really, I have!), and they don't have impeccably clean, perfectly accessorized houses with actual matching couches and chairs. I've seen puppy chew marks on the corners of their ottomans, shoes and toys scattered on their floors, and juice stains on their carpets. So why do I feel as though I'm alone in my utter shame and disgust over the state of my house? OK, "shame and disgust" might be an exaggeration, but discontent, certainly.

On the other hand, it wouldn't kill me to dust a little more often--AND get my freshly washed curtains up faster before I notice how bad it is!

Edited to add: I had to go out to pick up pita pockets for the tabouli I made and of course wound up getting 17 other things. The bagger kid had a running commentary on almost every item I bought, which annoyed me. After the cashier told me I'd saved $10.08 with my grocery card, the bagger boy said "Hey, don't spend it all in one place," dripping sarcasm all over his Converse high-tops, and then, THEN he . . . uh, how do I say this? He "adjusted" himself. Vigorously. I . . . I'm speechless.

A game and a plea for help

I saw this game at Janet's, so I thought I'd give it a whirl. Comment and I'll give you a letter, and then you have to list 10 things you love beginning with that letter. That beeyotch Janet gave me "J" and I had to struggle to come up with J words!

1. Jumping into a warm bed on a cold night
2. Jam, seedless blackberry
3. Jousting and other things from medieval history
4. Japanese art
5. Jovial people
6. Junior Mints at a movie
7. Jocularity
8. Jaunts to bookstores
9. Jewelry, silver
10. Joining in the carnal sense (hey, I'm running out of J ideas!)

Oh, OK, I'll include Janet in that list, even though that makes 11 items. I promise I'll give you an easier letter if you comment.

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I love the Internet. A couple of hours online Wednesday morning, and I'm two-thirds done with my Christmas shopping. Yes! I went to Amazon first, and can I say I'm a wee bit disillusioned with that site? On almost everything I checked, Amazon "couldn't guarantee" arrival by December 25 if I picked its much-vaunted free shipping. Oh, if I wanted to PAY for shipping, Amazon would get that package out to me on the double, no messing around. I have a B@rnes & Noble membership card, so I went there and found almost all the books, CDs, and DVDs I needed--and at a 15% discount with free shipping. Take that, Amazon! Who needs ya, baby?

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This time of year always makes me grateful my job has nothing to do with customer service or dealing with the public. I don't know how Kevin stands it. Of course, the photo department at W@lgreens has been inundated with orders lately, and to make matters worse, several sales and promotions have been bringing in the crazies along with regular customers. A guy came in early the morning a cellphone sale started, demanding to get "one of them phones" he saw in the paper. The main office hadn't sent the stock of cellphones until late the day before, so they still hadn't been unpacked. Kevin dug around in boxes in the back and finally found the right phones and accessories. Phone Guy examined the phone suspiciously and eventually agreed to buy it. After Kevin rang up the purchase, he handed Phone Guy the activation card and explained how to dial the number on it to set up his account.

Phone Guy did a double-take and hollered "You mean this phone doesn't work?" Kevin patiently explained that yes, it would work just fine after he set up the account by calling the activation number.

Phone Guy glared at him and said "I need to make a call NOW. I'm not buying no damn phone that doesn't work!" Kevin wisely decided to let the egregious use of double negatives go and gave Phone Guy his money back. He even refrained from advising Phone Guy to use a payphone instead of buying a cellphone the next time he needs to make a call. Oy.

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Last week, I bitched about the G@rmin commercial. Clearly, I wasn't paying attention to the content because I thought G@rmin was a department store. Uh, it's actually a GPS device. Whatever. Still an annoying commercial.

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I need some advice. You might remember me talking about Kevin's son, Andrew, who has Asperger's Syndrome. He's 15 now, and his symptoms have improved a little over the past couple of years. He's still scatty as all hell and has trouble focusing on anything that isn't a cartoon or video game. For example, last weekend, Kevin asked him to empty the dishwasher but didn't stay in the kitchen while Andrew did it. A few nights later, I was baking with Daniel and went to grab the measuring spoons from the hook where I keep them. Not there. I checked the dishwasher. Nope. Daniel and I pulled out drawers and looked in cabinets and tried to think like Andrew. Finally, I pulled out the drawer holding tin foil and plastic wrap, and bingo. I know. Makes no sense, but moving along . . .

Anyway, last Saturday morning, when Kevin was leaving to pick up Andrew, he said "I'm going to take Andrew out for breakfast, so I won't be back for a while." He'd mentioned that he needs to watch expenses to make sure he had enough money for Christmas shopping, so I said "Well, it's 10:30. Andrew gets up early, so I'm sure he's eaten by now." Kevin said indignantly that Mary (his ex) never feeds Andrew before he picks him up Saturday mornings. "Uh, honey. Andrew's 15. Surely he can get himself a bowl of cereal without Mary's help?" I suggested.

Well, from there, the conversation devolved into an argument, with me claiming Kevin makes too many excuses for Andrew and has expectations for him more appropriate for a 6-year-old, and Kevin insisting he doesn't baby Andrew too much. I realize Kevin has typical noncustodial-parent guilt that he can't spend more time with Andrew, and I understand he might let some things slide with his son that he wouldn't if Andrew lived here full-time. He treats Andrew like a small child instead of a teenager in high school, though. He rarely asks him to help out around the house or pick up after himself; he seldom tries to teach Andrew things a young man should know (like how to shave, which Andrew definitely needs to do); he lets Andrew wallow in cartoons and video games the entire time he's here instead of trying to introduce more grown-up entertainment and conversation--maybe talking about the news, for instance?

My worry is that he's doing nothing to prepare Andrew for real life. What happens after Andrew graduates from high school? As he is now, there's no way he could hold down a job, and going to college is unlikely for both financial and academic reasons. Is he going to spend the rest of his life sitting on his mom's couch playing Nintendo and GameBoy? Andrew has no conception of real-world, practical things, such as how a bank account works, how to mail a letter, how to read a map, and on and on. Frankly, I don't think the kid could figure out how to change a light bulb. I know teaching him anything is a frustrating, slow process that requires lots of repetition, but someone has to do it. His mother can't be bothered, and I think Kevin's too scared he'll lose Andrew's love--and the boy does adore Kevin--if he's tougher on him. As a sort-of stepparent, what can I do? That's not rhetorical: I really want to know. I'd appreciate any suggestions.

Chuck Norris mourns my passing

I saw this quiz at Robyn's and thought my results were quite fitting:

'What will your obituary say?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Well, I don't know about Chuck Norris missing me. I've never even watched one of his movies, so it seems unlikely he'd mourn someone who's ignored him. Wait. Is Chuck Norris still alive??

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I don't think I've done a Fat-B-Gone update recently, but when I went in for a check-up today, I'd lost two more pounds. I'm up to a total of 21 pounds, I think. To be honest, I'm having trouble keeping track of the total, but as long as I'm losing something and continuing to exercise, that's fine. I've never been obsessed with numbers (actually, I try to avoid numbers when possible--you know, math and all). I tend to notice things such as clothes being looser or a reduction in the jiggle factor more. Anyway, the Curv3s women are doing monthly measurements and such on me, so I'll let them keep track of the numbers.

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I just got off the phone with an editor friend, and we were talking about how Christmas shopping isn't as much fun when you don't have a young child to buy presents for. I used to be able to thrill and surprise Daniel with Christmas presents; now he announces he's added several items to his Amazon wish list, and I can just buy his gifts there. Hmmph! What fun is that?

My mom's "wish list" is a bit more interesting, however. She informed me the other day that she really, really likes that Il Divo group (the pretty-boy singer group formed by Simon Cowell) and wouldn't mind having one of their CDs. Here's the horrifying part: She giggled like a schoolgirl as she added "But the only problem with a CD is that I can't look at them while they're singing!" My mother HAS A CRUSH. On YOUNGER men. Actually, that's kind of adorable of her, but I don't think I want to be in the same room with her while she watches one of their TV specials or concerts or whatever. I might have to gouge my eyes out. Something about those boys makes me shudder, too. Maybe it's the cheesiness factor.

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Daniel finally got his SAT scores, and damn, that boy tests well. If only that skill translated to his grades, but it doesn't--certainly not in any math-related classes. He has the strangest report cards I've ever seen, I swear: A, A-, A+, D, B+, C-, A. Easy to tell which classes he likes and which ones he hates, that's for sure.

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I wasn't hungry at lunch, so I had just a yogurt, and now I'm starving. I'm off to go start some baked ziti and salad. Sasha, I'll try to remember to post my chicken pot pie recipe this week--promise!

The bells, the bells . . .

The incessant playing of "merry" Christmas commercials has started already--hell, what am I talking about? They started before Thanksgiving. I'll be sick of every single one by December 1, yet I guarantee they'll be stuck in my brain for several weeks. Hmmm, just long enough to influence my Christmas shopping. How fiendishly clever!

The one that's driving me crazy the fastest is for G@rmin department stores or malls or some damn thing. The jingle is that Christmas carol about bells, I think? But it's just the chorus repeated several times, as far as I can tell, so it's incredibly monotonous yet oddly hypnotic. Yesterday in the shower, I found myself singing a bit from it over and over: Call the salon, need a waxing now, got a UNIBROW. And the woman sporting said unibrow looks damn frightening; she's become a major player in my nightmare landscape. I hear that song all the time in my head now. Curse you, G@rmin Stores! I am unfortunately prone to getting what the kids are calling "earworms" these days, or maybe I have a touch of the OCD. I hate retailers for causing bad song loops in my head.

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One of my favorite lines from Seinfeld is Jerry describing Kramer: "He falls ass backward into money." Well, Kevin seems to fall ass backward into creative opportunities. I mentioned a few weeks ago that he's going to be teaching some classes on collage for the Sugar Creek Arts Center, but another opportunity fell in his lap. His cousin Sam moved back to Indiana recently and got a grant to start an arts organization/learning center, which also involves overseeing an archive of materials related to arts and literature. The grant includes a stipend for an artist-in-residence, who will be Kevin. I don't know what-all this position entails, but it will include running workshops, teaching art classes, organizing art exhibitions, and so on. He'll also be working with the mayor of the town where Sam lives, about an hour north of here, who's interested in boosting the arts in that community, particularly for school kids. Kevin's so excited he can barely contain himself. I'm afraid he's actually developing a BUBBLY personality (the horror!). It's wonderful to see him happy, of course, but I barely recognize him these days. He was babbling away about his plans yesterday, and I was compelled to ask him "Who ARE you, and what have you done with Kevin?" Maybe I should check him tonight for the placement of a hidden mole that few people besides me would know about.

I'd better scoot and go work out. I have to run to the grocery to pick up a few things for a chicken pot pie I'm making tomorrow. Daniel will no doubt refuse to eat it because all the ingredients are mixed up together under the crust; if he DOES eat it, by some miracle, he'll inspect every bite for evidence of lurking onions. He loathes onions but suspects me of putting them in everything. Too bad, though. I make a delicious homemade chicken pot pie, and I haven't made it in ages in deference to His Pickiness's delicate tastes. The weather is supposed to turn wintry and nasty tomorrow, which calls for a warm, comforting dinner, in my opinion. If I'm feeling magnanimous, I just might hold the onions.

The Importance of News Anchors

The morning news proclaimed today Cyber Monday, the online equivalent of retailers' Black Friday. In my house, however, today is Black Monday because Robin Meade, of CNN Headline News, still isn't back from vacation.

Several months ago, Kevin and I got in the habit of watching this "CNN light" station because you get a smattering of news, weather, entertainment, financial crap, and so on, which is perfect for mornings when you don't have time for in-depth news coverage. It took a few weeks to pierce my pre-caffeine fog, but I realized eventually that Robin Meade was doing more to get Kevin out of bed in the mornings than I was. I suffered a brief flash of jealousy, until I realized his adoration of Robin is more akin to a school boy's crush on his teacher. He comments on what she wears and says she's "SO sweet"; he even gets a happy little grin on his face when she says "Morning, sunshine." I swear he thinks she's talking directly to him. He adores Robin, but there's not a drop of sexual attraction in his lurve of her. Actually, I teased him about that once, and he was horrified I'd even suggest he could harbor such crass feelings for Roooooooooobin.

To be honest, Robin makes my mornings pleasant, too. She's as cute as a bug, without the nauseating perkiness of a Kelly Ripa or Katie Couric (before she got all evening-news deadly serious). She's easily amused, which I like because I am, too, and her chortle is slightly goofy and very genuine. I found myself looking forward to her return this morning after being on vacation all last week, but alas, her substitute was still there today. Please come back, Robin! Come on. How much vacation does a news anchor need?

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Kevin had to work Saturday night, so I coaxed Daniel into helping me clean up the downstairs a little. I vacuumed and dusted while he took out trash, loaded the dishwasher, and changed some light bulbs. I was vacuuming the entryway when I noticed how disgusting my cat-hair-covered stairs looked. My cats like to hang out on the top stairs where they can keep tabs on the action but stay out of reach of the dogs. Unfortunately, gray and black hair shows up quite clearly on beige carpet.

As you can see in the picture (taken last Christmas--you didn't think I had my Christmas decorations up already? please), the steps on the spiral staircase are too narrow to balance a vacuum cleaner on. So the only way to clean them is to pop them out of the step frames and toss them down to the entryway floor, starting at the top and working my way down (which I learned after trying the reverse direction the first time and finding myself stuck upstairs), spread them out on the floor, vacuum them with the brush attachment, and then put them back in from the bottom up. I have to warn everyone first to get whatever they need from upstairs. Daniel still has trouble with this concept, and a few months ago, realized after I'd started vacuuming that he needed to change clothes for work. He had to walk upstairs by balancing on the metal step frames because I'm a mean mom and refused to put the steps back and then take them out again.

The steps are now as clean as I can get them, considering that hideous beige carpet is probably 15 years old. Ugh. I want to rip up the carpet in the entryway and install a wood floor, but I'm stumped as to what to do with the steps. They're just plywood with carpet wrapped around them, so I can't simply remove the carpet. I suppose I could have new steps from nice wood cut to fit, but I imagine that would be expensive. I thought about painting the plywood, but I'm afraid it would look tacky, and besides, the plywood steps aren't quite thick enough. When you walk on them, the sharp metal edge of the step frames would cut into your feet, if you were wearing soft-soled shoes or going barefoot, as I'm wont to do. The carpet adds some thickness and pads the steps a little. Any ideas?

You know, every time I clean, I'm overwhelmed by how much I want to fix or change in this house. However, money, time, and energy: I need gobs of all three, and I have none of them. The only solution I can come up with is to stop cleaning so I don't notice, but that's not going to happen, so I guess I'm stuck with feeling overwhelmed. It would be easier to bear if Robin were back to brighten my mornings, though.