Someone else's Christmas

Currently: thoughtful (Also, just suck it up, camper. This is part of the price of being a we.)

This is the first year I spent Christmas away from my family. In a way, it wasn't really a big deal. I'm not a crazed Xmasophile like some people I know and Thanksgiving, spent in the bosom of many relatives of varying closeness, was only a few weeks before. Also, the currently poisonous familial atmosphere doesn't exactly lend itself to wistful dreaming for ye olde Yuletides of yore. A few times, boys have come to Christmas at the family homestead, and truthfully, it's an experience I wouldn't wish on any sane person, let alone a person that I actually liked. So there isn't any particular reason why I should have been blubbery and silly and whimpering about being Away From My People On This Special Day For The Very First Time.

But I was.

Not that I was crying myself to sleep every night, but I definitely felt more than a small sense of diconnection and loss. And not because I wasn't in the midst of a ridiculously nice, warm, and caring supernuclear family with interesting traditions and great food, cute decorations, and a general excess of holiday cheer. And not that the Christmas days calls to The People weren't irritating and awkward, per usual.

Still, I missed our traditions of stressing out from the presence of the elder generation, staring at each other with nothing to say (well, nothing nice, anyway), being vaguely annoyed at all times, death-march singing marathons, and feeling slightly spied-upon. Oh, and hot pot. Really, it's not that bad, but my family does have quite a way of draining all the joy out of the holidays!!! So it's not longing for misty memories or laughing good times, exactly, but more a missing of the expected and familiar. Also, it is usually the only time each year that my entire family gets together - and not even an extended family, but just the basic nuclear family unit. We missed it in 2007 and that makes me sad.

The weirdness at being with Other People for a family holiday is another story altogether. Even if everything is pleasant and lovely and thoughtful and fun, which it was, mostly, the experience is just...not the same. And I, unfortunately, can sometimes be unexpectedly drawn to sameness and No! Change! Ever! Suffice it to say, I don't think that it can ever be a completely comfortable experience. Though I do expect that it will get easier upon repetition, so the oddness is not also newness, and the sense of outsiderhood is gradually worn away.

No sale part II

Sucker = me. I don't really want to remember this episode as anything but the time I managed to resist a one-on-one pitch to buy into a ridiculously overpriced vacation club. Unfortunately, it was also the evening in which I learned an important lesson about how there is no such thing as free airline tickets :(

No sale

I thought that the festival of lights would be great opportunity to see the inside of the Mormon temple that dominates a certain turn along the Beltway landscape. It's looks vaguely like an UnEmerald City and catching sight of it after a long drive tells me that I'm almost home. Naturally, like every other Christian chruch's holiday pageantry, I assumed that the festivities would take place in the temple and I would finally get to see Oz for myself.

Instead, the experience featured viciously windy, near-freezing cold (Oh! How my New England root have deserted me after many years away from the motherland. I am as thin-skinned as any other mid-Atlantic protoSoutherner!), and a visitor center refuge sown with eager proselytizers intent on cheerfully and relentlessly... proselytizing (hey, I just learned to correctly spell the word). At first, I did not understand the ramifications of these interactions and genially expressed interest in learning about the differences between the Mormon faith and other Christian denominations. Luckily, my companion understood that I was only looking for short, academic answers, and quickly steered us away with blithe tall tales of youthful studies of the Book of Mormon. After we'd been stopped several times before making a complete turn about the lobby, I began to realize what my desire to see the pretty lights had gotten us into. I've never been so aggressively pitched in my life and I've done a lot of shopping! These people are certainly gung ho to collect stars for their heavenly crowns!!! I thought that my childhood church was very aggresive in their recruitment, but I'd never experienced anything quite like this gauntlet of attention!

I have to say that I did appreciate the directness of their approach - "Can I tell you about the book of Mormon?" was usually the 2nd or 3rd line in the dialogue, right after the exchange of names (and possibly, hugs). Also, I could appreciate their tactics from a marketer's perspective. All of the would-be recruiters were decently to ridiculously good-looking (especially those tall, blond boys. Yum! And, er, young. Very young.), very well-scrubbed and dressed, and almost comically polite and pleasant. All in all, while I was not inclined to sell my soul for a glimpse inside the temple, I couldn't help but feel warmth and a tinge of awe for people who so genuinely and actively believe in something, as well as the commanders that so skillfully deploy their troops. (That golden plate story, though? Has me scratching my head, still.)

Pay attention!

I forgot to use the defrost setting when microwaving meat last night. The result? A gray, rubbery, overcooked, HOT!! mess. I used it anyway, because I can't bear waste. Ick :(

The soup initiative, revisited

When I was in grad school, I lined one of my office bookshelves with cans of pop-top, chunky winter soup (bought on sale, of course). The sodium-filled cans of hearty goodness were my ward against hunger, my first line and fallback, and reason for Not Eating Lunch Out Every Damn Day (you can spend a graduate stipend soooo fast if you're not careful!). It worked out pretty well, saving me some $, but also raising my blood pressure...

The inescapable conclusion, regardless, was that soup is a wonderful winter food. Sure, it's great other times of the year, but during the winter, it's warm and soothing and filling and makes the house smell nice. So here's the plan: two soups, every weekend, to supplement the food prep for the rest of the week. The new Lodge has actually been drafted for this effort. This is good, because, left to my own devices, I'd just look at the thing, not use it. It's already made beef-vegetable soup and a batch of marinara! Yeah!

So the soup initiative has been...reinitialized...and thus far we've had:

Black bean soup
Cod chowder
Beef-vegetable soup
Lentil soup x 3
Butternut squash soup

(Lentil soup so often because it's the vegetable disposal and also, therefore, the Soup Of Health! Plus, verrrry tasty.)

Updates every week (excepting the holidays, most likely), I hope!

Holiday party, company style

The first year I participated in the company party holiday gift swap, I was nervous about my contribution. I'd only started there a few months before and was still unsure about what would offend. While I don't remember what I ultimately offered up at the gift table, I do remember the relief I felt when people started opening the presents. We can, and are even encouraged with cheers and claps by management and staffers alike, to bring booze.

Dude, easy!

There has to be a better way

Having 80% of the grade being determined in the last 2 weeks of a class is a terrible idea. Also, having no graded assignments, tests, or quizzes before the final is extremely stressful, because the student has no idea what to expect on the test and no way to better the grade if preparation was inadequate.

***************
I hate waiting for service folk to meander on over whenever they feel like it come to the house. I don't understand why they can't give you a real ETA.* Cable, heating, pest control, it's all the same. When you have to wait a day and a half for a 15-minute appointment, something is wrong!!!

***************
Fire drills at work during the winter. Sadistic bastards!



*Oh, I do understand that they don't have any incentive to show up on time, or give an accurate ETA, or to care about the people who call them in general, because they are all so busy that they can flip the bird to their clients by holding them hostage in their homes with threats of missing your One Chance to get your heater serviced This Quarter, and may even consider that to be a job perk for their amusement. What I can't understand is how they can live with themselves, with such callousness and general disregard for humankind weighing on their souls. Apparently, with large piles of $.

Let's all run on down to Avenue Q

Yay!!! Even though I haven't seen Wicked yet, I know why Avenue Q beat it out for the Tony!! The show was so utterly charming and delightful and potty-mouthed and FUN that I can hardly express how much I liked it. This is now my favorite comedy musical (hard to compare the dramaticals to the comedicals. I like them differently.) and it only improves upon listening, which I have confirmed after playing the soundtrack eleventy billion times.

It's hard to talk about the songs and the characters without giving away the plot, but it almost doesn't matter. These characters are archetypes, the storylines are familiar, and the songs are jaunty echos of tunes from childhood. The show's brilliance lays in the gusto, the sweetness, the warmth, and hilarity that unfolds as these people WHO ARE US, puppet and puppetmasters alike, are explored.
I can say that the technical skills of the puppeteers are a real treat to behold. Some puppets take multiple people, while some people play multiple puppets. Sometimes the actors voice a puppet as they are acting with OTHER puppets. It's sort of dizzying to think about and artfully deceptive to watch. The human mind is very good at fooling itself and you could almost swear that the puppet's voice was coming out of its mouth, not from all the way across the stage.

The staging is definitely designed to appeal to the Sesame Street generation X to Nexters, with people and puppets and TV screens and lessons abounding. The songs are funny/beautiful because they are true! and ridiculously easy to sing. It's been a couple of weeks (granted, we've been listening to the soundtrack), but some of the songs are still floating around in my subconscious. I often find myself humming or thinking about songs and punchlines.

I can't wait to see it again!

Ah, now I understand

A little bit better, anyway.

At first, I guffawed (with many others) at this year's "Sexiest Man Alive" designation. Whenever I see/hear of him, I always think of "Maaaaatt DAmoN" as played by his Team America puppet doppleganger, and it's not exactly, er, sexy (and that movie knows how to do puppet sexy!). But after jetting around the globe with Jason Bourne this week, I think I'm a little closer to figuring out why he was tapped for such a singular honor this year. A little Terminatorish in his demeanor and can't-keep-him-downness, but still, I can see how his brokenness and superspeedy spy moves have a certain appeal.

A taste to remember

Holy crap, this was one of the best-tasting things to ever pass my lips:

smoked foie gras torchon with dried cherry compote, brioche tuiles and tellicherry pepper-minus 8 vinegar gastrique

That crazy jumble of words resolved themselves into a generous portion of rendered foie gras rounds; dense, intensely creamy, and simply bursting with MEAT (and not liver) essence, with crunchy-tart accompaniments. The foie was lusciously unctuous - you had to bite into it, but the piece would slowly dissolve on the tongue as you swirled the solution about your mouth. A layer of, I don't know, richness was left on the lips - not like fat, or grease, or paraffin, or anything as solid as that, but more of a feeling than anything else. If this isn't unami, I still haven't experienced it, but oh WOW, was this delicious...

Note to self

Fish memory strikes again!

Last year I avoided a particular work function for a good reason.

This year, I forgot the good reason and decided to attend.

I now remember the reason: two years ago, I got lost driving to this place because it was dark, icy, and the road makes an improbable 90-degree turn off to the side. Also, I was almost run off the road in the process of finally turning around after traveling many miles the wrong way.

The same thing happened again! All of it! HATE!

(But it turns out, I do remember how to ice skate and find it to be a very pleasant winter activity.)

Tips for teachers

1) Be easy on the eyes

2) Be easy on the ears

3) Be energetic

4) Be genuinely interested/inspired about your subject

If you're not at least one of the above, just a thought, but you should probably find another job.

(My teacher this semester was all of these things - a pixie sprite with cute clothes, a lilting European Spanish accent, an insane amount of energy for a late night class and being a new mother, and almost scarily invested in her topic, all of which almost made up for the idiocy of the grading scheme and made class sessions extremely pleasant.)

Dummyhead

It might be disconcerting for someone to genuinely believe that the medical professional rooting around her mouth with sharp, whizzing instruments is a bit slow, if you know what I mean, but not me! My dentist is a charmingly nervous and attentive youngish guy who does a terrific job in all things, EXCEPT, he can never remember how much Novocaine I need. Even when I remind him. With my exact dose. What he does when I remind him is to exclaim fatuously at my self knowledge ("Wow, you really have done this a few times!"; "Oh, you know about the lip wiggle, you're a pro!") and then proceed to ignore me, giving me the dose HE thinks is appropriate. This has happened for the last three visits. Why don't I get rid of him? Except for this teeny, tiny flaw (and his slightly braying laugh), he's very congenial and has got mad technical skillz. Sadly, I've been to enough dentists to know the difference. And, it's an easy enough problem to remedy on the spot, as I wince in pain the moment he attempts to proceed. Inevitably, he exclaims again ("Wow, your teeth really ARE sensitive!"; Whoa, you really aren't numb yet!"), and then ponies up the rest of the sweet, sweet deadening juice. So I keep him.

This time, for example, I requested 2 ampules, citing the last visit where it took exactly 2 ampules to make me numb enough to work on. He agreed, with a smattering of the above exclamations, and then gave me 1.5 doses, thinking it would be enough. A few minutes later, amidst my my tossing head, whimpering, and body twitches, he stopped trying to Drill Into My Head, noting, "You're not even fully numb! Maybe only 75% numb!!!" Heh, you don't say...

(Incidentally, this is one reason why I knew that James Frey's "memoir," Million Little Pieces, was at least partly fiction. Dental surgery without numbing or being completely immobolized/ paralyzed simply isn't possible, because you can't hold yourself still enough to allow someone work at that scale, no matter your pain tolerance. Pull a tooth? Sure. It's quick and brutal. Actually root around and fill something? No way.)

Anyhow, proper quantity of Novocaine was given, numbing commenced, procedure completed, and cavity isn't showing any sign of implosion just yet (crossing fingers!!! I SO don't want to have another root canal!!). Also, numb face and furiously itchy nose (that couldn't be scratched silent!!) till well into the night. Just another day at the dentist.

Pretty pot pie

Gratuitous pot pie pictures. One might even say, pot pie porn! (Gastronaut porn, that is.)

It's official, this is the best possible final resting place for leftover Tday turkey and pie crust. Also, not a bad thing to have on your birthday when sick like a DOG. Soooo comforting.

Monochromatic loot

As I gaze at my newly acquired Bday riches, I notice a certain...trend.

Blue pot:

(Worship the pot! I heart this pot! Such pretty enamel! I have been longing for a pot like this for years! If I felt as definitively about having children as I did about this pot, then there would be no internal childbearing conflict!)

Blue bag, pants, bra, sweater, and sparkly thing. Last year I got another blue sweater, shoes, pair of pants, and shirt.

Hmmm.

I'd felt that I'd kicked the automatic blue thing. Now, there's nothing wrong with having a signature color. I've always enjoyed the color blue and it's no accident that a lot of my possessions fall on one section of the color spectrum. For a few years, I consciously tried to pick things other than in blue (RED!), to lend variety to my wardrobe and household (it worked, sort of - I now have a lot of red stuff, too). Luckily, I moved into a place that was already painted green and taupe, which staved off blue walls (which I used to have). I think it's safe to say that the blue embargo is over, or more accurately, that it never existed in the first place.

I think it might be time to reinstate the ban/try again to widen my palette.

A service announcement

DO NOT sign up for Cold Stone Creamery's birthday club;

print out your free birthday ice cream coupon;

fully intend to cash it in;

and forget to use it before it expires.

It makes the world WEEP at the sheer waste.

:(

I hate groupwork

Current mood: seething rage!

Partner projects suck! School is obviously not the real world! Especially in night classes!

Just for once, I was hoping that I wouldn't have to do waaaaaay more than my half of a group project.

Sigh.

Practicing

I've taken to trying to wear jewelry again. Just because it looks nice, I have quite a bit of it, and I might as well wear it instead of worshipping it in the box. I've found that metal is good to futz with, particularly when I'm agitated, as it keeps me relatively calm, even when I want to run over/reach through the phone and smack/poke in the eye/hiss at/stomp on the foot of the person who's (currently) making me CRAZY.

Taming the beast

With colder weather comes the return of the scales. My eczema is back, in full itching, stinging, and cracking force. So far I've been trying to self-heal with religious application of thick moisturizers and hydrocortisone cream. Carmex, an old-school but effective unguent, works surprisingly well in a pinch. I'm getting used to having permanently sticky forearms, and I hope that ruining my sweaters is worth it in angry scale abatement.

Itch.

Scratch.

Whimper.