Long Distance Father/Son Bonding...and other crap

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I have been composing a post in my head all day long.  But then something else happened that seemed so much more "post worthy" that I have decided that what I was thinking just wasn't good enough for it's own post....so I'll just tack it on at the end.  Sure, it won't make for a cohesive post but then when are my posts ever cohesive?

Earlier in the evening, I heard Hubby talking to the television.  More than usual.  I knew the Giants were playing so I chalked it up to them playing extremely well or extremely bad.  No matter how they play, it is guaranteed that he will be telling them what to do or what not to do.
As time wore on, I began to notice that the tone was more conversational than confrontational.  Generally, Hubby is confrontational with the television.  I also noticed that the chatter of the sports announcers weren't blathering on and on in the background, as they usually are when he is watching a game.
Curious, I took a stroll past the living room to see what was going on.  It turned out that Hubby was on the phone.  With Man-Child.  
These two boys of mine are extremely close, and always have been.  They used to spend most of their Sundays during the "season" watching football together.  And, if I'm not mistaken, up until Man-Child left for college, they have watched every Giants game together.
Since MC has left for school, I can tell that some of the joy Hubby felt at watching a Giants game is gone.  Oh sure, he still berates the team when they aren't doing well, he still berates the referees and he especially berates the sports announcers.  In his mind, all the announcers are Giants haters.  But I could tell that his heart wasn't in it.
Until tonight.  Tonight, one of them called the other.  And then like two school girls, proceeded to watch the game "together" via the phone; for the ENTIRE game.  It was hilarious.  After it was over, Hubby informed me that it had been "fun."  I sense a new trend in their football watching going forward.
In other news, I decorated the tree today.  After yesterday's mild panic attack, I am feeling a little more in control.  Oh sure, the house isn't decorated (and, most likely, won't be - since just looking at all FIFTEEN of those boxes gave me a headache.....), but the tree is trimmed and the stockings are hung.  What more do you need to have Santa come visit?  Exactly.
Only two minor hiccups occurred today while trimming the tree.  The first being, I discovered last year's Christmas ornament.  I buy a new one that is dated every year.  Recently, I've been buying the photo ones to ensure that we have a family picture every year.  Here is last year's.....

WHY my pictures are randomly turning sideways, I don't know!
But, other than that, what is wrong with this picture?!

Look closely; what do you see?

That is NOT my family!!!

This lead me to do a mental review.  Did we take a family picture last year?  If we did, why did I not put the picture into the frame?
For the life of me, I could not remember.  And thus began the internal debate; "Should I just hang it on the tree as is?  As a testament to the fact that I am obviously losing my mind?  Or should I cheat and put in some random, fairly recent, photo and call it a day?"
In the end, I decided to set it aside and see if I could find some evidence of a family picture from last year before hanging it AS IS on the tree.  After searching one laptop, my cell phone and another laptop I DID discover a family picture.  And it was a definite cheat - since it was apparently taken after Christmas - on the 29th to be exact.  

Well, at least this one is right side up!

And then it all came flooding back to me.  I had bought the ornament frame just days before Christmas and never got organized enough to have the picture taken.  In a frantic attempt to get the picture done before the season was over, I had my friend come over at the last minute in an attempt to "close out" the holiday season.  And then, once the photo had been snapped, I completely ended the season, neglecting to print the photo and pack it away.
Since I already have this year's ornament, I suppose I should get busy with that family picture business (note to self.....be more organized this year, dammit!)
The other hiccup occurred after I had decorated the tree.  Yesterday, while up in the mountains, I found a Christmas ornament in MC's school colors and with the logo stamped on it.  I bought it immediately.  Today it was the first ornament on the tree.  I snapped a picture and immediately texted it to him.
Hours later he responded.....

Seriously?

This from the kid who has had absolutely NO interest in trimming the tree these past several years?  The kid who actually moaned if I suggested that he help me in any way?
I can't win, people.  I just can't win.

Heartbroken.....

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I had a whole post ready to go - give or take a few tweaks - poking fun of an incident that happened earlier this week.  But I'm not feeling very funny right now.

Right now, I am horrified and sickened at the tragedy in Connecticut.

My thoughts, prayers and tears tonight are for those people affected by the senseless act of violence today.

This insanity must stop.....it HAS to stop.  Things like this should NEVER happen again.  And the fact that they already have - too many times to count - is a testament to that fact.

A mini technology related rant and my eye is fine, thanks for asking.

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I am annoyed.  Actually, I am beyond annoyed.

I have spent the last two days having a battle of epic proportions with my phone and a certain email provider.  For some reason it has decided that I do not need that particular email account to work.  The one that is tied to my blog!  The phone has randomly told me that my login failed (which was odd, because I hadn't been trying to log in - since I'm ALWAYS logged in).  This in turn made me think that I should change my password.  So I did and I STILL can't get in.

After struggling with it again this morning, and going back and forth with Verizon on Twitter (major props to Verizon for answering my call for help.  Yahoo?  I'm pretty much sick of you - especially since you've ignored me) I gave up and went to the Verizon store.  The guy there was very helpful.  He informed me that Yahoo and Droids haven't been playing nicely lately.  Great.  He then loaded a Yahoo app and said that it would be fine.  But it's not.  The old icon is still there and occasionally throwing out random things like "login incorrect" "email failed to send" etc.  And the new app?  Well, damned if it won't notify me when I receive an email!  Oh sure, I can retrieve the emails manually but then what the hell is the point of having the so-called smart phone if it won't TELL me I have emails?  And? I can't find the settings for the application - they are hidden somewhere random - to see if there is something that needs to be checked off in order for it to work properly. *sigh*

I have tried repeatedly to delete the original account - in hopes that re-loading it would make it work again.  But it won't even let me do that.  So I'm seriously wondering about how hard it would be to come up with a new email account with a different, more customer friendly provider and somehow link it to my blog and other social media sites.  I'm getting a headache just thinking about it.

In other news, my eye is healing up nicely.  What?  You didn't know about the eye?  Well, I guess I'll have to rectify that....

So there I was, blissfully sleeping the sleep of the innocent.  Most likely dreaming of sugar plums and kittens.  When out of nowhere, an EXPLOSION of pain had me leaping from the bed, holding my face and screaming,

"MY EYE! MY EYE!  YOU KNOCKED MY EYE OUT!"

And crying hysterically.  Naturally, this had my husband leaping from the bed screaming,

"WHAT?! WHAT?!"  As he was shaking off sleep and trying to figure out what happened, I screamed at him,

"YOU HIT ME IN THE EYE!  WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DREAMING ABOUT!"  (although, upon reflection, I think my language must have been FAR more colorful than that).

We stumbled around, sleep dazed, him trying to figure out what was going on and me trying to make the pain go away.  As the sleep-fog began to lift and he realized what he'd done, he was sick.

Apparently, in the throes of a dream, he'd lashed out.  Sure he'd done it before - without such wicked results - usually landing a smack on the back of my head; or once, even on my nose; but this time he'd REALLY done it.

He got an ice pack together and made me hold it to my face, all while holding me and repeating how sorry he was; how he didn't mean it.  Eventually, we both calmed down enough to get back into bed.  Me with an ice pack on my face (which is really conducive to putting you to sleep....not) and him petting my head, as he is wont to do.  Finally, once I took the ice pack off - since my face was quite numb at this point, he declared that he couldn't sleep in our bed.  He was terrified that he might lash out again.

So he took his pillows and went to the guest room.  He banished himself.

This happened Monday night.  He still refuses to sleep in our room; despite the fact that the guest bed is too hard and too small for him.  He claims that he can't come back into our room until he can be sure he won't lash out again; how he will know when he is SURE is beyond me.  I figure it will be when he can't stand sleeping on that bed anymore.

Tuesday morning he told me, "I can't even look at you without feeling like such a shit.  I'm so sorry."  He then proceeded to call me several times during the day to make sure I was okay and then made one of my favorites for dinner.  All while telling me that he was so sorry and that it was an accident.

Luckily, I didn't have a full on black eye.  Just a little swelling and some broken blood vessels, which made the eye look much worse than it actually was, but really, I'm okay.  I can even wear my contacts - which surprised me.  In fact, as of today, a majority of the swelling and redness has receded.

And though I am okay, and totally against him sleeping in the guest room I have to admit.....I've had the BEST nights sleep these past couple of nights.  No one to steal the covers.  No one snoring.  No one subconsciously smacking me in the face while I sleep...it's been great.

So maybe, just maybe, I won't insist that he sleep where he belongs.  I'll just continue to let him punish himself, while I reap the reward of pure, relaxing sleep for a few more days.

The Endless Vacation.....

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I have been on vacation since the 19th.  And I don't go back until the 2nd.

Considering this you would think I would have been a *bit* more productive of late.  Seeing as the house looks like a dusty, clutter bomb went off, it is obvious that I haven't been very productive.

So what have I been doing, other than avoiding any and all housekeeping duties?

Well, after the Christmas morning extravaganza, Man-Child and I decided to go to the movies.  Since our traditions have veered off course, we decided to do something different.  Hubby went searching for an open Starbucks, store or anything (just to get out of the house, because God forbid should he enter a movie theater) and we headed off to the theater; figuring no one would be there because surely everyone else had plans....silly us.  The place was PACKED.  They actually had people with tickets for various movies roped off in groups until the theaters were "ready" (smart Hubby).  Apparently, everyone else in town needed to get out of the house too.

Our initial plan to see Parental Guidance.  This hope was quickly dashed since the show was sold out.  We settled for our second choice, Guilt Trip.  It was cute.  I thought it could have been funnier - but it was a fun outing.  Immediately after watching it, I looked at Man-Child and told him that we need to take a road trip.  He sighed.  But I could tell that he was interested.  It would be fun.

And we have made plans to see Parental Guidance before he goes back to school.

The day after Christmas dawned....well, not really.  It was POURING.  And continued to pour for the rest of the morning.  I had planned on tackling the dusty, clutter-bombed house until a brilliant idea occurred to me.  With the weather being as nasty as it was, I figured no one else would be out and about returning stuff/searching for deals.

I happy to report, I was correct.  No one was out and about.  So I was able to return the drill - with a *gasp* CORD that I had bought for Hubby (I mean, really, I was shocked to discover that they still sell drills with cords; aren't they ALL battery operated now?) and the pants that were far too big for him (he was pleased with that discovery though) without standing in any lines.  I didn't snag any deals though.  But I DID get soaking wet.

I've also spent some time reading, of course.  While showing Hubby around MC's school during a visit recently, I spotted a box in the book store that said "FREE BOOKS" and snagged a couple - well, if the truth be told, Hubby had to restrain me from just taking the whole box...  It turns out that these were advance copies, so the store had to give them away.  I have informed MC that he must check the store daily for me.  One of the books I snagged was Wise Young Fools by Sean Beaudoin.  It's technically considered Young Adult Literature, but I've got to say this was a very well written book - even for the ancient, like me.  This book is slated for publication in August 2013.  I read it in under two days.  So if you are looking for an easy read that sucks you in, this book might be for you.

I've also had a conversation with MC, totally NOT initiated by me, that found me hearing, "I'm SO glad you sent me to XYZ school. I have a feeling if I'd gone to ABC school, I wouldn't be so prepared for college."  And....wait for it......

"You and Dad are great parents."

I almost wrecked the car due to the tears that were overwhelming me.

This kid is AMAZING (how we got so lucky, I'll never know).  And I told him so.  He has no idea, I hope, how hard it was for us to keep him in that school - particularly with the extended unemployment.  To know that he appreciates it?  Priceless.

Today found me scouring a local shopping center - desperate to spend a gift card.  Can you believe I actually walked out without spending a dime?  Well, it's true.  Apparently, all the buyers at every store I visited, have NO taste whatsoever.  Or, they don't have MY taste.  Same thing.  Even at the shoe store!  There was nothing that caught my eye.  I was sorely disappointed.

Tomorrow is calling for more gray/rainy weather and I have resolved to do something about this house.  I even made a list!  But if the feeling of inertia that has overtaken me this evening is any indication, I have a feeling I might blow that list off...again.

But then, what is vacation for if not to blow off housework and/or those projects that I'd planned?

Schrodinger's Cat is still Alive...and Dead

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With Borders scaling back so many of their stores, I have ended up buying more books than I normally would.

One I picked up is "What is Life?" by Ed Regis.  It is a good short read, although it is now 2 years old, which is a long time given the rate that "artificial life" is moving at.  Since the book came out, Craig Ventor claims to have created the first artificial life.

One thing I did not know was that Schrodinger wrote a book with the same title in 1944 which predicted the existence of a DNA-like molecule;  Crick actually credits Schrodinger with inspiring some of his early work.

Ed Regis points out that Schrodinger's book never actually defines what life is; that is left hanging.  Interestingly, I felt the same about Regis's book.  While he argues that life is defined by having an "embedded metabolism" that argument still seems weak.  Carl Sagan pointed out, many years ago, that cars have a metabolism, which is hard to argue against.  Regis adds the "embedded" component to attempt to differentiate real life; the embedded component implying that the metabolism generates structures within the life form.  Where the argument is weak is in the (lack of) definition of structures; hybrid cars regenerate electricity on breaking - does this suffice?  Or, you can certainly imagine using the energy generated by the engine being used to produce a "structure," as well as giving the car acceleration.

So, according to Regis, and having done a little searching around the topic, one is left with a feeling that we still do not actually know how to tell if something is alive.  There is no definition of "life."

The conclusion is this:  When Schrodinger opens up the box to check if the cat is alive or dead....he still can't tell!  I wonder what this means to the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum physics?  Perhaps "the cat" is both alive and dead forever, but the uncertainty moves from the cat to the observer when the box is opened  :-)

Letters....

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I received an honest to goodness old fashioned letter today; THREE pages long!

Needless to say, seeing that handwritten envelope lying among the junk mail and the bills made me smile.  Oh sure, there were a few Christmas cards thrown in the mix, but in addition to the cheer that those cards bring; they also have the air of "just another Christmas chore to complete" about them - but that letter stood out, a true beacon of "I'm thinking of you and taking the time to let you know."

Now granted, the letter itself contained some distressing and sad news, as the sender informed me that she is having a difficult time of late - but it still cheered me in a small way.  Mainly, because I don't receive letters very often these days.

In the letter, the sender reminded me that when I was young we used to exchange letters on a very regular basis.  She is trying very hard to instill this in her young grandchild - but it hasn't taken.  I think, mainly, because her grandchild is so young.

But that line in her letter brought back so many vivid memories.  I LOVED receiving mail when I was small.  I would write to everyone I could think of - and my mother indulged me by sending them every single time (I had forgotten this and am glad to have that memory of her).  And while some would write back occasionally, she ALWAYS wrote back. Every single time.

I think because of her, that is where I developed my obsession with stationery.  I love to have beautiful stationery - even though I don't write so many letters these days, what with email and all (which is a wonderful thing, don't get me wrong.  But a letter?  Oh, that is SO much better).

But I have a feeling that she and I are about to re-kindle our letter writing.  It really is becoming a lost art; along with cursive writing; both of which should definitely be preserved (not to mention, saving the postal service, which is in dire straits).

And you know, there is nothing like the feeling of seeing that handwritten letter piled amongst all the other detritus the post office delivers.  The anticipation of what is inside.  It's a delicious feeling, actually.  One in which you want to cut your husband's rant short and sneak off to a private place to read, and savor, it.  (Which is actually what I did as quickly as I could without being totally rude)

So what about you - when was the last time you sent, or received, an actual letter?  Do you miss them as much as I do?

And that letter?  Sad news and all, it is going into the keepsake box, as a testament to simpler times.

The best Christmas present EVER!

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On Thursday, Hubby came home and handed me an envelope and said, "Read this."

To be honest, after everything that's been going on around here, I was almost afraid to read it.  But when I did, I almost exploded.

It was a job offer.  An honest, to goodness, REAL job offer.  Finally.  After two and a half, long, long, LONG years.

Sure, it's less than he had been making at his previous job; but it's more than he's made in the past two and a half, long, long, LONG years!  Yes, we still have a long road ahead of us to crawl out of this hole we are in; but we now have the means to begin to move forward.

This company has been voted (by its employees) as one of the best places to work in our area.  Hubby has spent the last two months working there as a part-time, temporary and loves it.  So we are looking forward to an easy transition.

The look of pure joy on Man-Child's face when he came home and heard the news made tears well up.  He has been so concerned - and hasn't hid it well.

So despite all the gloom (Newtown is still weighing heavy on my heart and mind; and there are other issues outside our little family that are giving me grief) I can honestly say that I am once again looking toward the future with a bit of optimism and a spring in my step.

Thank you all for your support, letting me moan, etc.  I don't think I could have made it through without you. You gave me a place to come and cry, yell and stamp my feet whenever I needed it.  You've left comments of support and love.  And that, to me, is priceless.

I wish each and everyone of you a blessed Christmas with much love and hope that 2013 is the year that all your dreams come true.

xo

Merry Christmas to you and yours from our little family!

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It's been a very non-traditional Christmas Eve.  I'm trying to remember what most Christmas Eve's have been like in our home and have realized that these past few years haven't been traditional.



In the past, we've always had friends over for a seafood feast (an Italian tradition that Hubby insists on; and I don't complain - I LOVE shellfish).  But since the friends we used to have over have since divorced, that kind of fell by the wayside, since we can't invite one and not the other.  Which makes for a peaceful, if not kind of lonely, Christmas Eve.

Since Man-Child isn't a small anymore, we don't do the Christmas cookies and milk thing anymore either.  Although I continue to tell him "You must believe, in order to receive."  So, he grudgingly goes along and, miracle of miracles, Santa continues to bring him a stocking every year.  Funny how that happens.

MC opening his Christmas pajamas

Instead of the traditional seafood feast, tonight Hubby made a baked clam appetizer and we ordered in Chinese.  Instead of the traditional baking frenzy that would have happened over the past week, I made one batch of spritz cookies today.  I now remember why I rarely make them; although they are delicious, they are kind of a pain and they make one heck of a mess of the kitchen....and I think I may have butter in my hair now.



Currently, we are squirreled away in different rooms - Hubby asleep in his chair, Man-Child in his room watching Men In Black III and me, tucked away in my room tippity-tapping away while listening to Christmas carols.

Although the traditions are changing; evolving even; so are we and I'm okay with it.

But one tradition that won't change?  In a few minutes I will be watching It's A Wonderful Life....all by myself by the fire.  Since apparently neither of my guys can bear it.  Man-Child will sigh in disgust and walk away.  Hubby will gamely attempt to watch and then promptly fall (back) asleep.  And I will watch, cry a little at the sappiest parts, and be content.



Merry Christmas to you all, my friends.

He'll kill me if he ever finds this one online.....

May your holidays be filled with love and laughter and may 2013 be all that you need it to be.

Much love,

Schrodinger's Cat is still Alive...and Dead

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With Borders scaling back so many of their stores, I have ended up buying more books than I normally would.

One I picked up is "What is Life?" by Ed Regis.  It is a good short read, although it is now 2 years old, which is a long time given the rate that "artificial life" is moving at.  Since the book came out, Craig Ventor claims to have created the first artificial life.

One thing I did not know was that Schrodinger wrote a book with the same title in 1944 which predicted the existence of a DNA-like molecule;  Crick actually credits Schrodinger with inspiring some of his early work.

Ed Regis points out that Schrodinger's book never actually defines what life is; that is left hanging.  Interestingly, I felt the same about Regis's book.  While he argues that life is defined by having an "embedded metabolism" that argument still seems weak.  Carl Sagan pointed out, many years ago, that cars have a metabolism, which is hard to argue against.  Regis adds the "embedded" component to attempt to differentiate real life; the embedded component implying that the metabolism generates structures within the life form.  Where the argument is weak is in the (lack of) definition of structures; hybrid cars regenerate electricity on breaking - does this suffice?  Or, you can certainly imagine using the energy generated by the engine being used to produce a "structure," as well as giving the car acceleration.

So, according to Regis, and having done a little searching around the topic, one is left with a feeling that we still do not actually know how to tell if something is alive.  There is no definition of "life."

The conclusion is this:  When Schrodinger opens up the box to check if the cat is alive or dead....he still can't tell!  I wonder what this means to the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum physics?  Perhaps "the cat" is both alive and dead forever, but the uncertainty moves from the cat to the observer when the box is opened  :-)

Go over the Fiscal Cliff: Bond Style

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There seems to be an obvious approach to the impending fiscal cliff:  Fall off it, and then get rescued - Bond style.

Why?  Well, the short-sighted Republicans who have signed onto the "no new taxes" mandate will never back down - that would involve admitting they were wrong.  So, there will be no Grand Bargain.

The Fiscal Cliff, however, has new taxes built in, so they would not have to vote for it....they could just let it happen.

If both parties got together today and started to negotiate a "plan to put in place as soon as the fiscal cliff kicks in", they can have their cake and eat it too.  The Republicans can actually negotiate a post-cliff tax cut, the Democrats can allow some cuts to Government spending while rescuing a few key areas....everyone is a winner.

Chances of this happening: about 0%

Who's Calling?

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Today while slicing up the last delicious cantalope of the year, the phone rang. Seth, who recently went out for a haircut is expecting an important call so I reflexively pivoted to face the phone, dropping my knife which fell, blade side down -- of course -- on my bare instep, slicing it open.


Still determined to answer the phone, I got close enough to read the caller ID which had a number I didn't recognize so I picked up the receiver.

But first I tripped on Buzzy who was winding around my legs.



Despite the chaos, I chirp a pleasant "Hello?" only to hear the low rumble of what we all recognize as a room full of desperate (I am not without pity) telemarketers. I mange to be polite as I inform my caller, who has asked for Seth, that while he isn't home, I would be pleased to take a message.

"No, thankyou," says she. This is just a courtesy call." She clicked off before I could shriek, now aware that I am standing in my own blood, "Well, I don't find it courteous at all!!!


On that note, here is a post from the ancient days of this blog, written immediately after Election Day, 2010, that is very appropriate in view of phone calls such as these as well as the barrage of political calls, polls and surveys that many of us have ben receiving in preparation for the approaching election...



Recent Scenario: After tidying my home, starting a load of laundry and vigorously petting the cats, I sit--with the lunch I’ve prepared--by the window to soak up some sunlight and relax for a few minutes. Cat Numero Uno curls up across my knees. Numero Dos settles by my side while I balance my veggie burger on the arm of the sofa, placing my iced tea on the window sill. I note, with fleeting concern, that I’ve forgotten to locate the portable phone. Then the phone rings.

Since it could be one of the boys needing advice (Can I wear this shirt with these pants? How much do I tip at a buffet? What is the meaning of life?), I pull myself to my feet, dispersing the cats—one of whom knocks my veggie burger to the floor.

The sound of shattering crockery alarms the other cat who leaps to the ceiling, up-ending the iced tea which then soaks my newspaper.


I stagger to the phone, my lips already forming the pearls of wisdom I will dispense, but, upon lifting the receiver, hear only, “Hi, this is Linda McMahon….” Or, “This is—insert the name of one of a dozen candidates who’ve been bombarding my home recently with obnoxious recorded messages. Or it’s their wife, child, left ass-cheek, pet or transsexual lover who wants, in additional recorded messages, to tell me why their daddy, mommy, wife, husband, etc. is the perfect choice for the job.

Unfortunately, there’s no one at the other end at whom to howl obscenities. So, I shriek them into the unresponsive receiver, impressing none but the cats (who’ve heard it all before) with my dazzling, yet disappointingly unmarketable, natural ability to string naughty words into extremely complex sentences.

Don’t these politicians see that this harassment isn’t an effective way to commandeer votes or rally a constituency? At least, not in my opinion, it isn’t. I’ve long treasured the privilege of voting but was so disgusted with these calls (plus the relentless negative ads on television combined with a scarcity of decent choices) that, this year, I considered getting a pedicure instead of casting a ballot.

Not to mention, I miss the old voting machines. I don’t trust the new ones. How could it not matter whether we insert our ballots face up or down? I think the new machines might actually be shredders. Right, Bridgeport?

I read that Linda McMahon’s campaign made 400,000 phone calls during the weeks preceding the election. I seriously think she made them all to my house. When I heard the staggering amount she spent (45 million American dollars) on her campaign, I had to lie down with a cool rag across my face and a bag of peanut M&Ms by my side.


The election is over but I’m still receiving calls. Now, mostly, from gutter installers, chimney cleaners and dozens of charities and organizations who think nothing of calling on a Sunday morning at 8:30 or a Friday evening after nine. I struggle to keep my head from exploding as I respond politely. After all, these are people trying to earn a living.

If my hormone levels are in flux or I’ve been rudely awakened, I’ve been known to behave less cordially. Afterward, I worry that, with the click of a mouse, a caller seeking revenge and possessing computer skills could skew my credit rating or place me on the no-fly list, so I try to control my ire. It does seem, however, that since I signed up with the “Do Not Call” registry I’ve been receiving more calls instead of fewer. Perhaps, I accidentally added myself to the “Please—I beg you!!—Call Me” list in a moment of delirium.

So, if any telemarketers, candidates, or pollsters are listening, I don’t want to hear why you’re right for the job, change my cable company or donate money. I want my phone time reserved for chatting with family and friends, ordering pizza or directing the confused driver of the Publishers Clearing House Prize Patrol van to my door. Other than that, consider me unlisted.

If he calls, I'll talk to him.

Spider With Your Grapes? No, Thanks.

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The Black Widow

For the past few years, after having learned about the dangers of the pesticides used on our fruits and vegetables, I have been spending a little more -- but less than you might imagine --  on organic produce.
Those days abruptly ended today as a result of a story in a local paper about a black widow spider that "popped" out of a bag of organic grapes, "surprising" the woman who'd purchased them from a Whole Foods Market.
I am not trying to make light of sudden death in any way, but if that had happened to me, you would be reading my obituary with your latte the very next morning. I would never survive such a thing.

A Wood Spider similar
to the one in my pantry.

I am not alone when I say that spiders horrify me. Fear of spiders, or "arachnophobia", is very common among those with fewer than eight legs. I have a long list of gruesome anecdotes involving spiders that involve hysteria, running, crying and near divorce when, one morning, Seth refused to turn around and drive the two hours home from work to look for a giant wood spider that was doing the can-can in the pantry.

I don't even like cats
dressed as spiders.

I eventually duct-taped the door shut, sealing every crack to trap the spider who was, indeed, later found and proved to be as large as I'd frothed and sobbed about on the phone.
Years ago, after my son found a giant spider among the bananas during his very first job as a produce clerk, I screamed in the supermarket after mistaking my own shadow for what I would have sworn was a tarantula.

I consider spiders terrorists.
Spider-hate is ingrained in my family's culture. It's in my DNA just like long nostrils, love of mayonnaise and crepey skin on the back of my hands. As I was growing up, if my mother so much as dreamt of a spider, it meant bad juju and we were on guard until my psychic Aunt Mary gave us the green light to relax.

One of the worlds
most dangerous
type of spider.

And yes, I realize how helpful they are in the garden as well as the fact that they -- just like puppies, ponies, kittens and koalas -- were created by the God of the Old Testament, saved from the flood by Noah and received top billing in a favorite movie from childhood.
I don't care. And, God, I apologize but in my book spiders+ peri-menopause=mistake.
If you are a spider, I hate you.
I also realize that the arrival of a Black Widow in a bag of grapes is a one in a million but since the article explained that besides killing us with their toxins, pesticides also kill Black Widow Spiders, I am now ready to eat said pesticides with a spoon and a napkin tucked under my chin rather than risk a similar confrontation.

Hey, kid, you've got
a spider on your face.

I would also like to issue a formal complaint against the woman who found the spider. Not only does she apparently have nerves of steel, since she calmly posted about it on Facebook after it happened (while I would have been dead on the kitchen floor), but her boyfriend managed to catch and release it into their backyard where it is now using Spider GPS to locate my house so it can sneak in and spend the holidays before scaring me to death
"That's how we live," she explained. It's a living thing and we have no hard feelings."
No hard feelings?
Honestly, good for you, lady. Would you be saying that if you were now full of neurotoxins and that thing had jumped on your peaceful, nature-loving face?????
Hippie freak.
The spider, set free in a city not too far from where I sit (encased in a Haz Mat suit and eating a Xanax sandwich) is doubtless on his way here so I am doing the only reasonable thing under these circumstances--I am putting the house on the market and moving.
So there is less chance of the spider finding me, I am leaving no forwarding address. UPS, please leave all packages with my neigbor. Thank you.

The actual spider found in the grapes.

The Vegetable Family

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Me.

Unfortunately I refer not to actual vegetables such as the crunchy crucifers that scrub theinterior of our intestines clean or propel slap-happy antioxidants throughout oursystems to fight disease.

Nor do I cite the brightly hued carriers ofbeta-carotene crowed about by Dr. Oz in his quest to get us to slim down andlive longer. 
Why he cares, I’ll never understand.
Sadly, I am not speaking of positive habits so much as the lack ofhuman initiative (and by that, I mean any sort of movement) that took place inmy home immediately after the Thanksgiving holiday. The kids were home, no onehad any pressing engagements (and by that, I mean showering ) and there was aworking TV and comfy couch within staggering distance of the left-overs.

The boys, having recently been involved in the excitement ofa presidential campaign, wanted to keep the momentum flowing by watching thefabled television series from several years ago, “The West Wing.” And I justwanted to sit near the boys….so through the magic of the digital age we wereable to create a scenario that pleased us all: unlimited episodes of the showas well as cozy seating for Ma Barker and her boys.

The real Ma Barker.
Wow, she was mean.

We were immediately sucked into the snappy dialogue, goodcharacter development and tightly paced drama of fictional charactersrunning  America.  And, soon, we hazily observed that brightdaylight had a habit of slipping into shades of dusk, then night then –  What? Isit that late? – three in the morning. 

Exercising only our “clicker muscles” wecared neither about time nor place as our very own Black Friday referred not toretail but to the loss of brain cells and progressive dimming of our futures as we emulatedcooked vegetables in the flickering light of 60 inches of high def.
For the first several hours we sustained ourselves with halfempty bottles of water that were strewn about but within reach, sippingjudiciously so as not to disrupt our cocoons for the exertion of bathroom visits. 

Secretly, I couldn't
care less what you people
eat.

Haphazardly abandoned bags of chips and pretzels nourished us once stomachs startedto growl and Dr. Oz himself, would have been proud of how overjoyed we were todiscover a nearly full Tupperware of baby carrots wedged under the recliner. Weate only one or two every few hours since none among us had anyintention of leaving the couch, the reassuring banter and patriotic idealism ofthe cast nor the fact that every problem was wrapped up to our satisfaction every sixty minutes.

We also all agreed that Martin Sheen must beour next president.

Call me "Mr. President."

As the food dwindled and the hours became what may actuallyhave been days, we dozed fitfully only to be awakened by gnawing hunger and wereforced to search between couch cushions for sustenance. Charlie found two funsize Snickers from Halloween and I, a few linty m&ms in the pocket of mysweat pants that we divided with the precision of prisoners in the gulag. Butlater, after another season or two of a benevolent president with a great headof hair, we were reduced to licking each others elbows for salt and swappingstories (between episodes) of memorable meals from our past. 
There was a sleeveof Ritz crackers across the room but if it was beyond the reach of our fingers,it might as well have been on Mars.
We tried to get the cats to fetch things from the fridgeupstairs but they had problems of their own since no one had refilled theirdishes since this TV orgy had begun.

What? No rice ball?!?

I have no idea where Seth was during all this but at somepoint, he entered the room surrounded by a pool of light and accompanied bywhat I believe to have been celestial music, yelling something mean andconfusing about both unfit parenting and elderabuse.


I have little memory of the confrontation and ensuing redemption but it involved calzone withsausage for all and Diet Coke administered to my withered lips through an eyedropper.
In conclusion, I would do it again in a heartbeat. Afterall, isn’t spending time with one’s family what holidays are for? Christmas isalmost here and we have always wanted to catch up on “Breaking Bad” in itsentirety…

My Review of the 12/12/12 Concert for Hurrican Sandy Relief

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I made it through most of the 12/12/12 concert last night. 
Organized to aid the struggle of the many here in the tri-state area after the devastation of Hurricane Sandy, it was as Mick Jagger -- stick-thin and suggestively squirmy as ever --  said: "the largest collection of old, English musicians ever assembled in Madison Square Garden." He wasn't kidding.

The "Boss."

Throw in Bruce Springsteen, Billy Joel -- looking pretty gnarly in high-def (not that I'd look any better), a satin-skinned Alicia Keyes, the ever-sexy Jon Bon Jovi, the grizzled Pete Townsend and Roger Daltrey (wearing a suit from the 70's) representing "The Who," and you have an idea of some of the rock royalty in attendance.
Roger Waters of Pink Floyd showed up, still agile and rangy in his black tee and funky sneakers. His hair totally gray, he sang with Eddie Vedder, who can do no wrong but may not have been faking it about being "Comfortably Numb."

Smile, Mike, you get
residuals, don't you?

Chris Martin of Cold Play, not only did a nice acoustic set but also lured the perpetually melancholy Michael Stipe of REM out of his mausoleum for a song. And, yes, he is still losing his religion. It is reported that he did, indeed, smile last night but confirmation is pending.

Mmmmmm.

Bruce Springsteen brought all his guys with him except, of course, for the incomparable Clarence Clemmons who passed away not too long ago.


His wife, Patty, was there, but shook her tambourine across the stage from her husband reportedly because of his display of the most amazing pit-stains ever revealed at the Garden...and that includes Elvis. Patty has obviously had it with Bruce and his refusal to wear a good Sports deodorant. She is, however, very relieved to have finally solved the "plumber's crack" issues that have plagued him in the past.


Joined by Jon  -- Oy, what a man! --  Bon Jovi, the two did some predictable but ever-enjoyable New Jersey rocking-out.


All Eric Clapton has to do, in my opinion, is simply walk onstage. Dignity and talent, thou art Eric Clapton. Remember, around thirty years ago, when I made a fool of myself in Manhattan when I saw you, Eric? You dont? Good.


Amidst all the warmth, high-fiving and rampant thumbs-upping that was going on, the Disney villain of the evening, Mr. Kanye West showed up decked out in a confusing combination of a black leather skirt and leggings underneath. 
He bounced around gamely but whether he'd pissed the lighting guys off before the show or, himself, chose the weird effects, his set was back-lit and strobey...and he seemed slightly off.

Back-lit and be-skirted.

He was neither rude nor overtly malevolent but he was something worse: he was boring as hell. Having seen him before, I was expecting better but wonder if, under the weight of all that heavy leather, he might have lost some of his steam. That was some skirt--pleats and all. A kilt can be a very sexy thing on a man....those socks, that waist pouch, those laced shoes....think Sean Connery. But this was no kilt. Kanye wore a skirt. Perhaps he accidentally grabbed something discarded by his girlfriend, Kim Kardashian. Or a vengeful Taylor Swift may have been behind it, though that's doubtful since that would have forced her to take time off from her spree of promiscuity soon to be seen in a city near you.                          Her motto in this quest: 
                    "I shall leave no testicle unturned "
I love Billy Joel. Yes, he's a cranky old man now with a gigantic head that has, apparently, never known the benefits of sunscreen. Those crazy eyes have gotten droopier and his voice has been  roughened by years of God knows what but he still sounds great to this old girl.
Commanding the stage from a piano bench, he never fails to bring me back to a time when I didn't have all that much to worry about other than whether I'd wear my buffalo sandals or my Dr. Scholls to the beach that day.

Remember these, ladies? Did you know they were called "Buffalo sandals?"

My favorite act was The Rolling Stones. Mick simply has not slowed down at all. Prancing, sliding, side-stepping and flapping his pipe cleaner arms in those unmistakable signature moves, he is as apt to thrust his impossibly narrow pelvis at us at the age of 69-going-on-70 as he did when he was 25...and it still makes me feel young. 

Still has it...

...lost it a while ago.

Unlike Roger Daltrey's insistence on revealing his aging chest, the Stone's lead singer can still get away with it.

"Why? Because he is Mick Jagger, of course.
During the set, I realized that Ron Wood and I have the same hair-do and that Keith Richards may be the most amazing guy in entertainment today. I don't think I have seen anyone look worse...except my friend's 96 year old grandpa at a wake I attended many years ago in Brooklyn....and he was the one in the coffin.
Paul McCartney is a quintessential showman. Closing the show, he did a new-ish song about yet another wife (please, Paul, after you divorce this one, give up. You simply cannot recreate what you had with Linda) and some Wings but I admit that I also wanted a flat-out Beatles medley as well as a mention of John Lennon who was assassinated thirty-two years ago this week not all that far from Madison Square Garden.

Always cute.
Will he be sued?

All in all, despite some dozing and laser pointer playtime with the cats, the unflattering lighting of Billy Crystal's neck, Brian Williams acting like an idiot at the phone bank and my concern for one of my favorite people, Adam Sandler who, likely, used the tune of Leonard Cohen's magnificent opus "Hallelujah" without legal permission, it was a great night of entertainment.

Available in every dressing room
of the evening.

I hope Billy Joel starts using at least an SPF30 on his head, Roger Daltrey gets some new clothes (and glasses), Mick Jagger had enough Tylenol Extra Strength to endure his transatlantic flight home today and Taylor Swift wasn't hanging around backstage last night. 
In the old days any one of those guys could have handled her easily but times have changed and I suspect they were just all hoping Mick had enough Tylenol for sharing and weren't thinking much about their prolific, groupie-filled pasts.
I also hope the money gets to the people and the enightmare of Sandy can be put behind the thousands affected by the storm. And, as Billy Crystal said as the show ended, "Please don't light me from underneath again and God bless America."

And why, oh why, was Kristin Stewart dressed
like a football ref from Liverpool?