so long, 2004

K called me earlier this evening from the land of B-list celebrities, where her entire family has gathered together to ring in the New Year and celebrate an anniversary and two birthdays (but not Jesus'). K reported that they were just about to take their seats in the theater for "Meet the Fockers," which her family kept referring to as "Meet the Flockers." And if it actually were a film about people stuffing furniture, I'd be exponentially more likely to go see it myself. My tummy feels a little funny (and not in the good way) just thinking about the previews I've seen for it. Shudder. Though, perhaps suffering through such a movie would be a perfect way to say good riddance to a year that included that very Black Tuesday at the beginning of November, among other more personal, literal, and natural disasters. Oh well, at least Pink Martini finally released their second CD.

Today I polished off another box of 144 2-ply ultra soft and strong tissues, so my New Year's Eve will be rocking ... with productive coughing. Which is particularly a shame because, for the first time in recent memory, I had multiple invitations to New Year's Eve activities. Phooey. Well, I still plan to raise my little plastic measuring cup of cough syrup at midnight, in hopes of a happier, healthier (especially for you and yours, MP), more peaceful, more productive, more thoughtful (and possibly more Canadian) New Year.

Cheers!

ok, back to the ridiculous

Or the ridiculously gross, as the case may be.

I suspect that no one really wants to hear about my bad cold, but I feel like I'm under water and my voice sounds like Paul Robeson (though I still can't sing "Old Man River") and I've just gotta kvetch a little. So, today I've been wondering: exactly how much mucus can the human body produce? You'll be relieved to know that I have neither quantified nor qualified the goo I've been expelling from my head, but I can report that I went through an entire box of 144 2-ply "ultra soft (so why is my nose sore and red?) and strong" tissues in two and a half days. Considering that I was raised to make the absolute most out of each tissue, and that I was conscious for maybe about 12 hours during that time? Well, that adds up to a whole lotta nose blowing and productive coughing, my friends.

And this line of thought has gotten me fondly remembering the trip K and I made to la pharmacie in France several summers ago. We were driving through Provence, and I had a wicked cough. I wasn't too confident speaking my very not fluent French, so, I carefully studied the "At the Chemist" section of my phrase book while K and B and I had lunch one afternoon. I memorized how to squeak out "Hello. I need something for a cough. Do you have something for a cough? Some cough syrup, perhaps? Or cough drops?" I was so busy rehearsing my side of the dialogue that I went in quite ill-prepared for the pharmacist to do anything other than mutely hand me a bottle of Miracle Cure. So when the woman behind the counter started asking me questions about my symptoms? Eek! Even K's more extensive French vocabulary wasn't helpful enough. But, let me tell you, watching a pharmacist try to pantomime "phlegm" was, in retrospect, fantastically entertaining. At the time, of course, it was just mortifying.

And speaking of mortifying, while typing that last paragraph, I sneezed. But I didn't manage to cup my hand over my mouth with enough care. Instead of hitting the palm of my hand, I sneezed through the little tunnel of curled fingers. And now? There's a wad of phlegm. Somewhere. In my apartment. I'll be damned if I can find it. Ew. How fast is a sneeze? One hundred miles per hour? Phlegm traveling that fast could have slipped in between books on a shelf, for crying out tears.

Just something for you to think about the next time you come to town for a visit, K....

let the donater beware

I'm sure that Northwest Medical Teams International is an amazing group of people who have always done important work around the world and will do wondrous and good deeds for the tsunami victims. I know that an amazing 96 percent of NWMTI donations go directly to help people in need. But, I just can’t give them my money.

According to the "Who We Are" section of their website, they "endeavor to help desperate people of all faiths while upholding Christian values.... The mission of Northwest Medical Teams International is to demonstrate the love of Christ to people affected by disaster, conflict and poverty." And under a "How We Are Unique" heading, they list: "We are Christian[.] We are committed to demonstrating the love of Christ to the people we serve. We are non-denominational and welcome volunteers of various faith levels. We uphold Christian values in our work."

"Various faith levels"?! WTF is a level of faith? Is there some scale I'm not aware of? Does it run along the x-axis from zero (Presbyterian?) to Born Again, or does it dip into the negative numbers to accommodate atheists, agnostics, and those of a more pagan persuasion? And, by their very nature, don’t all relief organizations uphold the sort of values that Northwest Medical Teams chooses to label as particularly "Christian"? Sheesh.

As I've already mentioned in passing, Mother D is of the über religious persuasion, and even she took a pass on giving them a donation because of their Über Christian tone. We both sent our virtual cash to the Mercy Corps website. They sport an impressive 92 percent direct-to-programs rate, there’s no mention of any higher power on their "About" page, and they state simply that "Mercy Corps alleviates suffering, poverty, and oppression by helping people build secure, productive, and just communities." Hooray, Mercy Corps!

devastating

Given the almost incomprehensible suffering that people in South and Southeast Asia are experiencing in the aftermath of the tsunami, I really don’t feel too much like cracking wise about anything today.

Is anyone else surprisingly unamazed by the fact that the President of the United States hasn’t emerged from his cattle-less ranch to personally acknowledge one of the most devastating natural disasters in modern history? Perhaps he’s just waiting to be fully briefed on the possibility that terrorist bombs placed along the tectonic plates deep in the Indian Ocean triggered the earthquake that caused the tsunami. Aren’t the evil-doers to blame for all human suffering?

And is everyone appreciating the fine work being done by our mainstream media? I mean, do you have enough information about the supermodel and her shattered pelvis and her missing photographer boyfriend? Have you heard enough Caucasian tourists describing their harrowing escapes from hotel pools and cabanas? Have you gotten enough video of the wealthy, fat American man surveying the damage to his “beach house,” but just being happy that his exquisitely tanned daughter and wife are both safe?

Oh, and while you’re busy worrying about the rich and famous white people who were so violently shaken out of their collective vacation paradise, don’t forget to be very afraid about visiting our own West Coast. Because it could happen here, you know. Because it will happen here, you know. It’s just a matter of time. The University Professor of Geology and Unnecessary Scare Tactics just said so. Um, yeah. Shut up, local news.

68,000 souls and counting, people. Kind of hard to wrap your brain around. If you can, why not send a donation to a relief organization?

Updated to add MADRE, another good organization that's sending help to Asia.

ok, i'm a freak

Instead of curling up in my spiffy new Christmas blanket last night, I went for my thin old fleece throw. Why? Because I just couldn't stand the thought of getting my nice new blanket all "germy." This nasty cold had better pass before spring, or I won't get to use my blanky at all. Phooey.

at least they weren't made of wire

At one point during our little gift exchange session, if someone had asked me "What did your mom get you for Christmas?" I could have responded with all honesty and completeness:

- a 4-1/4 oz bag of chili cheese fritos;
- 4 bottles of root beer;
- a box of kosher rye crackers; and
- 12 plastic hangers ("... not the cheap kind. Those aren't from the dollar store!")

All of which put us on target to surpass Ma's Amazing Walgreen's Christmas two years ago. MAWalC, as I've grown fond of calling it, netted me:

- a heating pad
- a pill cutter (no, I don't take any medications regularly)
- a pill crusher; and
- a digital thermometer (at least it was oral, thank G-d)

To this day, and probably for the rest of my life, the thought of MAWalC makes me go "What the -?!"

But this year, post-Fritos (and really, what the -?!), Ma outdid herself -- in a good way. She got me a beautiful Pendleton blanket! Mmmmmm, toasty! I have a rotten cold, so I'm going to go curl up under that blanket right now.

Glad tidings....

and speaking of blasphemy …

It’s a basic Truth: Do not mess with a classic. Do not tinker with sweet perfection.

Christina Aguilera’s cover of Lady Marmalade? Wrong. Evil. Bad.
Gilligan’s Island reunion shows without Tina Louise? Wrong. Evil. Bad.
New Coke? Ok, that was just stupid.

But clearly, the lesson should have been learned. The same sort of mistake should never have been made again.

So then, why has the jingle for the Clapper changed this year? Sure, the words are the same, but the tune? Different! What were they thinking?! For me, one of the few and purest joys left in the holiday season was singing (and clapping) along with the Clapper ads.

Ah well, I suppose I’ll just have to take some solace in the comforting sameness of “Ch-Ch-Ch-Chia, Ch-Ch-Ch-Chia Pet.…”

‘tis the season for blasphemy, i guess

In an effort to keep myself amused as I hurriedly wrapped presents, I had the television on for background noise earlier this evening. (Because I cannot listen to Leroy Anderson’s arrangement of Sleigh Ride one more time today, even if it is the best Christmas song ever.) I’d just finished wrapping the new Pink Martini cd in Rudolph paper, when I glanced up at the screen. Commericals.

Have you seen this one? The ad starts with the camera skimming over the sand in a vast desert, racing past handsomely lit dunes as far as the eye can see. Then the voice-over begins:

For years, the big screen has brought you countless tales of the strong and powerful. Now, this holiday, it’s time to experience the story of
[on screen, yellow type]
"THE ONE KING"
"THE ONE RULER"
that rose to the top
"AND STAYED THERE"
[a beat, then an enormous white pickup truck roars over a dune]
The award-winning 2004 Ford F-150!

Um. Wow. By the time you get to “THE ONE KING,” how could you not be expecting a really annoying evangelical Christian message? I was totally bracing myself for a crowd of Promise Keepers to appear on the horizon or something. But a pickup truck? Hilarious!

Why aren’t the Concerned Women for America all over this? I mean, I know their schedule is pretty full what with putting Christ back into Christmas, keeping an eye on Arlen Specter (no, really), and setting their TiVos to record Doc on Pax ... but this is blasphemy, ladies! Hop to!

Me? I just hope that Chrysler is kicking themselves for not thinking of this first. Really, wouldn’t a “Christ-ler” vehicle have been a much better punch line?

the figgy pudding is ... behind the horseradish?

Not to imply that I, living in lower-middle class Blue State America, could truly compete in a misery contest with the likes of most Dickens characters, but here's the score on this particular afternoon:

- My workplace is so poorly heated that I usually have to don a scarf and fingerless gloves while toiling away in my cubicle.

- I sprained my ankle in March, and it still feels wonky sometimes (depending on the barometric pressure).

- Two days before Christmas, my refrigerator looks like this:

(And there ain't no suspiciously repentant Scrooge-like character coming through with a goose any time soon, I tell ya.)

So yeah, that's right, Tiny Tim. You just limp off, stage left. I'll win the hearts of countless scores with my cheery pluck and determination (and two kinds of mustard) this holiday season....

D - 1, Cratchits - 0

don't bother, they’re here

Were the Universe run by a caring, benevolent force, I would not be celebrating Christmas this year. Given the increasingly repugnant behavior of the radical religious right, I should just be enjoying my very own full-blown Christian boycott right about now. Throw the baby (Jesus) out with the (holy) bathwater, I say! But I have a Very Catholic mother to placate. And I have a slightly pathetic need to give gifts. And an Imp of the Perverse appears to be holding the reins of the Universe at the moment, so … I went Christmas shopping at the mall today.

Now, I’m not the biggest fan of My Fellow Man to begin with, but throw the mall and a throng of last-minute Christmas shoppers into the mix? Well, let’s just say that I’ve always assumed that if Hell is personalized to our individual terrors, I’ll be spending eternity naked in a very crowded public space, ankle-chained to my 12th-grade English teacher, with a loop of Send in the Clowns playing loudly as the spine-chilling accompaniment. After today, I’m fairly certain that the “public” in my Hell will be a Christmas-shopping public. And the Salvation Army bell ringers will be there, jingling out of rhythm to the Clowns.

But what really burned me today happened not in the pit-of-despair mall proper, but in the mall parking structure. There was some poor slob in a freaking gigantic white SUV trying to back out of a parking space. Because the space was very near the exit of the structure, none of the passing cars wanted the space, and so no one would yield to the SUV. I decided to embrace the Holiday Spirit and let the SUV back out. And as it was drifting backwards toward me, that bumper sticker came into view. That fucking red bumper sticker:

“MARRIAGE = [pant-clad stick figure of the sort one might see on the door of the gent’s wash room] + [A-line skirt-clad stick figure of the sort one might see on the door of the ladies’ wash room]”

Arrrrrrgh! I inadvertently and unnecessarily offered a small kindness to a “defense of marriage” freak. And the salt in my big gay wound? No wave! No common decency driver-to-driver thank you. Feh. Yeah, well, onward Christian soldier. How is it that so many of these self-righteous rat bastards can remember convenient quotes from Leviticus but can’t seem to remember the Golden Rule?

So a Happy Secular Winter Holiday to all, and to all a good night.