Big Sandy Bottom Best of 2006

Well I think it's safe to say that we here at Big Sandy Bottom are relieved to be done with 2006. It hasn't been the best of years, we've suffered some tragic losses, but I've decided to focus on some of the positives rather than getting mawkish and sentimental. So without further ado, it's time for our annual....

The Best of 2006

(the usual caveat applies - these are merely things that I enjoyed in 2006, not necessarily things that were released in 2006. This is my world, and in my world things don't exist 'til I discover them.)

Best website interchange:
A relative of mine wrote the letter that started this little interchange. I offer no other comment. http://dilbertblog.typepad.com/the_dilbert_blog/2006/02/inebriated_hill.html

Best Reads:
Pigtopia, by Kitty Fitzgerald. Not since Charlotte's Web have I cried so much over pigs. This is a seriously weird book, but I read it in one sitting beginning to end very late one night and bawled my eyes out.
The Manhunt, by James L. Swanson. I enjoy reading thrillers and this true story of the search for Abraham Lincoln assassin John Wilkes Booth is better than fiction.
The Adventures of the Thunderbolt Kid, by Bill Bryson. Maybe not quite as funny as his travel writings, but a great read nonetheless.
Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, by Jonathan Safran Foer. Didn't think it was possible that a book about 9/11 could make me smile, but Foer pulls it off.

Worst Read:
It is a bad, bad book indeed that I can't finish. I will read most anything, but I couldn't for the life of me plow through The Shroud of the Thwacker, by Chris Elliot. I thought that I would enjoy this book, because I actually like Chris Elliot and it looked really silly. I don't know how it ends, and I don't care.

Best Movies:
Borat
I'm sorry if this makes me a bad person, but I saw this movie twice and laughed until I cried.
V for Vendetta
Natalie Portman, guys in scary masks, lots of explosions, a not too subtle message about oppression and censorship. Works for me.
Little Miss Sunshine
Great art? Nope. Fun to watch? You betcha.

Best Scary-Ass Movie:
The Descent
In the words of Olivia - "Spelunking is officially off my to-do list."

Best Music:
I Don't Feel Like Dancing, The Scissor Sisters.
THEY might not feel like dancing, but everytime I hear this song, I do. Ask my family.
How to Save a Life, The Fray.
I like this album, okay! Don't give me a hard time about it.
Crazy, Gnarls Barkley. Ha Ha Ha, bless your soul! Rare hit song that is actually pretty damn good music too.
Taking the Long Way, Dixie Chicks. Politics aside, (I happen to agree with them - what could be more American than being able to think and say whatever they damn well please? Okay maybe I'm not so good at putting politics aside), this a great album. Special Bonus: Neil Finn is a guest artist! A friend of Neil Finn is a friend of mine.

TV Favorites
Heroes
Wow, I love this show. Totally replaced "Lost" in my world. Heroes doesn't take itself so seriously and it's a lot more fun. Plus it has Masi Oka, and how can you not love a show with the tagline "Save the cheerleader, Save the world." Only dilemma: once "24" starts up again, I will have to choose between my two favorite shows on Monday nights.
Runner-ups: Survivor. Yes, it's showing its age, but this season was a lot of fun, mostly due to Jonathan, Ozzy and Yul. America's Next Top Model: my guilty pleasure. I know this show totally sucks, that's why I love it!

Why my kids don't go to public schools anymore
Cinco de Mayo - May 6th! (Cunha Intermediate School Billboard , Half Moon Bay, California)

Best Cat
Just to piss Eric off, I'm going with Dishes.

Best Live Performance

A tough category this year. Toss up between the following:

• The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee
• Guster at the Berkeley Center
• "Not Me" performed by four incredibly talented tri-school students in Aida.
• Eric's Milkshake http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VfBarRFGoXI (Insider Tip: If you click this link, and then click "view more by this user" you can also watch a totally awesome video of Olivia and Raquel on "nerd day" during a pie eating contest.

Why I love my job

This is an actual memo I received here at work. Names have been removed. Typos have not.


"The mayor has requested that the quality of toilet paper be improved. Please immediately purchase and begin using a better quality of toilet paper to ensure that the quality of life for all employees is improved. Feel free to send the remaining poor quality toilet peper to storage for our next City auction. The mayor also commented on the poor quality of paper towels. Please order a better quality of paper towels also. Thanks for your help."

Leaving' on a Jet Plane....(apologies for the weird formatting, I had some trouble with the photos)

Last night, as I was purchasing a dozen mini-slinkies for a ransom payment for Olivia's toy airplane, I had a moment where I thought "is it just my family? Why do these weird things happen to us? Do we put something out into the karmic universe that sends weird stuff our way?"

Because, honestly...have YOU ever had to purchase a dozen mini-slinkies to meet ransom demands of any sort, much less ransom demands for a toy airplane that your teenage daughter keeps in her purse? I'm guessing the answer to that is no. Probably because you're normal, and our family...isn't.

Let's back up a bit. Somewhere along the line, I think while helping Mike with a school project, Olivia acquired a tiny toy airplane. She named it "Jet" and started carrying it around in her purse. How its existence became known to her classmates I don't exactly know. My guess is that she probably played with it in class or something...

On Friday, Olivia noticed that Jet was missing. On the school's general message board the following was posted:

In my opinion, 14 bucks is a pretty high ransom for a .97 cent airplane, but Olivia decided to pay it. She duly stuffed 14 dollars into an envelope and taped it inside the appropriate bathroom stall. As she left the school, a girl totally unknown to her handed her another note:

Olivia realized (as most politicians and diplomats know already) that you shouldn't negotiate with terrorists, because they are untrustworthy. So she ran back into the bathroom and managed to retrieve her envelope of cash despite the fact that the stall containing the cash also contained a presumably confused student who was just minding her own business.

There's a couple funny things about this whole situation. First of all, the whole thing is driving Olivia NUTS. She is the ultimate insider, always the instigator of jokes, not the butt of them. The fact that she can't figure out who the kidnapper is (or kidnappers, because it's quite possible this is a conspiracy) is making her crazy. Apparently her entire school knows about the kidnapping, and knows the identity of the heinous criminal(s) too.

Also, I find it amusing that the kidnapper feels compelled to comment on Olivia's appearance. So is the kidnapper hitting on Olivia? Or just trying to soften the blow of losing her beloved friend by saying she's pretty?

In the meantime, Jet has managed to set up a "myspace" http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=136679308

and acquired 95 "friends", including the ubiquitious Tom, who is everybody's friend on myspace. Jet has a profile, and even a photo album on myspace. Many of Jet's "friends" have posted inspiring messages. (My personal favorite ends with "Courage, jet.") If you have a myspace account, please ask to be added to Jet's "Friends" list. I myself have been rejected, for reasons unknown.

After seeing the efforts that Jet's captors have gone through, we decided that this little escapade needs to continue. Hence, our purchase of 12 mini-slinkies. The captors have no idea who they're messing with, because Eric and I are already plotting several responses to the kidnapper's demands. I have access to the highest levels of local government. Previous experience in kidnapping items. No life, and therefore endless amounts of time to plot. This should be good....

Santa's Frosty Follies

Part 1 of a special report from guest correspondent Kristina Krow. She has promised me that next year I can attend this little event with her. I can hardly wait....


Santa's Frosty Follies
It's that time of year again when you get invited to holiday musicals, plays and recitals. Many of us have attended the delightful productions starring our extremely smart, talented and good-looking offspring. Through the years I have attended Sue's Performing Stars recitals, complete with an adult red-headed little person who was a beginner ballerina; various holiday shows from This Side of the Hill Players, most notably some crazy one about a Toy Factory; the Spindrift School "Knight's tale" starring my nephew the dragon; numerous Ragazzi, The Peninsula Boys Chorus (actually you have to say it like that: "Ragazzi, The Peninsula Boys Chorus"...you must never just say Ragazzi) performances in malls and at drafty old churches; and even the Urban School Circus with my kid on the trapeze. Hee Ha!

This year we experience the most daring and delightful expression of holiday cheer...yes, once again the Lincoln Hills Players offered us their rendition of "Santa's Frosty Follies" starring my Mother and Father in-laws (who for the record - I am very fond of). It was more than bad, it was painful. It was an assault to all my senses. It was long, 2 hours and 40 minutes of pure horror. During the single intermission Noah pitched a fit, kicked things and said the F-word because we made him go back in for the second half.

A little background before I continue....My mother and father in law live in this retirement community called Lincoln Hills. click here for more info:
http://www.delwebb.com/homefinder/Community.aspx?ID=100007
It's like a resort, with non-stop activities from Mah-Jong to softball, trips, and tap dancing, fitness, golf, tennis, craft classes..just about anything you could think of. My in-laws (MIL and FIL) have been involved with the shows there for about 3 years. MIL tap dances and she is very cute. Many of her fellow tappers are over 70 with one actually in her 90's. Check out the gams on the blue hairs. FIL enjoys singing and thinks of himself as quite the MC. So that brings you up to speed. They love this stuff and their year revolves around when the shows are and the rehearsal schedule etc.

This year we got the command demand for our presence from the in-laws, it was must see, and we must be in the audience for one of the 5 performances of "Santa's Frosty Follies." Have you ever seen Waitingfor Guffman? Well, hold onto that vibe.

MIL and FIL are theproducers of this show, it says so on the program, we are related to the producers of this show. They are way into this.

Our day started with a 3 hour ride in traffic to get to the show. The line of ticket holders stretched through the lobby of the clubhouse and was as long a football field. We arrive in time to get in to the very end of the line as the doors are opened, securing ourselves a seat in the back of an auditorium holding more than 500 people. 500 hundred people bought tickets to this. The program is opened and we see the list of 24 acts. Some include grandchildren of the residents.
There is an older boy along with all the cute little kids, he is awkward and humiliated by being forced to participate with Grams and Gramp in the show, we applaud more loudly just for him, and breathe a sigh of relief that no one asked Noah to be in this.

We counted down the acts. "Ok only 9 more to go until intermission, alright just 8 1/2 more to go. Hang in there only 8 left." There were too many to remember, they have blurred together or have I simply blocked them out. There was Leroy the Red-Neck Reindeer, Pinky and her gang of elves with a Christmas rap; we were treated to dancing trees, that looked like the Stanford mascot, no purpose, they just dancing and elves danced with them, to the Nutcracker. Hanukkah was represented and a nativity scene, no reference to Kwansaa though. Santa, Mrs.
Clause (double cast) were part of the show along with the hosts Mr. and Mrs. Cane - Candy and Clavin. Candy always called Calvin by his pet name "Shuggy". Or Shuggy Wuggy (ooh I think I just threw up a little in my mouth) . We were told at the beginning of the show that the actress playing Candy Cane has lost her voice, so she would only be mouthing the words, and a disembodied voice over the loud speaker would serve up Candy's lines. Almost like watching a Japanese monster movie, Candy's mouth wasn't moving in sync with the words, but oh well the show must go on.

In my opinion there were just too many elves. There were 6 Regular elves and 4 Sparkle elves. A Sparkle elf has a slightly different fashion sense wearing a silver puffy vest and glitter all over. Those Sparklers are in charge of making the high tech toys, in case you didn't know. My FIL was a Sparkle elf named Sebastian. A funny thing about these 65+ year old elves, they all talked like babies. Mithes Clath hath thum cookies for uth in her bakawee. Do you wanth acookie? Lets thneak the cookies. Be vawe vawe careful. Thebasthin, where are you? So these darn elves spend the whole 2 hours and 40 minutes running around talking with speech impediments, and asking about f-ing cookies every 5 minutes. It was woven into every act. I could not believe my FIL had agreed to play this part - he was the dumb elf! Hard to believe he was saying this stuff, and I shuddered at the thought that he may have actually written some of dialogue.

SPOILER ALERT -


In the end we find that Sebastian the Sparkle only spoke with that terrible lisp is because he had a large piece of toffee stuck in his teeth the whole time. At one point I put my head down between my knees and plugged my ears. I could still hear the babyish elf voices, I wanted to scream but got the giggles instead. Friends of this blog will remember when I got the giggles at an outdoor movie, at a very important part of the story, in fact a very inappropriate time to get the giggles. These same friends know that my giggles once released can not be contained. Snorting usually follows, and then chaos and mass hysteria. So it was at the follies, a yawn led to the dam being broken open, full snortage occurred, and much snickering. A lull would come over me for a moment, only to burst forth again with the snort, giggle, shaking and quivering, it looks like a convulsion. I later apologized to the man next to us, thinking I had ruined his experience and he said he didn't notice as he was also trying to contain himself.

Weekly Address November 29, 2006 (Silence of the Crabs)

So November 27 was a big day here at Big Sandy Bottom, as Ivy turned 21 years old...How is this possible? There is NO way she can be 21. Just yesterday she was a Halloween baby bumblebee, drunkenly stumbling up the stairs of houses with antennas dangling in her eyes. No seriously, I think it WAS just yesterday. That crazy kid.

We had a fun meal with Ivy & Rico on her birthday, but this time without the added benefit of male genitalia hanging in our faces.

In other news, it's crab season here on the west coast! Eric and I went to the harbor and purchased 3 HUUUGE dungeness crabs. 3 HUUUGE LIVE dungeness crabs. We didn't think this through very carefully, because when it came time to actually cooking the damn things it was quite an adventure. After Eric suffered several injuries, we finally got the crabs shoved into a pot of boiling water that was, unfortunately, too small. So we had to hold a lid on top of the pot, which was great fun-listening to their little claws scraping on the lid was especially creepy. Also at one point I thought they had finally settled down (okay, DIED) and I lifted the lid and....

....A still very much alive crab reared up onto its back claws and attempted to hurl itself up and out of the pot....

After much screaming and jumping about, the crab was shoved back in and we didn't take off the lid for another day and a half or so, just to be sure...

The fact that the crabs were alive did give us the opportunity to play a little joke on Olivia, which is pretty much what we live for around here. Olivia is incredibly gullible and so for a brief but delightful time we had her convinced that one of the crabs had escaped, last seen heading into her bedroom. This completely freaked her out, because 1. any creature hiding in Olivia's bedroom could remain hidden for quite some time due to the crap all over her floor, and 2. She hasn't ever really recovered from the "bat in her bedroom" incident. When it came time for bed, we had to fess up, because she refused to sleep in her room, insisting that she had to sleep in our bed until we found the crab.

"Moon Town" Rap Scene & Al Gore's House of Persian Cuisine

So Olivia and I are driving (Olivia is now a licensed driver by the way) and she puts in a CD that her friend Kelly made for her. It's filled with mostly really awful songs because, well, because it's Kelly. I love Kelly, but Kelly's musical tastes are just crap. And this CD is REALLY bad. Some of the songs are okay, there's even a few I like, like "Summer in the City". But when "Summer in the City" is sandwiched on either side by The Pussycat Dolls and Rascal Flatts? Something is definitely lost in the translation, ya know?

ANYWAY, so we're laughing at Kelly's music choices (c'mon-"My Boo?" It was annoying enough three years ago. Nobody but Kelly still listens to this) and then something amazingly awful booms out of the speakers. The tune is somewhat familiar, but I can't quite place it...it's clearly some sort of rap, rap of a low skill level though. Olivia is grinning and I can tell she's waiting for my reaction. It takes awhile for me to catch on, because the rapper's enunciation is appallingly bad. (And before you say that's part of the genre-I beg to differ. If the point of rap is to amaze everyone with "mad rhyming skills" - yes, I'm cringing as I write that phrase - and send a profound - or profane even- message, ...it helps to actually understand what the rapper is in fact saying.)

Finally, some phrases start to jell in my brain. The rapper is talking about something called the "Moon Town rap scene". The lyrics are unintentionally hilarious-

• "Half Moon Bay, land of the underdog" oh, yeah. That's right. Home of the underdog. If the home of the underdog definition includes a town in which the median priced home is $750,000 and the kids all drive BMW's and Lexus'.
• "Running from the PO-lice" (emphasis is on the "PO") - totally, because our town police department, consisting of 12 officers, is SUCH a huge presence. Given the nature of my job, I happen to know that at any given time, there are a grand total of 2 officers patrolling our streets. I doubt sincerely that their resources are going towards policing a bunch of lame ass wannabes. Read our local newspaper "Police Beat" and you'll see that our officers spend nearly all of their time responding to tourists who have locked their keys in their cars.

Come to think of it though, I do have personal knowledge of an actual police chase involving local teenagers. It involved one of Ivy's friends and a trunk full of lawn gnomes stolen from the Rite Aid drug store. The lawn gnomes were recovered and Ivy's friend received a felony count for grand theft and evading arrest. This is the kind of incident that reminds us old folks exactly how stupid teenagers can be. It must've seemed like a good idea at the time: drive up to the Rite Aid, grab a bunch of lawn gnomes from the outside display and then lead the police on a high speed chase. If you're going to get a "first strike", do it style I say.

• "Doing 60 on 'The Higgins'" First of all, if you do 60 on "The Higgins" you're not cool, you're a moron because it's a narrow, cliff-top, two-lane, mostly dirt road that has some seriously scary sharp turns . Second of all, NOBODY refers to "Higgins Canyon Road" as "The Higgins." This is a semi-rural suburban town, a mix of folks like Eric's family who've lived here since the 1920's and Silicon Valley executives. We don't have notorious streets here. And if we did, I don't think "The Higgins" would come close to meeting the definition.

Anyway, the song is pretty damn funny and I would be really impressed if kids in question wrote the song as a parody or satire. But Olivia tells me that no, they are dead serious. These kids actually think of themselves as "gangsta rappers." In the song they even name check (and diss) P. Diddy and Jay-Z.

So everybody, let's sing it together:

"We've got something to tell you, Something that you oughtta know

From the 7-2-6 to the 7-2-8 in the parts of the (650) (in case you didn't know, those are telephone prefixes and area codes)

From the kegs at the beach, to the trees (? wtf, nature-loving rappers?) that we seek

Half Moon Bay is the place to play.

Every day I gotta strike up a blaze

Just to chase all the blues away."

So watch for these guys to hit it big real soon. I myself am really looking forward to the ascent of the "Moon Town Rap Scene."

In other news, Eric, Olivia and I had dinner with Mike Parvizi's parents on Saturday. After a little initial confusion locating the restaurant (the name of the restaurant was "Alborz's House of Persian Cuisine, but Eric heard it as "Al Gore's House of Persian Cuisine") we had a very pleasant evening, right up until we went to pick up Eric's car at the BART station and discovered that it had been broken into. Luckily Eric keeps his car pretty immaculate, so there wasn't much to steal. In desperation, the would-be burgalers popped the trunk and found:

A half dozen plastic bags filled with aluminum cans. I don't know why, but this just makes me giggle. So let's give a shout out to Eric, the Recycling King. I've been teasing him about his little recycling hobby, but now I am convinced of its worth.

My daughter the model (snicker snicker)

From the Archives...And the Band Played On. And On. And On

Okay, I'm not sure of the exact date of the following, but Olivia was older than 9 and Ivy was in high school so it dates back to the very early days of the original big sandy bottom (R.I.P.) Figure about 2002?

Olivia doesn't play the trumpet anymore, so I haven't been to a school band concert in almost two years. I actually miss them. The recording still exists, by the way. I wish I knew how to play it on here!

When Olivia was 9 she played the clarinet, in the strictly technical sense. Badly, with no skill whatsoever, but nonetheless she played the clarinet. Due to a serendipitous event in Hawaii involving a conch shell, she is now a trumpet-player and a pretty good one too. Anyway, while Olivia has developed into a good musician, her early efforts were...well, let's just say that when she practiced her clarinet at night, it wasn't just the cats that hid in the garage.

You can imagine our surprise when we attended Olivia's first elementary school band concert and discovered that she was one of the more talented musicians in the group. (If this sounds like I am bragging, then re-read the previous paragraph and you will see what I am getting at.)

At this point, I had attended numerous band concerts to see Ivy play, both in middle school and high school. Although I wasn't expecting perfection, all of the ensembles Ivy had been involved with at least showed some skill. I wasn't expecting a bunch of 4th graders to meet even the standards of a middle school band, but I was anticipating a modicum of expertise, a glimmer of talent and potential. Silly me.

The band was conducted by a man who was possibly the most patient soul on the planet. Or perhaps he was a bit hard of hearing. If so, it was a mercy.

These kids were so bad that half of the parents in the audience were hysterically, silently, laughing their heads off during most of the event. Imagine rows of parents, shoulders shaking, tears rolling down their faces, laughing at their own children. That’s how bad these kids were.

Inflicted upon the parents were at least five renditions of “Ode to Joy”, “Mozart’s Melody” (that’s “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” to you and me), and what has to be (hopefully) the only 2 and 1/2 hour version of the “William Tell Overture” ever played. I just kept picturing the Lone Ranger, riding ol’ Silver to this in slooow motion, finally stopping and saying, “Can we play something a little more up-tempo, a funeral dirge perhaps? Because Silver is asleep.”

Eric, who was my fiancé at the time, was unable to attend this little event. I suspect he traveled to Amsterdam on business just to avoid the concert, but I have no actual proof. Anyway, Ivy brought a tape recorder along to the concert, so we could share it with Eric at a later date. The recording brings to mind a bunch of developmentally disabled ducks involved in some tragic water-related calamity…and I don’t think the tape quality is to blame. It is a testament to Eric’s character that he married me anyway.

Let's Make Eric An Internet Star!

click on the title above. Tell your friends.

Weekly Address October 11, 2006 (Death to Austrian Tourists in Rental Cars)

So what kind of idiot parks their car in the middle of highway to check his map?

Martin Opitz, stoic Austrian tourist, that's what kind of idiot.

On Monday I was happily driving along, on my way to pick up Olivia from BART. I come off of Devil's Slide in Pacifica and wham! Smack right into the back of one Martin Opitz, stoic Austrian tourist, henceforth referred to as "MOSAT." I guess MOSAT thought it was a good idea to just stop right there, right where he was and check his map. And yes, since I rear-ended MOSAT the accident is my fault. Crap.

Being in a car accident is so surreal. There's the impact and then about 15 seconds of complete silence and then the adrenaline starts rushing. Mentally doing a body check-in: "Legs? We're good? Good. How's the back? Okay, terrific. Car-how's the car looking? Oh good god, my car, my car, look at my car!"

This accident was even more surreal because the other participant didn't speak English all that well. He provided me with his address and the fact that his rental car came from Hertz. Other than that, he just waved his map around and impersonated one of those Buckingham Palace guards. Never cracked a smile or a frown, just a complete deadpan stare.

I, on the other hand, was a complete mess. I held off the tears until I tried unsuccessfully to find my AAA card. Then I started to bawl. My cellphone was dead, and I was afraid to turn on the engine to charge the cell and I was panicked about Olivia being at the Daly City BART station at night with all the weirdos that hang out there. I used the international sign for "phone" (thumb and pinky held next to face) and MOSAT let me use his Blackberry. I called AAA, left a message for Olivia (don't talk to strangers! Help will be there soon!) but I couldn't get in touch with Eric, because Eric doesn't have a cell phone and he'd already left work. I knew he was having dinner at his parents house though and luckily when I called there, he'd just arrived. So at least reinforcement was on the way. But to get that reinforcement I had to cry in front of my mother-in-law, a dreadfully high price to pay.

Then the tow truck arrives, driven by a guy who looks like one of the hillbillies from "Deliverance." He drives me to his tow shop, located between a gas station and a bar. I try to get change for the payphone in front of the bar so I can let Olivia and Eric know where I am, but the mean lady at the gas station won't give me change unless I buy something and I only have a dollar and there's nothing to purchase that would leave me enough money for a phone call. And I really need to make that call, because thus far my conversation with Eric has been somewhat cryptic. At this point he thinks I am waiting for him at a Dennys.

I'm still crying, by the way.

Mean lady relents, so I head to the payphone in front of the bar. Surpringly, there's some drunk guy using it and he isn't reading my subtle signs of desperate phone need (red face, tears, clutching 4 quarters) and continues to yell into the phone at someone named Sue who really doesn't want company that night. (And Sue, if you're out there - I'm pretty sure this guy was lying to you about his sobriety.)

Anyway, the guy finally hangs up, I reach Olivia who has just been picked up by Eric and let them know where I am. I then spend the next 45 minutes standing in front of Winters Bar in Pacifica, still crying. Probably everyone I went to high school with in Pacifica drives by and sees me, sobbing in front of a bar.

If you're familiar with coastside geography, you may be wondering "why did it take 45 minutes to reach Pacifica from the Daly City BART station?" That's a good question, but you don't realize how incredibly direction-deficient my husband is. Eric has many wonderful traits, I love him dearly, but sometimes going more than a block causes him to get hopelessly lost. Candy Cane Lane comes to mind and isn't THAT a great story that I'd love to tell you but even I have my standards and wouldn't publicly humilate Eric in such a way.

I digress.

Anyway, I catch occasional glimpses of Eric and Olivia several blocks parallel to my location, performing illegal u-turns and then heading in the opposite direction. It's freezing and I don't have a coat (Mumma, I don't want to hear one word from you!) and by this point my eyes are basically swollen shut from crying. You'd think I'd stand out in a crowd, much less all by myself standing in front of a bar, but it takes my family several more tries until they reach me.

So that's one thing that happened this week.

I have several Olivia tidbits to relay that are kind of funny. First of all, I want to officially nominate Olivia's pal Nina Jacobsen as this week's "Miss Big Sandy Bottom." (This is a new feature, I will be honoring other notable achievements as warranted.)

I was already impressed with this kid, who is as good-natured and kind-hearted as they come, PLUS her mom owns Duarte's Tavern which give us special pie priveleges and acess to the best green chile soup on the planet.

Notre Dame has an annual "Club Fair" where all the various school clubs offer displays about their activities, talk to the students about joining, etc. I don't know why Olivia didn't attend the club fair, but in retrospect I bet she's really sorry she didn't.

Anyway, so Nina did attend and boy did she have fun. I think Nina's motivation was fairly simple: some clubs offer food for signups, she was hungry but didn't actually want to sign up for anything herself. So she just enrolled Olivia, who is now a proud member of 12 organizations that she would rather die than be a part of. I think she's okay with the Culture Club and the Spanish Club. But the Star Trek Club? Not so much. The Anime Club? hahaha the very idea makes me giggle, Olivia surrounded by a bunch of goth girls discussing the art form "manga?" There's a bunch of others, but my personal favorite is "Club BEEP-Bring Everyone Everywhere Peace." Olivia reports that everytime she walks by the school bulletin board, there are urgent messages posted for her regarding her membership in Club BEEP, as there is an upcoming demonstration rally to plan. As the instant message kids say, "lmao."

My nominee for "Mr. Big Sandy Bottom" this week is Teen Model Mike Parvizi.

Olivia had her headshot photo shoot this past weekend (see previous posts for important wardrobe information) and the shoot was still happening when her boyfriend Mike showed up to have dinner with us. The photographer asked Mike if he was willing to be a "prop" and next thing you know, Olivia and Mike are channelling James Taylor and Carly Simon, playing the guitar in front of a decrepit Volkswagon van.

So Mike gets kudos both for being a prop, and being willing to wear makeup to do it.

And finally, an honorable mention goes to Olivia's rowdy friends who attended the Tri-M Honor Society Induction ceremony last night. The ceremony was a dignified, staid event. Violins were played-polite, appreciative applause. Piano prodigies pounded out concertos, also to appreciative applause. Olivia sang an Italian opera song, her friends whooped and hollered and then they all stood up and spelled out the letters of her name with their hands like a bunch of drunks dancing to "YMCA" at a wedding:

O-L-I-V-I-A!

Best music recital I've ever been to.

Weekly Address October 3, 2006 (Nia Sings!)

The latest "news" from BSB...

On Saturday, Eric and I took Ivy, Olivia and Mike to see GUSTER at the Berkeley Community Theatre and we had a great time. Olivia got to take a picture with opening act Tristan Prettyman. Mike and I now have an inside joke (hard to describe, but it involves punching your own eye.) (Told you it was an inside joke.) And we all discovered that even if you hate one of the opening acts (Nada Surf, in this case) it is possible to have a terrific time at a concert by merely PRETENDING to have a terrific time. We were feeling kind of bad, because many of the folks around us were really into Nada Surf and we were just sitting there all blah. So we decided to get play along. We were jumping around, line dancing (don't ask), screaming and requesting songs. By the time the set ended, we had worked ourselves into Nada Surf frenzy and completely bonded with our seatmates. I think this is something to think about in other areas of life also...it is possible to go from having a crappy time to having the the time of your life by basically forcing yourself to behave as if you are having a great time.

Yeah, that makes a lot of sense, Siobhan.

Guster was as terrific as we hoped. I'm sure you've never heard of Guster, that's okay. They are one of those groups that never quite seems to make it big. If you've ever heard a song of theirs on the radio, it would probably be "The Fa Fa Song" and I realize that title doesn't exactly scream "must-hear music."

Anyway, these guys are awesome musicians and I'm always fascinated by the percussionist, who plays most of the instruments without drum sticks. Even the snares and cymbals. It's cool, though I imagine he's pretty bloody by the end of the show.

During the show, my family seized the opportunity to mock my birth defect. (I know, you weren't aware of my birth defect. That's because I am a proud person who demands to be treated just like everyone else. Still the tragic truth is....I cannot hold up three fingers. My attempts to do so make me look like an arthritic crone. I can hold up four fingers. Two's not a problem. But three...well, it's kinda sad to see. It's not like it affects my everyday life or anything, but when it comes to a song that features a line like "four-three-two-one" and the whole audience flashes their digits, I am at a definite disadvantage. It also hindered my cheerleading abilities, which were so lame to begin with that I really couldn't afford to have them further hindered.)

After the show we drove Mike home to Walnut Creek and I guess it must've been pretty late because we spent most of the drive giggling about Eric and I moving to Rossmoor and gumming wieners. It was hilarious at the time, I swear.

In sharp contrast to my wonderful times with my delightful family, my life at work has turned to shit and it appears that most of the trouble is totally my fault. Starting with last Sunday, when I did the big no-no, every City Clerk's worst nightmare, and forgot to post a City Council meeting. Just to make the whole thing more embarrassing, this was a meeting where the Council was to interview candidates to be my potential new boss. I'm sure they're really looking forward to working with me. So THAT was a big pile of crap I stepped in. I had to rush down to work and post another meeting for 24 hours hence to take the place of the meeting I forgot to post.

Come in Monday morning, find out that while I posted the upcoming meeting with the correct code section reference, I used the wrong title description. grrr. Luckily no one noticed that, or they were just kind enough not to mention it. The fact that the numbers on the agenda went 1,2,3,5...that WAS noticed.

Tuesday morning I have to post another meeting for Thursday, which I do. Except that I post it for the wrong time. At least this time there's plenty of time to correct the error. By now, I am feeling really incompetent. It's like everything I touch turns to garbage.

Tuesday afternoon we have a little situation regarding a former Councilmember, an appeal and a fee that may or may not be required to file said appeal. I am tasked with creating a paper trail of our appeal fees history. I get lucky and find reference to a 2000 City Council meeting where our master fee schedule was approved (as an aside, my city has basically NO electronic records. So all this research is done the old fashioned way.) Anyway... so.... aha! a resolution that should help me follow the trail. Go into our scary old fireproof room where we keep all the city records (but no longer keep the bones of an actual corpse uncovered during a sewer plant project) to pull the resolution. It's gone. MY ORIGINAL FREAKING RESOLUTION IS GONE.

Fast forward to me crying on the floor of the storage room. What the hell is going on? Why can't I do anything right? I'm feeling very humbled, because just days earlier I was thinking "hey, I'm starting to get the hang of this City Clerk stuff. This is cool." Currently, I can't even count to five properly.

Fast forward to the City Council meeting. 10 minutes before the meeting starts, our friendly local librarian strolls in. I think "hmm. wonder why Maya is here? She doesn't normally come to our meetings. I wonder which agenda item she's interested in?"

Gee, I don't know Siobhan. Could it possibly be that she is receiving a proclamation that evening? A proclamation that I was supposed to write and prepare for the meeting.

You betcha.

So this hasn't been the best week of my life. I don't know what's up with me. I'm thinking that maybe I can blame it on pre-menopause? Stress? Not enough sleep? I don't know, but I sure hate feeling like an idiot all the time.

At least the resolution mystery is revealed to not be my error. I only found this out last night, at the Council meeting, when someone turns up with a photocopy of the original resolution. I grab this person and say "where did you get this?" Apparently it was emailed to the individual by a fellow staff member. A fellow staff member who could possibly have a somewhat biased view of the former councilmember who filed the appeal. A fellow staff member who I asked DIRECTLY IF THEY HAD SEEN THE ORIGINAL AND THEY DENIED ALL KNOWLEDGE.

Not that I'm bitter.

On a lighter note, I've been spending a lot of time on youtube. The stuff you can find on there! Like the entire Captain EO film (of course it's not in 3-d like it was at Disneyland once upon a time), and the opening credits for the 1970's PBS show "Zoom". (write Zoom, Z- double o-m, Box 3-5-0, Boston Mass, 0-2-1-3-4...Send it to Zoom!"

It's great fun. Olivia somehow stumbled across a series of videos featuring a young girl named Nia. Nia's mother has posted maybe 20 or so videos of her little darling singing. The kid is only 4 years old (2 in some videos) but her mother is apparently hell-bent on making little Nia sing wildly inappropriate songs for the camera. The funny thing is, the kid actually might have some talent. It's hard to tell with a toddler, but she seems to have a decent tonal memory and can carry a tune anyway. And she's certainly not shy.

I have this image of poor little Nia, trapped in her home with her crazy mother who makes her stand in front of closet doors, clutching a pretend microphone and crooning "Give it to me baby" by Rick James, or even weirder "Strange Fruit" by Billie Holliday.

Anyway, if you get a chance, visit the link below and check Nia out. The link is 4 year old Nia singing "Piece of My Heart" by Janis Joplin. Although it isn't her best vocal performance, there's a moment starting about 3 minutes and 50 seconds that's fascinating. Make sure you watch it until 4 minutes and 25 seconds. It's worth it, I swear.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dfM4sGIsoc4

While you're there, check out some other Nia clips. The Billie Holliday one is truly bizarre.

Weekly Address September 25, 2006 (Trophy Wives)

The events of the last 8 days have convinced me that something has gone terribly wrong in the universe. Some sort of karmic mishap is surely responsible for the tragic mistake that kept me from being born independently wealthy.

We've always known that Olivia was clearly meant to be a Rockefeller. Her lust for expensive handbags and shoes is a dead giveaway. Travel is my craving, the more luxe the better. And fine bed linens. Also, I like to sleep in till at least noon and I never clean my house. So it seems obvious to me that I was meant to be rich.

Then there's Ivy, our little changeling. From birth Ivy has been, well...how can I put this without sounding mean? Weird. That's it. And I truly mean that in the nicest way possible. Ivy has always eschewed that which is popular, or typical. Normal is a bad word in Ivy's world.

And yet. And yet....last weekend Ivy and I took a weekend trip to the Sonoma Mission Inn, located in Sonoma obviously. This is an understated luxury hotel, with an emphasis on peace and quiet and spa treatments.

We had massages, and herbal wraps and lavender bubble baths. We padded around the grounds in our fluffy bathrobes. We visited the bathhouse everyday for the "bathing ritual." (A series of hot tubs, warm pools, steam rooms, everything designed to make you melt.) We took a meditation class (pretty much what you'd expect, by the way. You sit there, quietly.) We lounged by the pool and ate of our $17 turkey wrap. Life was good. The sun was shining, the atmosphere was relaxed. And Ivy, my little anti-establishment daughter, sighed "I want to be a trophy wife."

We spent much of the rest of the weekend talking about the advantages and disadvantages of being trophy wives.

Advantages: endless cash flow, no housework, weekends at fancy spas.

Disadvantages: None we could come up with. Let me know if you can think of any. Unless you're Eric, and then I know he can come up with a few. I think he may be nursing a bit of a grudge since I came home and told him he better "step it up" on the whole wealthy indulgent husband scene.

So now I will seque into Olivia's upcoming headshot photo shoot. (It will seem incongruous but trust me, it'll all tie in nicely at the end.)

In the world of acting and modeling, a good headshot is key. It is ALL about your look. So it's time for Olivia to get new headshots. It's been two years since her last bunch, and also her agent has FINALLY made the move from black and white to color. We set up the shoot and schedule a "talent review" with Marla so she can tell us what kind of look she's wanting for Olivia. Marla's sick, but her underlings provide us with the following input:

• They see Olivia as "earthy girl"
• They want to see her in plums, greens and browns
• They don't want anything "high fashion", they want everything to be strictly "commercial"
• The photographer they recommend is prone to asking people to wear short skirts with tall boots and they DON'T want that in these photos. I am specifically told to ignore him if he tells us to bring boots.
• They want photos that are "all-American Noxema girl"
• Her hair wants cutting (reminds me of Alice in Wonderland)
• Hey brows are okay, but need to fill in a bit

Luckily Olivia has learned by now to take nothing personally in this business.

Then I talk to Billy the photographer and his only advice is to purchase high-end clothing and return it after the shoot.

Moral discussion: is it okay to purchase clothing that you KNOW you will be returning?

I decide that no, it's not okay but head out to do just that, which I guess makes me a bad person. I know it's wrong, but I still do it. See, already I'm acting like a trophy wife.

So Olivia and I go shopping. Olivia and I drop $1600 in 2 1/2 hours. Don't pictures loads and loads of garments here. Remember, we're shopping "high-end", so we walk away with 11 items, including a dress that cost $300 and $175 jeans.

We go home, reassure Eric that all the items will be returned, (but then immediately take the tags off of the $300 dress because Olivia wants to keep it for winter formal. ) Take snapshots of Olivia in all the different items and send them off to Marla for review.

Marla HATES every single thing. Violent hatred of our selections. Marla proceeds to review what she would like to see in the photos. Marla offers the following input:

• She also sees Olivia as an "earthy girl", BUT...
• she thinks that Olivia is also an "Abercrombie" girl. (I think this is actually valid. Everytime we go in that store, employees try to recruit Olivia to work there.)
• The browns, plums and greens are drab. She wants bright colors
• She would really like to see Olivia in a short skirt with high boots
• The clothes we picked out aren't "high fashion" enough, they are "too commercial"

Oh, and this is communicated to me less than 24 hours before the actual shoot date. It's 7:30 p.m., Olivia has hours of homework and so I have to run to the mall and re-shop, without Olivia there to try anything on.

Which I do. Brilliantly. I spend $800 in an hour and a half. Abercrombie and Fitch. Nordstroms, GAP...I rush into these stores and basically grab sales people and make them my slaves. Entire outfits are removed from mannequins. The Nordstrom shoe guy is in heaven, because I say "give me a pair of tan flats and a pair of tall brown boots in size 8.5. I don't care how much they cost and I don't need to try them on." I shed all pretense of being a real shopper, telling the salespeople that the clothes are for a photo shoot and I'm going to return them all anyway. No one cares.

I head home with bags and bags of stuff. It's now 9:30 at night. We pull out a chintzy clothes rack from the garage and hang up all the stuff I just purchased, plus all the stuff Marla hated, plus anything else of Olivia's that we think might work. Our entryway looks like a clothing store. Accessories are piled up on the piano. Shoes are everywhere. We snap photos of all the new options and email them to Marla...

And Marla hates everything. She reschedules our photo shoot.

So it's all very frustrating. It's clear that my definition of "earthy girl" and Marla's definition are very different. However, in this process I discovered that it is really cool to shop without looking at price tags. Knowing that we were returning everthing made shopping REALLY simple. "Do you like this? Okay." Olivia and I were alarmingly good at this. We started out with reasonably priced skirts and went directly to a $285 sweater without blinking an eye. It kinda reminded me of when Kathy C. and I went to Palm Springs and stayed in the home of one of our millionaire acquaintances. (Lee Iacocoa lived next door to this guy.) The first day we were there, we hid Wispride cheese spread and triscuits in our suitcases, and cleaned up after ourselves. Two days later we were helping ourselves to $500 bottles of wine and our favorite saying was "don't worry about the mess. The maid will clean up." By the end of the trip, one of us (and it wasn't me) was dancing in her underwear on the bar.

I think I could get used to living this way. (Not the dancing in my underwear part. Unless I got major plastic surgery, whichI guess I could do if I were rich.) It's suprisingly easy. How come I'm not rich? I'm clearly up to the challenge...as are Olivia (duh) and (surprise, surprise) Ivy.

I know my whining here isn't terribly attractive. We are doing just fine financially, nobody is starving in our house. We have cars, a daughter at a private high school, one in college. We're not hurting or anything. I just think that given my god-given ability to live the high life, I should have a chance to actually HAVE one.

Why You Must Watch "Veronica Mars"

Trampy McBitch

Darlene Gillespie

As you may deducted from subtle hints in previous posts, I am a big fan of the tv show "Veronica Mars." How does one become so enamored of a low-rated television show about a teenage detective? In my case, it is important to go back in time a bit...okay a LOT...to little Siobhan, age 11. (She was really cute.)

Does it seem odd to you that an 11 year old kid would become insanely obsessed with a 1950's kiddy television show? (Remember, I was 11 in 1975.) A television show in black and white, for gods sake? A squeaky clean tv show featuring tapping, singing children, rife with morality lectures? All my friends were watching "Laugh In." Come to think of it, I was watching "Laugh In" too, and I also loved the "Smothers Brothers" and "Sanford and Son." But my special, favorite show, the one I would never miss, was "The Mickey Mouse Club."

So yeah, maybe it is a little odd that a child of the 70's would be into "The Mickey Mouse Club." In addition to the just plain old-fashioned-ness of the content (Jiminy Cricket teaches you how to spell e-n-c y-c-l-o p-e-d-i-a, and Spin and Marty feud at the Triple R summer camp), there's also the fact that the "kids" featured on the show would've been in their 30's by the time I started watching the show in syndication.

Whatever the reason, I just LOVED this show. And I loved it in a completely sincere way. Not an ironic or snarky sort of way...but total complete devotion. The mouseketeers were like friends to me. Darlene...oh I wanted to sing like Darlene. She was so fresh and honest. (Okay I know NOW that Darlene turned out to be a swindler and served time in prison for fraud. But back then I was completely snowed by her freckle-faced gee whiz attitude.) And Tommy...sigh, he was so cute. Loved the pompadour. Yes, Bobby was all teeth but the boy could dance. Annette...I hated Annette with all the venom I normally reserved for real life peers. She was like the most popular girl in the class, the one who was so perfect that you just knew she had a collection of hamster heads in her freezer.

In the category of "strange things to brag about for 100 dollars", it was through my obsession with "The Mickey Mouse Club" that I first discovered my talent for stalking. With what I now find remarkable determination and clever thinking for an 11 year old, I utilized books, magazines and reference library phone books and managed to track down a half dozen or so Mousketeers and just called them up on the phone. "Hey, Sherry! This is Siobhan, I'm in the 5th grade up here in Northern California and I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoy your work on "The Mickey Mouse Club." Do you think you could drop an autographed photo in the mail for me? Thanks bunches!"

The amazing thing is, it worked. It took me weeks, and I never did get in touch with the "superstar" Mouseketeers...only the second tier bunch that weren't exactly household names even during the show's heydey. I came very close to catching Karen Pendleton in her office one day at Prudential Real Estate in Van Nuys, but she never returned my phone calls. And, Darlene (my hero!)-I called up her husband's gas station in Sherman Oaks and he pretty much told me to get lost. That was tragic. So-Sherry, Judy, Margene, Bonnie Lynn, Mary...those were the gals I found. And they were all super swell, they sent me letters and photos and I was over the moon happy!

I wasn't so happy when my parents got the phone bill for that time period and discovered $150 dollars in long distance phone calls to Southern California. I do believe I was grounded for quite some time. I definitely remember sobbing in my bed and yelling at my mom "But they're my FRIENDS! How come I can't call my FRIENDS?! You're so mean!")

I guess what I'm getting at is that maybe I can be just the tiniest bit obsessive, sometimes.

Enter "The Gilmore Girls." I believe I've talked about that show before, so just briefly I'll say that Olivia and I are huge fans of that show. We never watched it in regular seasons, we bought or rented entire season DVD's and when we reached the end of Season 5...well, crap. We were out of things to do at night. We could've done homework, or communicated or something I guess. Nah. We clearly needed a new show to tide us over until the Season 6 DVD (September 19!) came out. I'd heard that "Veronica Mars" was pretty cool and on an impulse I purchased Season 1.

Well. I have to tell you right here and now that Season 1 of "Veronica Mars" is quite possibly the coolest television show ever aired. Season 2? It's good, definitely better than most tv shows. But Season 1? It rocks. It's rad. In the words of my almost 16 year old daughter, "it's tight." (Which in my teen years would've been a serious criticism. "Tight" was reserved for really mean teachers and parents. The word has apparently crossed over to the ultimate seal of approval. As in "your mom's so tight." Which of course I'm sure my daughters get really sick of hearing all the time.)

And I know you're probably sick of me saying it, but I really don't care....I'm basically begging you to watch this show so I have people to talk about it with. Preferably Season 1, and preferably as Olivia and I did, back to back episodes on DVD. There's so much that goes on in this show that you simply won't be able to remember or keep track of very important foreshadowing if there's more than a day or so between episodes.

How can you not love a show that introduces its heroine in voice over saying "Do you want to know how I lost my virginity? So do I..."

Here's just a few quotes that illustrate why I love it so much:

• (Logan): "Everybody Wang Chung tonight or I'll kick your ass!"
• Veronica): "You got a trophy for a rim job?" (hee! c'mon, can you believe they actually got away with that?)
• (Logan): "Annoy, tiny blond one. Annoy like the wind."
• (Aaron): "Especially for you tonight I am making what will be known from now on as "Aaron's Extra-Special Crab Cakes." (Logan): I'm sure I'll thoroughly enjoy them - right up until my esophagus closes up, cuts off my air supply and I shuffle off this mortal coil. Perhaps my last words will be "Great crab, Papa." [Aaron looks confused] I'm allergic to shellfish, DAD."
• (Weevil): "You get lonely out here, remember: Weevil love you long time."
• (Veronica): "Dad, your hooker is here."
• (Felix): "Hey, yo, is this O-Town any good? I mean, my little sister likes it, but you know, she likes ponies and juice boxes, too. "
• (Troy): "Flat?"
  (Veronica): "Just as God made me."
  (Troy): "Are you always this persnickety?"
  (Veronica):" Sometimes I'm even persnicketier."
• (Veronica): "I'm Veronica."
  (Troy): "Really. Veronica. Okay, yeah, that...that does make a lot more sense."
  (Veronica): "Makes more sense how?"
  (Troy): "Ah, it's nothing. I just, uh, should never listen to those guys. I mean, really - who names a daughter Trampy McBitch?"
• (Mr. Daniels): "You know, the glow of your father's wealth and celebrity may be enough to sustain you through high school, Mr. Echolls, but do you know what it will get you in the real world?"
  (Logan): " Please say 'high school English teacher.' Please say 'high school English teacher.'"

And those quotes are just from the first 4 EPISODES.

I know that you're probably tired of reading a bunch of random quotes from a TV show, but ya know what? I don't care about that either, because as I have previously established, this is MY blog and all that matters is that I entertain myself, so...here's some more:

• (Veronica): "I need you to poke around and see if you can get me a fake ID. If you must seduce the head cheerleader in order to accomplish your mission, so be it."
  (Wallace): "No sweat! How do I do it?"
  (Veronica): "Play on her insecurities?"
• [Trying to filch info on her father's case, Veronica sets off a blue-dye packet in a trap he set for her.]
  (Keith) "Hey, honey. What have you been up to?
  (Veronica): "Tell me where to put your Father of the Year trophy, 'cause there's some place I'd like to put it!"
  (Keith): "Wow. Good thing I didn't go with the bear trap."
  (Veronica): "This is not funny! I need to see that diary! She's lying. I know it. I can feel it with every fiber of my being."
  (Keith): "Honey, you don't have to get all blue in the face."
  (Veronica): "You're patronizing me?"
  (Keith): "To be fair, I am your patron. [grins]"
• (Trina): "Pop Tart?"
  (Logan): "Hmmm, a Tart from a tart."
  (Trina): "Ye of the sickle wit. Can I ask you something?"
  (Logan): "Hmm, would you look at that? [mimics pulling something from his mouth] There was a string attached to my Pop Tart. [tosses away imaginary string]"
• (Keith) "How was school?"
  (Veronica): "You know - mean kids, indifferent teachers, crumbling infrastructure."
  

"Veronica Mars" has been picked up by the CW Network for a 13 episode run, and it is in extreme danger of being cancelled. So PLEASE, even if only to help me and Oli out, I beg you: watch the show, and tell your friends to watch it too.

Big Sandy Bottom 2006 World Tour

Well, we're back! I bet you didn't even know we were gone, did ya? That's okay, I am going to subject you to a full trip report anyway, so here goes:

Big Sandy Bottom World Tour, July 29-August 7 2006
Part 1

THE PLOT:
A wild and wacky family of four travel from California to Disneyworld for 10. Solid. Days. of togetherness.

THE CAST:
Eric, age 36. "The Saint." Easy going man surrounded by temperamental divas.
Occupation: Despite numerous attempts by this family to determine exactly what Eric does for a living, he has never been able to adequately provide a job description. Thus, we must go with the assessment made by Nina Jacobsen: "Eric is a spy."
Pet Peeve: Being the last person in a restaurant, theatre or virtually anywhere people gather.
Catchprases: "Stop flirting with the waiter." "You know, at my office people actually seek out my opinion and value it."

Siobhan, age 42. "The Dictator." Extreme travel planner, Disney commando.
Occupation: Mom, City Clerk for small northern Californian town. (yes, a real grown up job. Whod've thunk it?)
Pet Peeve: Bickering children.
Catchphrases: "Will you two knock it off?" "We have 12:00 ADR's at Boma in the AKL. Let's get a FP for RNRC, hit TOT and then catch DT at the TTC." "Drink some water."

Ivy, age 20. "Emo Kid."
Occupation: Student, Hobbit stalker, D & D and Werewolf character.
Pet Peeve: Olivia
Catchphrases: "But I'm not thirsty!"

Olivia, age 15. "Jar-Jar." "Porta Poppy"
Occupation: Student, Professional Backpack Model, Smartass.
Pet Peeve: Ivy
Catchphrase: "I have to pee."

So even though this trip was sort of last minute, (we only decided in late May to go to Disneyworld), I still managed to plan this vacation to within an inch of its life. Personally, I don't see a problem with overplanning a vacation. I figure you can always adjust and be flexible if need be, but it helps to have a plan. Especially since we were heading to Florida at the peak of the summer season, with its crazy crowds and unbearable weather. My family thought that perhaps I was a little too intense in my planning activities, but I just want to state for the record: At no time did I actually monitor anyone's urine color to assess hydration levels. I merely provided instructions on how to do so.

I spent many hours trolling the internet, looking for information and advice for our trip. During this time, I basically lived at the following sites:

http://www.mousesavers.com All the information you'll ever need on Disney discounts.
http://www.wdwinfo.com/#blue-dishome This is where the true Disney lunatics I mean fanatics live. Here you will find endless posts on fascinating topics like : Bed bugs at Disney hotels, benefits/drawbacks of taking an afternoon break, line strategies, crowd levels and the evils of pool-hopping. It is here that I began to lose touch with reality, or at least all perspective. I visited this site, oh maybe 40 or 50 times a day. It is on the DIS board that I learned about Crocs (must-have shoes for Disneyworld), ADR's (advanced dining reservations), and the existence of a mysterious man called Tour Guide Mike. (http://www.tourguidemike.com/index.asp) who, for a small fee, will provide you with a step-by-step, minute-by-minute plan for touring the parks.

So by the time we left for Orlando, here's what I had done:

• Paid Tour Guide Mike his $19.95. This was a wise purchase, his advice was totally correct.
• Purchased our Park Hoppers through a service called http://www.ticketmania.com . Actually I only purchased hoppers for Eric, Ivy and Olivia in advance. In order to secure a discounted hotel rate, I would need to purchase an annual passport when we arrived at Disneyworld.
• Purchased a pair of Crocs shoes. I have to say, these are the ugliest shoes I've ever owned, possibly the ugliest shoes ever made. Imagine my surprise when Olivia, our little trend watcher, informed me that Crocs were in fact all the rage. I was skeptical, but it turns out she was right.
• Also purchased an alternate pair of shoes, sandals made by Reefs. In yet another example of me being so cool that even when I'm not TRYING to be cool, I still AM the coolest, the sandals I picked out with no real thought whatsoever are in fact the most popular sandals on the market, according to Money Magazine. (No, silly, I don't read it, Eric does.) They proved to be extremely comfortable and although they weren't much to look at, these shoes have a secret weapon, one I wasn't even aware of when I purchased them. The bottom of these sandals have a functioning bottle opener embedded in them. That's right, in order to open a bottle of beer, one can just hook the bottle top into the opener on the soles and presto! open bottle! How handy is that? As it turns out, not very, since we're not exactly big drinkers. But the idea that I COULD open a beer bottle with my shoes if I had wanted to...wow.

• Made ADR's (Advanced Dining Reservations, remember) at five different places.
• Purchased tickets for Cirque du Soleil.
• Ordered a week's worth of groceries and arranged for them to be delivered to our hotel room upon our arrival.
• Created a trip binder with 17 (!) tabs. Every bit of information I needed for our trip was in this binder. Airline info, Disney's "Magical" Express (everything Disney is "magical") luggage tags, hotel information, lists of all our ADR's. A section for each day of our trip, with park hours, parade times and recommended parks to visit or avoid that day (courtesy of Tour Guide Mike). You name it, it was in the binder. One sign of how completely I'd lost my mind is the response from the hotel clerk when I pulled our reservation confirmations from the clear pocket folder, behind the tab helpfully labeled "hotel info." "You have a vacation binder?" she asked, incredulously. "I've never seen anything like that before!" What? You mean to tell me that not everyone travels with a 2" binder and a 35-step daily touring plan to maximize your ability to secure fastpasses and avoid long lines? I know, I was shocked too.
• Read the Unofficial Guide to Disneyworld cover to cover three times. Earmarked and highlighted pages for future quick reference.
• Compiled a three-page packing check list for each traveler. These lists covered everything, from government-issued ID's to moleskin for blisters.
• In addition to the 9-day reservation at our primary hotel (Disney's Old Key West, a 950 square foot one-bedroom unit with a fabulous spa tub and balcony complete with ceiling fan), I secured a room at Disney's Pop Century Resort for our arrival evening, as I didn't want to pay the extra $$$ for a hotel room that we'd be in for about 7 hours total.

Day 1 - Saturday - Travel
Travel-wise, everything went perfectly. Every flight on-time, no problems with security like I usually have. (Why is it that I am always "selected" to be patted down, frisked and treated like a criminal at airports?)

The high point for me today was my new suitcase. Beautiful color, shiny finish. I could tell as I wheeled it around the airport that everyone was admiring it. I think it's the most beautiful suitcase ever.

On the plane, Ivy, Olivia and I watched three episodes of "Veronica Mars" with subtitles because the volume on Ivy's laptop doesn't work. (have I mentioned yet that you must watch this show? Yes, I have. But it bears repeating "Veronica Mars" is the best show on TV.)

We arrived in Orlando at 9:30 p.m., and hopped onto Disney's "Magical" Express bus. This is a new service provided by Disney, where you check your luggage at your originating airport and they transport your luggage directly to your hotel room so you can skip the baggage claim and, presumably, get to Disneyworld as quickly as possible so you can spend more money. While I wouldn't exactly call the service "magical", it was a nice service and the bus ride to Pop Century was fun-"Aladdin" was playing on the tv and the seats were comfy.

Our arrival and check-in at Pop Century was uneventful, other than being mocked by the aforementioned desk clerk. If I had to sum up the resort in one word, it would be "tacky." That's okay, though, I like tacky and we were only staying one night so who cares. It's basically a motel (Disney classifies the Pop Century as a "value resort" and I suppose, in Disney-relative terms anyway, it is a value. Rooms can be had here for as little as $59 a night, if you have the right information (which of course I did due to my intensive research and preparation,) but the theming is truly bizarre. Unless you don't find giant cell phones and bowling pins bizarre. You say potato, I say potahtoe and all that. Our room was in the 80's section and the pool was the shape of a computer, with an enormous keyboard deck. Decorations on the buildings included Pacman ghosts and phrases popular in the 80's, like "tubular" and "totally awesome." The place was crawling with people, even the swimming pool was packed and remember, by this time it was almost midnight. The room itself was unimpressive but completely functional, two double beds, a table, a tv and a bathroom. Our luggage hadn't "magically" arrived at our room yet and we were starving so we walked to the food court, only to discover that it closed at midnight and the only "food" available was kettle corn, chocolate covered pretzels and Gatorade. Not my first meal choice, but as I said, we were starving and beggars can't be choosers.

We headed back to the room, gawking at the weird stuff around us. Here's a couple of pictures, to give you an idea of this resort's decor:

Yes, that's Eric holding hands with Mr. Potato Head

We got back to the room, our luggage arrived, and here's where it all fell apart. My months of planning, my obsessive attention to detail, all of it-down the drain. Remember the 3-page packing list? The moleskin, the sunscreen, the bug spray, the Afrin (somebody might get a stuffy nose!), the neosporin, the comfortable shoes, etc. ad nauseum? All those items-definitely in our luggage. NOT in my luggage: my glasses and contact lenses. Yup, I remembered to pack advil, shaving cream and aloe vera gel. But the very items I need to see, to function? My EYES? Nope. All I had were the extremely old, worn way past their 2 week lifespan pair of contacts currently in my eyes. Which were feeling really dry, now that I thought of it. In fact, everytime I blinked, I could feel the contacts sort of sticking to my eyeball.

In case you think I am being overly dramatic (and why would you? I never am,) I should mention that my eyesight is EXTREMELY poor. My contact lens prescription is -12.00. Without contacts or glasses, my vision is pretty much limited to that located less than 1 inch from my face.

So what do I do now? I freak out, that's what I do now. If I lose or tear a contact, I'm blind. I can't go in the pool, because if I get water splashed in my eyes, my contacts will float out and I'm blind. My new vacations plan-stay in the room for 9 days while everyone else has fun, learning to maneuver my way around the furniture, Helen Keller-style. I guess I could read the whole time, I like to do that. But I'd have to read with a book immediately pressed to my face, which isn't all that relaxing.

Options, what are my options? When I calm down long enough to think, I decide I'll use Ivy's laptop to order contacts online through 1-800-Contacts and have them delivered Fedex to the hotel. Which would be an excellent plan, except that Ivy casually mentions that her dataport seems to be broken and her only internet access has to be wireless. Which would be okay, except that apparently Disney doesn't HAVE wireless on property, or if they do we weren't able to access it. Okay, Plan B: I will phone 1-800-contacts in the a.m., handle it that way. In the meantime, I'll just be extra careful, take good care of the pathetic remnant contact lenses I have. Which would be a lot easier, if I had only bothered to pack: CONTACT LENS SOLUTION and a CONTACT LENS CASE! I call the front desk and the helpful woman assures me that yes, the resort shop carries the necessary supplies. Which would be a big relief, except of course the shop is closed now and won't open till 9:00 a.m.

I briefly contemplate staying up all night, but I know that really won't help anything. It's difficult to attempt to preserve your only pair of contact lenses when your only overnight storage solution involves plastic drinking glasses and tap water, but I don't really have a choice.

I climb into bed, a humbled and sad vacation planner. My family tries to cheer me up, but I eat my dinner of chocolate pretzels in tears. My only solace is that in the morning I will be unable to see the chocolate stained sheets.

Terrifying New Rural Crime

As a service to my readers (all 5 of 'em), I want to let you know about a new crime that is currently sweeping the rural coastside. Sadly, this crime is one that has touched my own household.

Often you read about teens and how vulnerable they are to peer pressure. Drugs. Shoplifting. Vandalism. All crimes that teens are susceptible to, especially if their friends are involved.

It's all too easy for parents to say "hey, not my kid." Today I must be brave and step up to say "yes, my kid."

We've been very fortunate with our girls. Ivy's now 20 and other than her frequent car wrecks and stunning lack of ability to find an apartment, she's been a breeze to raise.

Olivia is 15 and despite early warning signs of a hellacious adolescence and teen years, so far so good. Smart, funny, level-headed...no major problems.

Until this weekend, when I discovered that Olivia was involved in:

Drive by marshmallowing.

Yes, that's right. Marshmallowing. Mini-marshmallowing, to be precise.

The sad thing is, I have only myself to blame. Well, more accurately, myself and a poltergeist. Okay, and my mother. So really there's lots of blame to spread around...

Let me explain: once upon a time (maybe 2 years ago) I was in our bathroom, putting on makeup. I felt something soft sort of bounce off of my foreheard, and saw a mini-marshmallow drop into the sink.

I immediately leapt out of the bathroom, yelling "who did that?!", expecting to find a member of my evil family either laughing or trying to look innocent. But there was no one to be found! Olivia was in the living room, watching TV. Ivy was on the computer. Eric wasn't even in the house.

Further investigation revealed that there were no mini-marshmallows in the house.

So obviously the only conclusion I could draw was that a poltergeist was responsible. I should add that this somewhat bizarre conclusion may have been partially influenced by the infamous ghost in the shower incident, an event that was still fresh in my mind. We had yet to discover that the ghost I conversed with while showering was in a fact not a ghost but a talking three stooges bottle opener.

We never did discover the identity of the mini-marshmallow poltergeist. But recently, while surfing the web, I discovered an intriguing item: a marshmallow shooter. (http://wishingfish.com/marshshoot.html) Yes, a toy machine gun, designed to shoot marshmallows. Hmmm. I sent my mother a link to the item and she promptly bought it for me as a birthday gift. (according to her, "I didn't even get up from my chair. I just whipped out my credit card and purchased it right there.")

I'm afraid that now I'm going to have to digress even further, as I should explain that my mother and I have for years been competing with each other to purchase the tackiest gift ever. So far, my best purchase for her has been a set of "Zulu Lulu" drink stirrers, which feature Zulu Lulu in profile throughout her life. Poor Zulu starts out buxomy and firm and ends up...well, buxomy and saggy. My mother's best purchase has been my treasured paint by numbers "Last Supper."

Basically what I'm saying is that in my family, a marshmallow shooter is a perfectly reasonable birthday gift.

Okay, flash forward to current time. Eric and I are enjoying a nice meal prepared for us by Ivy and Rico. Olivia is at Kelly's, watching a movie. So we THINK, anyway. Ivy gets a call on her cell phone, looks puzzled and heads down the stairs out the door. Eric, Rico and I are confused, especially when we hear shrieking and laughing and Ivy comes tearing into the house, fuming.

The tragic victim of a driveby mini-marshmallow shooting. Perpetrated by her very own sister.

Now, we are not the types to let something like that just go. We're responsible parents, and believe in "nipping things in the bud" so to speak. Clearly a punishment was required, which led to Ivy, Eric and I dressed in camoflage, clutching bits of licorice and water guns in the dark of our yard. Rico was posted inside and gave a little "whoooo" just like, well ALMOST like, an owl to alert us. Olivia and her friends pulled up and bam! they were all blasted with water guns and pelted with red licorice. Which, if you didn't know, is really sticky when wet. The coup de grace was Olivia taking refuge on the porch, only to be drenched from above by a bucket of water courtesy of Rico, who really owed her one anyway from the time Olivia poured a glass of water on Ivy and Rico when they were "saying goodnight."

I'm a big believer in "the punishment fits the crime" so I think that there will be an immediate drop in the drive by marshmallowing crime rate. But if not, heed my warning: if you get a phone call from Olivia in which she says that she's out front and really needs to talk to you....Don't do it! It's a trick! You WILL be marshmallowed.

Olivia's got your back...

What is funny?

Today I am forced to examine the concept of humor and what makes people laugh. This is offered up as an instructional guide for my readership (which stretches all the way to West Virigina now-hi everybody!). I don't intend for this to be seen as censorship or anything, but merely a guideline for those who make pathetic attempts at humor. This of course doesn't apply to me, because I crack myself up and that's all that matters since this is after all MY blog.

Here's the deal. I walk upstairs this morning and propped up in front of our computer monitor is a paperback book. The book is a dog-eared, well-read (as all our books are) copy of the tragic young adult story "Beat the Turtle Drum." (See Exhibit A, below)

Exhibit A

As you can see, the front cover of the book has been annotated or labeled by some deviant, who shall be known from this point forward by the pseudonym of "Erick". I'm thinking that this "Erick" miscreant must have come across this book (quite possibly while cleaning out the garage) and- he apparently finds it relevant to my life in some really indirect and inexplicable manner.

Let's examine this in detail, shall we? First of all, here's the amazon.com description of the book: "The heartwrenching story of how a young girl comes to terms with her sister's death."

So right off the bat, we have some problems. I don't have a sister, alive or dead. So labeling the sullen girl on the front as "Siobhan" is not accurate. Although I supposes you could argue the "sullen" part.

Then, we have the image of a horse frollicking in the background, helpfully labeled "Dempsey." I know "Erick" hates our cats, especially Dempsey, but there's no way a sane person would confuse a 10 pound tabby for a horse. AND if "Erick" had actually bothered to read a bit of "Beat the Turtle Drum", he would know that the innocuous looking little equine is basically a horsey of death.

Then there is the phrase "Tricky Tommy" artlessly inserted into the title after the word "Turtle." This practically defines the term "inside joke" as nobody outside of my very close friends and family know about Tricky Tommy Turtle. The attempt to somehow tie together the tragic loss of a young girl to the "tragic" loss of innocence suffered by a 25 year old who didn't figure out that it was her PARENTS who were demonically possessed, not her toy turtle...well, it simply doesn't work.

Finally, there's the most ridiculous part of the whole "joke" - a barnlike structure labeled "Johnson House." You would think that a man who actually made a documentary ABOUT the "Johnston House" might know how to spell the name of the building. You would be wrong.

So let's get this all straight-a sullen young girl who hangs out at a historic building, with a horse, representing me as a child puzzling over how the hell Tricky Tommy Turtle moves about the house at night, sans batteries, is supposed to be FUNNY?

You know what? It is, kinda. Good job, "Erick."

Weekly Address June 27, 2006

It's been quiet here at Big Sandy Bottom lately. Not much to report, other than I am knee-deep in OCD vacation planning for our August trip to Disneyworld, aka the "Big Sandy Bottom World Tour 2006." T-shirts to follow. My family is teasing me relentlessly but they will be forced (once again) to admit my greatness when my advance planning results in a relatively stress-free vacation. As relatively stree-free as one can be in Florida in August, amongst masses of sweaty, smelly tourists steeping in 100 degree plus weather and humidity, that is.

I received an early birthday gift from my mother. The gift itself is priceless, but I have to admit my very favorite part is the instructions. It contains what is quite possibly one of the greatest sentences ever written "The structure of a marshmallow makes it an unpredictable projectile." How great is that? Did you ever think you would read such a marvelous sentence? Me neither. And the gift itself-a marshmallow shooter! Who is the evil genius responsible for the existence of this item? It makes the whole "mini marshmallow hitting me in the forehead while brushing my teeth" incident seem a little less spooky, doesn't it? I guess there is almost always a reasonable explanation for these things, which is sad. I mean, I don't have any evidence that a member of my family possessed or used a marshmallow gun to impersonate a poltergeist, but it certainly doesn't seem to be out of the question. First my shower head ghost is revealed to be a talking "Three Stooges" bottle opener, (which is actually just about as weird as a shower head ghost now that I think about it.) Now I am faced with the possibility that my mini marshmallow-hurling poltergeist could have actually been a family member wielding a gun that shoots marshmallows, (which is ALSO pretty weird.)

My mom and I were listening to Augusten Burroughs' "Possible Side Effects" on our drive from LA to Moss Beach. While he is not as "lol" as David Sedaris, he is still pretty funny sometimes. We especially enjoyed the "Druggy Debbie" segment, which revealed the previously unthought of (by me anyway) existence of a stealth weapon that every woman possesses, at least for about a week every month. It's hard to imagine an incident where I might need to "pull out" this weapon, but I have to admit that the idea is strangely compelling. But maybe I'm just sick that way...

That's it for this week! Watch "Veronica Mars". I command you.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DOUG

What is this man thinking?

Eric loves his new CPAP machine. He says that at night he likes to

"pretend I'm John Glen, breaking the sound barrier."

Weekly Address - June 2, 2006 (Live Nude Ivy!)

(okay mother, flattery will get you everywhere with me, so here ya go! And I don't care if the Weekly Address tends to come out on a monthly basis, I'm still calling it a Weekly Address! So There! And I still don't wear a sweater when it's cold out and you can't make me...)

I really wish I went to college. In addition to all the obvious benefits (better paying jobs, opportunities, STD's, yada yada), I think I missed out on a very important aspect of college life-attending college drama productions. Or rather, attending college drama productions and being young enough to 1. Understand what the hell is going on in these shows, and 2. Take them seriously.

Take the two shows I saw last weekend at UCSC. Please. *insert drum roll here*

Only one of the shows starred someone related to me, but as Ivy's show was sort of "bundled" with another production I was forced to sit through that one first. The non-Ivy appearing production was the earnest and ironic story (it is a UCSC requirement that ALL shows must be earnest and ironic) of a young vegan who is apparently so stupid that he drives his car to the middle of the desert and decides to take a long walk to "find himself." Personally, I think the kid was weak and disoriented from lack of protein but then again I really love steak so that might possibly have affected my take on the situation.

I bet you know what happens next, right? The vegan gets lost in the desert, of course. You saw that one coming. What I bet you DIDN'T see coming was that in his delirium the vegan begs to God (over and over and over again) to help him and God decides to assist by sending the vegan a cow. Yup, that's right-a Holy Cow. Get it?

The next fifteen minutes of the show are dedicated to the Holy Cow dancing about the stage (swearing like a character in a Quentin Tarantino movie) thrusting her udders about taunting the vegan with her milk. The vegan stays true to his principles, although I'm not sure why he had to eat his shoes. But whatever...

(Oh! I just remembered-the vegan wears a shirt that reads "udder annihilation.")

In a twist ending, the cow is revealed to actually be death or possibly Satan, I wasn't quite sure. Anyway, the satanic or grim reaping cow pulls out several large machetes and forks (this part distracted me quite a bit, because I couldn't figure out where exactly the cow kept the utensils. I mean, it didn't have pockets or anything) and chops up the vegan and eats him.

Pretty subtle, hunh? A vegan who won't even drink milk to save his life is butchered and eaten by a cow.

This special kind of subtlety seems to be a trademark of UCSC drama productions. In the almost two years that Ivy has been there, she has:

• Appeared on stage as a woman wearing a burka and a dog collar in a show called "Iran Man". This character was sold by her own father for drugs.
• Played one of only two smart and sane people in a town controlled by an evil corporation and populated by citizens forced by said organization to have lots of plastic surgery. This one was actually kind of clever. Titled "Invasion of the Body Surgeons", the show was funny and held your attention for the right reasons (unlike the show we saw right before it, which you can read all about in a previous post entitled "I Can Save You From Unoriginal Dumb-Dumbs")
• Narrated a production that was about...well, honestly I really don't know what it was about, because it was in Farsi. Do I speak Farsi? No. Did anyone in the audience speak Farsi? Not that I could tell, because the rest of the audience seemed to be as puzzled as I was. At least Ivy's character spoke English but it wasn't enough to fill in the blanks. Luckily Ivy has stage presence to spare so it was enough to make the show enjoyable for me.
• And then, finally, we have:

Live, Nude Ivy. More specifically, live, nude, lesbian Ivy. I believe the actual title was "Face Me." but I prefer the more colloquial title of "The Topless Lesbian Show."

If you ever want to have your beliefs and prejudices explored, I highly recommend that you see a show in which your daughter appears as a topless butch lesbian. I consider myself a liberal person but after this experience, I have to face facts: I may in fact be plenty liberal, where OTHER people's children are concerned. Not my own.

The topless lesbian show had some redeeming qualities. Most of the cast was very good, and the show was interesting, other than the constant swearing (again with the swearing! What's up with the youth of today? Use some imagination, people! I have nothing against a good, appropriately placed swear word. I'm not a prude and was raised by possibly the foulest-mouthed parents ever, but I take offense when the "f" word is used as a noun, verb, adjective AND expletive all in the same sentence. I say there should be law against using any swear word more than once in the same sentence. For instance, if a character says "I have had enough of those f'ing Lauber girls" that's okay, and I certainly support the sentiment. However, if a character says "I have f'ing had enough of those f'ing Lauber girls, f''face" that is not acceptable and the punishment should be death. Okay, sorry bout that little rant there.)

The other problem with the show, in my opinion, is that once again the subtlety was completely missing. The main character was a recluse lesbian artist who was frustrated by the lack of images in the media world she could identify with, and who also felt alienated by real people judging her. She spent her time at home on the couch, endlessly sketching people sans faces. Hence the title, "Face Me." Get it? In case you didn't, then you might catch on when I tell you that at the end of the show, this character decides to leave her apartment and ends up finally sketching a person WITH a face.

As for Ivy's topless scene, I have to say that I found it gratuitous. It did absolutely nothing to advance the plot, occurring near the end when the main character decided it was time for her to venture out into the real world. (An aside here-I used to laugh at actors who talked about doing nudity only if it was "essential to the plot". Seemed like a ludicrous statement, but I understand it better now. In this play, it certainly wasn't essential and actually made no sense at all. I mean, the main character had difficulty sketching faces, not breasts.)

I have to salute Ivy's bravery in this show though. It was a very small theatre and there was no attempt to light her in a fashion that would partially obscure her nakedness. There she was, at the edge of the stage with literally a spot light on her for all the world to see. I have always admired Ivy's willingness to push herself to try things that are outside of her comfort zone.

Okay, so what else is up here at Big Sandy Bottom? After years of nagging Eric to go to a doctor about his snoring and his unsettling habit of ceasing to breathe for 30-45 seconds at a time, he finally had a sleep study. Guess what? He has severe sleep apnea! Big surprise there...now he sleeps with a CPAP machine (or a "snore catcher", as Doug called them) and for the last two nights I haven't had to sleep with ear plugs. Which makes me happy because between being blind as a bat and unable to hear anything with the ear plugs I feel pretty vulnerable at night. No more jumping up in alarm when one of the girls finally has to shake my arm to get my attention! And of course there's the added benefit of dramatically lowering Eric's chances of dying in his sleep. So it's all good.

Olivia is done with her sophomore year, yeay! She also had her first job in about a year, a photo shoot for Jansport. I wasn't there for the shoot, but they were on the streets of San Francisco in a very sketchy part of town. Apparently the homeless in the neighborhood really enjoyed the event and had a great time mocking the models. In what I consider one of the funniest lines I never thought I'd hear one of my children say, Olivia lost her patience and yelled "Okay, so we're professional backpack models! You got a problem with that?"

As for me? Same old same old. I've been busy planning our August vacation, and also preparing for next weekend's trip to Napa with Olivia and her pal Hannah. I'm sad to report that if only I hadn't done a little more research, we would've have been staying at a "gay-friendly", clothing-optional resort. Think of the comic material in that situation. Anyway, I waited too long to look for a place to stay and was having no luck until I came across this one resort that looked quite lovely. The rates were reasonable, and miracle upon miracle the place actually had vacancies. Unfortunately, after I sent in the reservation request I started to peruse the website for information...LOTS of really muscular and well-groomed men hanging around the pool and playing volleyball (shot from the waist up, of course.) When I got to the page that said "guests must be over 18 due to safety and indecency laws" I finally got it that probably wasn't the place for us. Sigh. So now we're staying at a Marriott which in comparison sounds really boring, doesn't it?

Weekly Address - May 7, 2006

Lessons Learned this Week:

• Do not go barefoot in my garage unless you enjoy stepping on recently decapitated gophers. And their teeth.
• Ivy is completely fearless. Hence her topless appearance in an upcoming play at UC Santa Cruz.
• Veronica Mars is a really good show.
• Apparently you're never too old for "playdates." Olivia and Mike spent today coloring and watching Disney films-swear to god. I have the refrigerator art to prove it. Whatever happened to good old making out on the couch while the parents are out of the room?
• My coworkers are NOT to be trusted for restaurant recommendations. This is one that I keep forgetting about, so I'm writing it down as a reminder to myself.
• Also, apparently you're never too old to have a bad dream and sleep in your mom's bed. Just when I think Olivia doesn't need me anymore...Very sweet, AND she rarely wets the bed now so it's a much more pleasant experience for all involved.
• If you're looking for something to read, I suggest "Lamb" by Christopher Moore.
• Aformentioned fearless topless girl likes to freak me out, just for kicks. How else to explain the following, COMPLETELY OUT OF CONTEXT AND UNEXPLAINED STATEMENT, contained in a recent email from Ms. Ivy: "I have an insurance question- I had to have an electrocardiogram and the health center is charging $67 for it." Now I need an electrocardiogram myself, thank you very much.

Otherwise, that's it for now. It's been relatively quiet and right now that's exactly what we need!