Final NYC thoughts

Just a FEW more observations from our trip to NYC…

• That Barack Obama fellow must have a new movie coming out because he has promo stuff EVERYWHERE!
• Spoiler Alert – rolex watches for everyone at Christmas
• I think I finally found my mid-palate
• Yes we DID see the parade. In between the commercial breaks.
• I don’t care if it is crowded, holiday-spirited, window-watching in front of Macy’s - if a baby stroller spears you in the kneecap, you can attack back.
• Have YOU ever tried to explain the concept of unisex bathrooms to a 71 year old relative? Not fun.

Who Put the Slum in Slumlord?

Part of the California move included the rental of my house in Nashville. Now…I have a picture of an ideal renter and it involves two gay boys who love to decorate and clean. However, I ended up with three just-out-of-college single guys. Fabulous.

Now that we are a total of six weeks into it…my upstairs renter has already decided she’s moving out and the next-door neighbor complained about the number of cars. Which means that Slumlord Maeve was at the house in Nashville bright and early on Monday morning to do a walkthrough of the place and check it out. Here are just a couple of observations about my new renters:

• The décor seems to be early dorm-room. Wait a second…they stole that look from ME.
• Ummm, SOMEONE forgot to remove the pot poster from the fridge – a picture of a pot leaf with the inspirational adage “it just makes you answer to ‘hey stupid’ 15 seconds slower”. Excellent.
• They are excited that one of their buddies may move into the apartment upstairs. Oh great – why don’t we just hang the Sigma Tau banner out of the window and get it over with?
• “Stevie said to go ahead and wake him up to do the walkthrough in the basement.” Are you freakin’ kidding me??
• I sure am glad I spent the extra money to get the silent-operation, nine-cycle dishwasher. I bet it works GREAT on the bong.
• They have asked me three times if I can fix the windows so they open. Who wants to get “fresh air” when its twelve degrees outside? Ummm, pot smoking frat boys, that’s who.
• If it wasn’t true before…it sure as hell is now – I am never standing in that shower again.

Momofoku you too

On the LAST night of our trip to NYC with my mom – Rita decided SHE was going to pick the restaurant for dinner (apparently...it doesn’t MATTER that it was New York - pizza on three straight nights was enough). So we end up at a trendy little place in “the Village” called Momofoku. First of all, I am incredibly likely to mispronounce the name of this place and embarrass both my mother and me. Second, an itty-bitty noodle bar where the patrons’ median age is 22? Could you PICK a more incompatible place to bring my 71 year old mother for our last dinner in New York?

Let’s just set the stage:

• The wait staff at this place could NOT have wanted to be there less. I don’t know if it was part of their schtick or what – but they were just good-old-fashioned, New York ruuude. To which I could only advise, “listen you pixie-like little waif, replace these chop sticks with a fork for this woman – or she will drop you like a linebacker sacks a quarterback”
• The menu was about 4 inches long. Honest to god. But then again, how much space do you NEED to list noodles; noodles and pork; and noodles and chicken? Of course, there was ALSO the seafood covered kim chi. Knock yourself out, mom.
• Okay, okay – to be fair – there was ONE steak dish hidden on the fortune-cookie-sized menu. Sirloin tips with cooked spinach with some spice none of us mom and I couldn’t pronounce. In keeping with her “drop-dead” schtick, the waitress – when asked if we could get that steak done medium instead of medium-rare – replied….“no”. Good chatting with you, Soon Yi.
• The wine “list” ALSO fit on the 4 inch menu. Would you like merlot or merlot? (but there was, however, a 3 page sake list – who picked this place again?)
• The table choices were 1) community seating or 2) a stool at the bar overlooking the grill. And when I say “choice”, I really mean “can I show you to your bar stool”. Granted...it was a very trendy, Ikea-ish, little bar stool – but also a hey-mom-don’t-fall-off-the-backless-chair-of-death, little bar stool.
• More than one time, I heard mom say – “we’re paying HOW much to have Ramen noodles at a Waffle House??”
  
  I finally just told mom this was an NYC version of dinner theatre. With expectations appropriately adjusted, we had a lovely time.

Welcome to NYC

Jeez-oh-pete’s, this j-o-b is REALLY cutting into my blogging time.

And to think I had been in the target-rich blogging environment of a trip to NYC with Rita and my mom!!! This is the trip that got off to a blazing start when SOMEONE wasn’t at the airport to meet my mom. Apparently, mother must have read the blog because she seemed a little worried that she would become the human equivalent of my iPod. (It’s only JFK on the day before Thanksgiving, mom – fend for yourself). But here is the problem – why does EVERY train I ever take in NYC end up in Queens??

Our lunchtime waiter (aka travel agent) said – “oh it’s EASY…just take the E train to the Airtrain and then when they say ‘JFK next stop’ – get off the train”. a) tourists should ONLY ride NYC trains for the amusement of the locals b) the E train goes two directions c) will they EVER say “JFK next stop”? and d) my mother is screwed.

After spending 55 minutes riding around the subways of NYC (did I mention there is no cell phone service when you are 100 feet underground?) – I estimated I would arrive to pick my mother up approximately 4 hours after her plane landed (and 3 hours after the will was changed). Best to jump off the train and take a taxi the last 15 minutes of the journey.

HOWEVER, upon arriving above ground – let me just say that I don’t think there has been a taxi in this particular part of Queens in.a.very.long.time. And umm….my little Winter Barbie overcoat and Cole Haan loafers looked pretty out of place in Compton Queens. Meanwhile, just as my you-are-utterly-lost-in-NYC reality sets in – my cell phone beeps to tell me…you have THIRTEEN new messages. My mother hasn’t called me thirteen times in my entire adult life…but suddenly I was on speed dial. And can I just ask – who the f*** gets a flight into JFK on the day before Thanksgiving that arrives 35 minutes EARLY????? My mother, that’s who.

So there I am…flapping around the Jamaica Plains train station in a full blown panic attack, when it suddenly came to me…CALL NICOLA.

Needless to say, Mission Control Nicola got mom to the hotel, me back to the city and Rita to a wine store all from the comfort of her Tennessee living room.

Dateline NYC

Well, technically I am in Boston as I post this, but having arrived last night, NYC is now home base for Rita and I for the next week. I just decided that I would spend Tuesday on a one day jaunt to Boston to sneak a little work in (because there’s nothing like an immediate departure to Boston to say “thanks for flying across the country with me, Rita”. – I’m a real catch, I tell ya.). So really, I just look at Monday “night” like a 6 hour layover in NYC until I make my connection to Boston.

AFTER today, though – watch out – the McConvilles take Manhattan when Mom joins us in NYC tomorrow (and you think NYC has vices NOW…just wait til my mother & I spend a week here). I had intended to make this an inexpensive Thanksgiving trip:

Flight….miles
Hotel….points (can you use points to pay for the smoker’s cleaning penalty?)
Taxi’s….Ummmm – 401(k) loan?

After the ride from Islip (apparently in Canada), I’ve decided to just buy a car for the remainder of the trip (why not have a car in one more city?). Apparently, someone forgot to tell the cabbies that there is a recession going on (oh wait…is that Richard Fuld from Lehman Bros driving my cab? I think HE knows about the recession).

Rita LOVES IT when I plan these trips on the cheap. (I don’t actually get better bargains than Rita – I just get a lot less for my money). And the hotel looked a little….ummm FREE. I told Rita not to worry, that ALL the hotels in NYC had 100% graffiti exteriors, but my reassurances have lost all credibility since the Las Vegas trip to Excalibur (apparently not EVER hotel on the strip is plush). Actually, despite its address on Graffiti Alley (can someone warn mom?), the hotel is not that bad.

But it is a little tiny. There isn’t so much a pathway from the bathroom to the wardrobe as there is a pinball chute. Getting both people and suitcases into the room proved challenging…Suitcase A is first, followed by Person A, then Suitcase B, Person B. Oh wait, now Person A is blocked by Suitcase B and can’t get out. Ok, maybe Suitcase A, then Suitcase B, then Person A, Person B? Now Person B can’t reach her suitcase to unpack. The whole scenario would have just been HILARIOUS if it weren’t midnight and I wasn’t two hours into my six hour layover. I was in no mood for a test question from my Finite math class.

And that was just day one…

Invisible Fence, part deux

I never did finish my story about the electric fence…but I think I am finally able to talk about it again.

When we last left our intrepid pet owner…I had just gotten Molly a wireless invisible fence…which means I am too lazy to bury a wire in the front yard [bad decision]. So INSTEAD, I am trying to establish the boundary line by setting the knob on the transponder and then using the collar to "detect" the line… an exercise that is slightly akin to a 3-hr episode of “Punk’d”.

First of all, let me just describe to you the “red-collar-of-death” that is the linch-pin of this set-up. You could jump start a Buick with the diodes on this thing. And it is roughly a third of Molly’s body weight. Oh yeah - she won't suspect a thing when I strap this contraption on to her.

So let’s just paint the picture…here I am…walking this collar out all over the front yard, waiting for the collar to beep so I could race back in the house, adjust the dial and try it again. First of all, I looked like I was walking my “invisible” dog for three hours. Second, I looked like I was walking my invisible dog for three hours while jumping randomly and screaming “don’t tase me, bro”.

Then when you have the line where you want it, you are supposed to plant these little white flags to mark the “you’re-about-to-get-the-shit-shocked-out-of-you” line (because Molly is soooo good at recognizing boundaries that I am SURE a toy flag will keep her in the yard when oncoming traffic won’t). So now Rita’s otherwise beautifully landscaped yard is littered with what looks like kids’ toy flags that they forgot to put away. (I am going to put GI Joe on either side of one and make my own Iwo Jima memorial).

As part of the process, you are supposed to “orientate your dog to the flags”, so they know where the line is. If I could keep Molly from running off to attack the 92 year neighbor, this “orientation” would go a lot better. Seriously, while I am playing my little game of capture the flag…Molly has run all the way to Starbucks, attacking three schitzu’s and a terrier along the way.

So for those keeping score at home…the electroshock tally is as follows:
Maeve – multiple 2nd degree burns
Molly – “WHAT shock collar?”

Molly is still chasing the neighbors…but I’m afraid to leave the yard.

Climate Control

I like to say that it is 75 degrees and sunny every day in San Diego. But really, 75 degrees is just the median temperature. The outer region of that bell curve kicks off at 58 degrees with my morning latte and closes out at 93 degrees with my afternoon latte. (I don’t remember anything about “Santa Ana’s” in the San Diego promotional materials.) And ummm…WHERE is the thermostat again?? Oh, that’s right. You don’t NEED central heat and air in San Diego. (Need being a relative term.)

Which makes for an interesting climate in my office. I spend the entire first part of the day hovered over a clandestine space heater trying to thaw out my typing muscles (it’s hard to email with those mitten warmers in your palm). Then about 2 p.m., the sun peeks over the roof of the house and the temperature in my office skyrockets about 23 degrees. Honest to god…the 2 p.m. transition is like a Discovery Channel show with quick-speed global warming…ice cubes are melting, the dog is sweating. I’m pretty sure the last polar bear just went belly up during my afternoon conference call.

Trying to keep a steady-state temp in my office requires a whole intricate minuet – raise the shades at exactly 9 a.m., windows open 10:30, all closed at 1:45…. I am actually working on an excel spreadsheet to track the appropriate cutover time from the space heater to the oscillating fan. Mis-time one maneuver and you spend the afternoon working in the fourth ring of dante’s inferno.

I actually felt bad about operating the space heater/fan combo around my roommate Al Gore when she told me the September electric bill was “the highest it had ever been”. Well….until CONTEXT hit me in the face. Ninety eight dollars is the highest electric bill you’ve ever had?!? Where do you live…the 1950s? That’s one day’s electric bill in Evansville IN (inheritance schmeritance).

Gotta run…have to go stoke the bunson burner

That Cleaning Lady

It’s a Tuesday in San Diego…which means my nemesis is going to be here today. That’s right, the neatness nazi. As previously noted in this blog…Rita's tiny little cleaning lady is five feet of pure admonishment. And she hates me. I used to think that it was just because she liked to clean when no one else was here…but I think it’s a tad more personal than that. I have concluded that either a) her job is exponentially harder now that the living embodiment of the Pig Pen cartoon character has moved in b) she is secretly in love with the just-as-clean-as-she-is Rita [I mean…Rita & she have this “cleaning-the-baseboards” bond that I will just never understand] c) she objects to being called “Rosario” and “neatness nazi” or d) all of the above.

I am actually starting to dread Tuesday’s at home. I am on the losing end of an intricate power struggle [what part of “please don’t vacuum while I’m on a conference call” does she not understand?] And then this week I return home and my ceramic dragon totchke is broken…accident or ~warning~??? That’s just $%#^@ great. My little bric-a-brac moves across the country unscathed, but can’t survive Rosario’s first cleaning? Suspicious. And it’s not like I have a house-full of knick-knackery that she has to be careful of.

But she LOVES my dog. So much so that she is going to dog-sit for us while I take my mother to NYC for Thanksgiving (as only a favorite child would). I’m thinking the dog-sitting may be my ticket out of cleaning-lady purgatory. Either that or the ceramic dragon was only the first step…

Well, gotta run…I have time for one more Starbuck’s before I can go home.

Yes Virginia….

…there IS a Santa Clause. And her name is Maeve. At least there is a Santa Clause if you are the otherwise unfortunate soul who has to clean up after me at either a hotel room or the seat back pocket on an airplane. Because THAT is where I make my fairly regular gift offerings of iPods, half-read books, cash, jewelry and oddly enough...all those giftees I pick up for my dog sitter. In fact, I once left two power cords in a single hotel room. Now that takes effort.

I do not think they INTENDED iPods to be disposable, but I just lost my third one on my way back from….ummm, actually I have no earthly idea where I lost it. I had it when I got to Boston, but not when I left Philly. There was another city in there too, I think [we may have determined the root of the issue here]. And let’s be honest, given who we’re talking about – if it weren’t something I valued, the lost-iPod situation could be much worse (see: prescription drug losses).

Seriously, I have made the day of many an airline waitress or hotel cleaning lady through my stupidity generosity. Should I worry if I am listed as a “benefactor” to the Service Employees International Union? And people think I tip big (a buck fifty is big, right?) at hotels to compensate for the mess I leave behind me…au contraire – I consider it a down payment so that Hazel will turn my Southwest credit card into lost and found (where it can be more properly stolen by the desk clerk).

Oddly enough, I have never once lost my to-do list.

Barack the Vote!!!!!!

Sorry for the hiatus…I’m just now recovering from 168 straight hours of election coverage. I kept meaning to turn Election ‘08 coverage off, but then Wolf would just draw me back in with exit polling data of the advanced degreed car salesmen in Vigo County and I’d be hooked all over again. I have a couple of observations from election night coverage:

I think I have a Barangover. It doesn’t involve alcohol at all…just an overindulgence of hope.

What exactly do you have to do to lose an election in Alaska? A convicted felon awaiting sentencing is going to the U.S. Senate from Alaska?!? I guess being a “reformer” in Alaska just means you stick to misdemeanors. [Remember back when John McCain explained that Sarah Palin had been “vetted by the people of Alaska”??! Just sayin’] I think we know what the impending expulsion of Ted Stevens means in the context of gubernatorial replacement appointments…Hellooooooo Senator Levi Johnston (Senator Baby Daddy?)

The first state called on election night was a tad anti-climatic…Vermont? That wasn’t even worth the drum roll. “The Vermont polls have been closed for 11 seconds and we are now ready to call that state for Obama.” (I guess it does not take very long to count the one hundred and eleven votes in the state of Vermont – should they really get TWO whole senators?).

In his segue to Senate election coverage, Anderson Cooper just said “let’s go to Kentucky” – probably the very last time you are ever going to hear a gay man utter those words.

The polls are going to close in Tennessee in a little less than 11 hours…so we can now call the state for John McCain. Seriously…Tennessee did not get the memo re: Barack the Vote?!?? Virginia (!) - the seat of the confederacy - voted for Barack Obama and Tennessee went overwhelmingly McCain??? Al Gore – why do you even bother with a home state? Gore’s coattails must extend all the way to city council.

Now that the election is over - I don't think I need my internet any more. I should have LOADS of time to blog from now on!

Yes We Can

How about those election results! Thank goodness that's over with...now I can devote more time to my blogging.

GOBAMA!

Invisible Fence

There are some tasks that you KNOW are going to be worth a blog post…or ten. Installing Molly’s invisible fence is just such an example. I mean seriously…Maeve + Rita’s house + electroshock = Tina Fey territory.

See, Molly is from the “real America” of Tennessee, where you engage in unprovoked attacks on dogs who aren’t even in your yard you never shy away from a fight. Which proves rather disconcerting to our elderly neighbors out walking their shitzhu. So Molly needs a little HELP in…ummmm…”making sure that 4068 Hilldale does NOT become known for its redneck dog and its redneck owner” – just sayin’. [Well, at least it can help with the dog part of that issue].

Once I opened the box for my new wireless invisible fence, I realized the transponder for this thing is the size of a beach ball. I can stream the content of the world wide web on a phone the size of a credit card, but delivering a simple electro-shock requires an addition to the house? I don’t want to lobomotize the dog – just keep her in the yard. (Guantanamo indeed).

The first task in this fool’s folly is determining the settings for the appropriate “boundary line” in the yard. I thought this would be a breeze…measure the distance from the Chevy-sized transponder to the edge of the yard (the radius, if you will), set the appropriate distance knobbie and call it a day.

Let me just say…my ability to map a perfect circle was apparently lost in 9th grade. Who knew this effort was going to require a brush-up on geometry?? I have been waiting 18 years to use that damn hypotenuse theorem and today is the day??? “Radii of given circles are congruent” my ass. I just needed a 14 foot compass for this task and I’d be all set.

Which means I had to resort to the old fashioned method of using the beeping shock collar to identify the “boundary line”….

Which should make for an interesting post tomorrow.

Just one more...

...Sarah Palin post. (I can't help it)


She DOES realize that if she calls John McCain “Maverick” one more time, it makes her “Goose” (and we all know what happened to Goose)

Given its success with regards to Russia, Sarah Palin is off to Arizona - sharing airspace with Mexico and getting a better handle on the risk that soccer poses to our pro-American way of life.

She can’t believe an administration would "out" Valerie Plame. She would just tolerate her.

She thinks the Saturday Night Massacre was Tina Fey’s first SNL skit.

She now finds the Joe Sixpack nomenclature sexist and would prefer you call her Wendy Winebox.

You thought I was going to say something about her $150,000 shopping spree, didn’t you? Well…those with glass expense reports shouldn’t throw stones.

The Healing Power...

Flying into or out of San Diego always makes for interesting travel companions. I’m not saying there’s a lot of hippies on those flights…I’m just saying they don’t look very “pro-American”. On my way to Baltimore on Sunday, they must have been running the misfit express because no sooner had I settled into my comfy seat in the exit row than a disheveled, eccentric looking fellow came sauntering down the aisle and sat down beside me (and I thought they had already caught the unabomber).

Lucky me…this guy is reading “The Secret Worlds of Dungeons and Dragons”. And if that wasn’t enough, he kept trying to cover the thing like he was reading the National Intelligence Briefing or something. Did he think I was going to steal his super-secret orc strategy?

It was only after 500 miles I realized that the dust cover for “The Secret Worlds of Dungeons and Dragons” was a decoy and the REAL title of the book was…"The Healing Power of Cannabis". I love it. This guy totally goes to the trouble of putting an entirely new dust cover so (non-nosy) people won’t see what he’s reading.

I couldn’t help but think of a couple things:

• No WONDER he tried to grab 7 items from the snack-pack buffet…and NO you can’t order a pizza from row 16.
• Given that this was a Southwest flight, what are the odds that my seatmate could even READ?
• Well now THAT would guarantee a strip search at the ol’ TSA station, wouldn’t it?
• Was “The Secret Worlds of Dungeons and Dragons” his attempt at normalcy…dude, we gotta talk.
• Does that particular decoy mean the last non-Cannabis book you read is from 1983?
• The “Healing Power”??? Apparently not for B.O. or paranoia. Just sayin’
• Let me get this straight…I can’t bring a bottle of shampoo on this flight…but Mr. Kaczynski here can bring a pan of brownies?
• Nice Obama shirt

Molly in da house

The first week settling in to SD was a little Molly-centric. Mother of the year, I ain’t. The past week was replete with proud pet ownership moments.

• I made a very Nicolaesque gesture and took Molly to the local vet for an introductory meeting. Once there, however, I couldn’t answer a single question after “what’s your pet’s name?”:
  “Is she on heartworm medicine?”
  “When is she due for her next flea & tick treatment?”
  “What brand of prescription dog food was it?”
  Geez – who does the vet think she is…Katie Couric? Can I use a lifeline?? She finally just said…”You aren’t the primary care-giver, are you?” what does that make me…Molly’s dad??
• Rita has like 18 sets of doors in her house… french doors, garage doors, screen doors. I can’t be expected to lock them ALL. [uh, WAIT….this just in…ummm – I CAN…clearly can…be expected to lock them all]. But on my second night “home” – I headed out to meet friends for dinner when I [shockingly] forgot to bring the good cheap wine. Upon turning back up the driveway, I was greeted by Molly trotting around the side of the house - having ingeniously escaped from the wide open French doors. Not only forgot to lock the door…straight out forgot to close it. [mother of the year]
• Ooooohh Molly…I forgot to tell you about those early morning sprinklers, eh?
• Wow…know what tears up a $7,000 rug? A rousing game of fetch.

=)

My official report

Just to prove that the neo-cons were not finished with their Katrina-fication of the U.S. government…they nominate Sarah Palin for Vice President. Now I know that much of this blog the coverage has been a little vitriolic about Sarah Palin… but I have GOT to throw my two cents in vis a vis Troopergate. In case you missed it, the Alaska legislature released a report two Friday’s ago indicating that Sarah Palin had abused power in seeking the dismissal of her state-trooper ex-brother-in-law. But the best part of the WHOLE thing was that on the eve of the real report’s release, Governor Palin’s campaign released their OWN “official” report …clearing Governor Palin of all wrong-doing.

I absolutely LOVE it. This preemptive self-adjudication got me thinking about a whole RANGE of applications:

• Shortly before Rita arrived home from her three day business trip…I released my own official report exonerating Molly of all rug-compromising transgressions – finding that she has acted solely with integrity, restraint and puppy-like fervor.
• The pseudo-report clearly indicated that the “real” report was just one big ol’ shout-out to the Palin clan. No worries.
• A faux-report of complete exoneration – and you say this person isn’t qualified to succeed Dick Cheney!
• The faux-report went on to include an anticipatory exoneration of Vice President Palin’s entire first term.
• The faux report also took the opportunity to clarify remarks made to Katie Couric…i.e., Kramer vs. Kramer NOT being the Supreme Court’s worst decision. Bad? Yes. But not the worst.
• The CEOs of AIG, Fannie Mae and Lehman Brothers did not know that self-reporting was an available option. They would like to trade their recently received subpoena’s for a very legal-looking, Kinko’s-bound report entitled “If Everyone Else Jumped Off A Credit-Defaulted Bridge….(The View From Under the Bridge)” Their report explained their inability to mitigate obvious risks, while bringing extraordinary severance-justifying value to the organization.

Tom & Jerry

In yesterday’s blog…I alluded to the fact that my Nashville to LAX flight included a Tom & Jerry marathon courtesy of the 3 year old sitting in front of me. A T&J marathon is good for a myriad of observations:

• There’s precious little in life that can’t be solved with a couple of matches to the shoe. I think I am going to recommend it to Henry Paulson.
• Thirty years on and I still don’t know which one is Tom and which one is Jerry.
• The things you can do with a banana peel…
• You know what’s more disappointing to a 3 year old than not being allowed to play peek-a-boo any more? Catching your peek-a-boo partner reading a book on Winston Churchill when they should be watching the T&J marathon.
• That Technicolor is cra-zee, man.
• I don’t care how often you see a cartoon kitty in tuxedo tails…that shit is funny.
• Between the milkman and the paper dolls, these cartoons are anachronism central. Hey Jerry, the 1920’s called…they’d like their zoot suit back.

Peek-a-WHO?

You know the problem with starting a game of peek-a-boo with the 3 year old sitting in front of you on your flight to LAX? The game lasts for 2,000 miles. Honestly...YOU try to quit a game of peek-a-boo with a 3 yr old and let me know how that works out.

You know the OTHER problem with playing peek-a-boo with a 3 yr old during an interminable journey from Nashville to LAX? The game can only escalate. Seriously… peek-a-boo is only good enough for about 3 minutes. Then we go directly to peek-a-boo with heights by bobbing up OVER the seatback. THEN the props are introduced…a 747 safety card makes an EXCELLENT pirate hat. And the 3 year old was getting into it too.

During this entire escalating game, the poor father is in an awkward position…his son is finally occupied…but it’s with a total stranger that is sitting directly behind him and out of his line of sight. That’s when HE started playing peek-a-boo, trying to casually figure out who the hell his son was starting to play full-contact airplane games with.

And dad looked around just in time to see the apple core + 2 drink straws became a starship. I mean…how bad can someone be if they can make a starship out of a left-over apple?!? That’s about the time the DVD player came out – but don’t worry – I could see it just fine over the top of my NY Times. (Oh Tom & Jerry…do you NEVER get old?)

But the good news is that if it hadn’t been for a 2,000 mile game of peek-a-boo…you would’ve gotten 11 more posts about Molly’s cross-country trip. =)

Molly's excellent adventure (2 of 2)

We pick up the story as I am trying to check my precious puppy in at the American Airlines counter like she is a piece of Samsonite luggage. Now I didn’t HAVE to check Molly. I had about 12 people offer to cart her across the country, but I just had visions of someone pulling a Mitt Romney on me, so check her I did. [you guys are just going to have to google Romney dog vacation, now aren’t you?]

One of my friends told me to cover the front gate of Molly’s crate with a towel so Molly couldn’t look around and get all freaked out. I thought it was a great idea – so I took borrowed a yellow pillow-case from Nicola’s house and covered the front gate with it. I have to confess – it didn’t so much look comforting as it looked like someone couldn’t be bothered getting window treatments. I think I just pimped Molly’s ride. [mother of the year]

When you are checking your dog in…they go through about 67 different rules with you…water within 4 hours…a trip to the vet within the last three days …twist ties on the front gate. And I can’t HELP but think…every single last rule was identified the hard way (i.e., trial.and.error). I wonder who owned the dog that identified the “clearly-mark-which-way-is-up” rule…yikes.

As I checked my bag…I mean my child…I saw ANOTHER dog in their crate going to LAX. Now, “Fi-fi” looked like she had made this.trip.before: the interior decorator had obviously stopped by the doggie “condo”. She was comfortably nibbling on her gourmet treat buffet and enjoying an honest-to-god doggie water bottle. Molly? She was gnawing on a stale carrot and trying to peer around her ghetto-ized window-sheet. And while I tried to engender baggage handler kindness by writing all these cute sayings on my dog’s crate…”I’m all bark and no bite.” [smiley face!] and “buy union”, Fi-fi just had half a $500 bill taped to the side of her crate. I think that about said it all. I later met met Fi-fi’s owner…gay man.

But the trip was truly uneventful…and now Molly is loose in Chez Rita.

Molly's excellent adventure

Sorry to not post yesterday. It was Molly’s big trip from Nashville to San Diego…so I was otherwise engaged.

I managed to find a direct flight from Nashville to LAX in order to minimize the transit time for Molly Magoo. But the flight didn’t leave until 5:30 p.m. Molly was fine…I was a hot mess. My strategy was to keep Molly awake all day so she would sleep on the plane. Poor thing…everytime she started falling asleep she got another walk. But word to the wise…any time Maeve gives you 5 walks in a week day…you are either getting neutered or locked in a cage for 2,000 miles. By the time we left for the airport, the poor little thing was exhausted from sleep deprivation. She wasn’t so much worried about being sent to San Diego as she was to Guantanamo Bay. But the good news is that with all the bathroom breaks, Molly shouldn’t mess on Rita’s rugs until at least Thursday. [Rita Reminder - no buyer’s remorse!]

As I started to unload the car at the Nashville airport…I couldn’t help but think…you know what would have been REALLY cool to bring with me…Molly’s leash. [mother of the year]

Checking your dog in at the airline counter is an interesting experience. First of all, your dog does NOT understand that other people have just as much right to be there as we do. A little something I like to call counter-etiquette. But she DID 1) get weighed on the baggage scale 13 times 2) attack the dangerous TSA man and 3) come dangerously close to “marking” some Hollywood housewife’s Louis Vuitton luggage (THIS flight almost got a lot more expensive).

While Molly was checking her weight…I asked the American Airline’s waitress how I picked Molly up on the other end. “Oh she comes out on baggage claim.” What?!?! She is subjected to a 2,000 mile trauma only to spit out on the other end like a set of golf clubs?? Or even worse….come spinning around the baggage carousel like a Tim Conway skit? Oh…I am just mother of the freakin’ year. It’s a good thing Nicola can’t challenge for custody. [Right!?!?]

As I mentioned, Molly Magoo had a direct flight to LAX…and ummm, did anyone ELSE catch the news yesterday? Wild fires in LA. Oh, that’s just great. What’s a life-altering event for Maeve without a little natural disaster? Molly lands in LAX and is greeted by the flames of hell. Lovely. [mother of the year]

Select?

If the Hampton Inn isn’t a window into America…I don’t know what is.

Thursday night in Marlborough Mass, two groups of pee-wee hockey teams were in the lobby trying to check in. 45 little guys running around the Hampton Inn with hockey sticks that were easily a foot taller than they were. Then they were each dragging coffin-sized roller-bags of gear behind them. Something about a 53 lb little guy toting 93 lbs of expensive gear that just screams “Jonbenet” to me…but I digress.

And since they are staying at a hotel before a tournament…this is obviously a “select” traveling team. How do you get to be a “select” hockey player at 7 years old??? In kindergarten, you excelled at coloring and monkey bars?? I may be mistaken, but I think when I was 7 years old, I was “select” at not wetting the bed (well, mostly). [These kids better be careful or they are going to end up as “elites”.]

How much fun can it be to chaperone 45 seven year old boys? These skinny little Capri-wearing moms and their ex-hockey playing husbands were frantically trying to count this swarm of boys…ummm, good luck with that. How many times can one harried mother say “boys, c’mere…boys, over here…over here boys”. Yeahhhh…is it okay if I DON’T hold the elevator for you guys? And in a scene that just about captured it all…one of the fathers is sheepishly pushing a luggage cart through the lobby loaded down with one twelve-pack of sprite, a case of bud light and two cases of Smirnoff Raspberry Ice. And you know it’s not the fathers that are drinking that Smirnoff Ice.

The Best Laid Plans

Well, The Move is over. Everything, more or less, has arrived in Cali (even as I am sitting here in Massachusetts). But it sure was an interesting experience. There is something about entrusting every material possession you own to a couple of guys in a jalopy truck who barely speak English that is a little disconcerting. Or just like when my father moved me to college. Here are some random ruminations from the unpacking:

• The couch came out with the same fine layer of white Molly dog hair that it always has. What does that say about future cleanability when a 2,000 mile trek doesn’t even shake the dog hair loose? (if that mean old cleaning lady hurts my dog…)
• Those moving guys were REAL comedians…if the one that speaks English says he “sold my television for gas money” ONE MORE TIME…
• Holy crap – unloading the truck occurred from 1 p.m. til 1:15. I’ve had UPS deliveries that take more time.
• Hopefully you read the post about the blue-tape packing method. Ummm…only problem… it didn’t work. First...three-quarters of the boxes had tape on them. Well done. Second…I am happy to report that the Bunn coffee pot was CLEARLY marked with blue tape. Know what wasn’t? The Bunn coffee carafe and coffee filter basket. So now...half a coffee pot just sits in the garage – taunting me.
• I know my movers barely spoke English – but I think I recognized “high maintenance bitch” in Slavic.
• Apparently, the good kitchen knife is really NOT intended to slice open taped boxes. Sorry Rita – no buyer’s remorse =)

Home Alone

Rita is on a business trip and I am spending my first two days on my own in my new digs. It’s kind of weird being in the house without Rita…but I have been taking full advantage of the situation. Here’s a recap of what I’ve been up to the last two days:

• Walking around with every light in the house blazing. I am not kidding – even the closet lights. It looks like a damn runway strip in here. I love it =) =)
• Forgetting that a cat lives here. Seriously, has anyone seen Madison in the last 48 hours?
• Running the starbucks-like espresso machine at max capacity
• Trying to figure out what it means when said-espresso maker keeps beeping at you with the illuminated message CLEAN RIGHT NOW. [I bet I get an email about that pretty soon.]
• Four words: unsupervised wine room visits (I’ve picked out everyone’s xmas present!)
• Ducking the scary cleaning lady
• Watching the Tina Fey as Sarah Palin montage again
• Trying not to think about what my team in Massachusetts is blogging about with me not THERE
• Working on new recipes for a turkey sandwich (I don’t know how to make any of the other food in this house)
• NOT recycling the cat food tins, that’s for damn sure. Ick.
• Winning the “what-will-we-Tivo-at-8 p.m.” battle. Hello Jon Stewart…goodbye Iron Chef.

Settlin' In

Sorry to be so blogsé (get it?!!) in September, but i am back on-line! Actually, I have been blogging every day, but my 19 Sarah Palin posts were a little "vitriolic" so I didn't post them.

Of course, The Move cut into blogging time, while also providing a bonanza of material. But I am in San Diego now (even as I type this) and ready to report on the...

Top 10 signs Rita’s house has really gone downhill since I moved in:

• There is a 90 foot blue ethernet cable stretched from one corner of the house to the other. Which seems unusual to one of us. [it’s a long story…there’ll be a separate post]
• Due to the large influx of Blue Moon lager, there is no longer any room in the fridge for wine. Someone keeps drinking all the beer.
• There is basically a bachelorized dorm room in what used to be the wonderfully appointed spare bedroom.
• The alarm clock goes off everyday at 7 a.m…. Eastern Standard Time. =) (smiley face?)
• One whole closet is dedicated to ball caps
• Random people keep showing up at 10 a.m. on Sunday mornings for “Titans Brunch” [they look friendly]
• We can no longer find…in no particular order…the extra set of keys, the garage door opener, 3 really good bottles of wine, nary a single beach towel that Rita had previously owned or any reason why every light in the house has to be on =)
• The San Diego chapter of Barackstars now has a regular Saturday morning meeting place. [Barackstars being the ESPECIALLY special Obama backers]
• And the dog isn’t even here yet.
  

Silly Season

Can you believe all this election talk about "a pig in lipstick"?? Thank god Obama didn't say they had "screwed the pooch". I can only imagine what we would be talking about then.

Lots of plane time today in my travels from Massachusetts to San Diego...so tomorrow should be a good, politics-free post.

Mexican Mosquito's

Must every vacation I take include a trip to the pharmacia?

As I have mentioned, my pre-move ritual included being in a foreign country COMPLETELY unavailable to my movers. Now….I can’t even tell you what part of Mexico this little haven is in [the part by the water?], but I CAN tell you that it is the freakin’ mosquito capital of the world.

I am the Dr. Doolittle of the mosquito kingdom. I attract those critters like I speak the language. After the first day of my vacation, the entire topography of my skin had changed from the sheer volume of mosquito bites. This Irish blood, untainted by the slightest hint of pigment, must be quite a delicacy down there. I am sure my bright white skin looked like a beacon on the hillside…a well-lit runway that the little bastards could alight upon. NOW I know why people invite me on trips…I can’t take my turn cooking dinner or even pack everything I need, but I am a human fly strip taking all the malaria bullets.

Which means I once again found myself in a drugstore of a country where they speak no English playing medicinal charades…hoping in the midst of the language barrier that I didn’t inadvertently ask for Rogaine instead of cortisone [it would explain why I have to shave my legs more often]. Should I worry if my anti-inflammatory says “Balco” on it?

But I CAN say that my xmas shopping is done…non-FDA-regulated “generic” z-packs for everyone!

Vote for...

....Palin?

Okay…of COURSE I have a few thoughts on Sarah Palin...some of these i picked up from my (hours of) checking the "liberal blogosphere" (someone has to be the core demographic!):

• Gerraldine Quayle. BET ME that McCain’s vetters didn’t tell her to learn how to spell potato
• Trophy Vice
• I always wondered what happened to Gabrielle from Beverly Hills 90210. (That will only make sense to females of a certain age – but the resemblance is uncanny)
• 20 months ago she was on the city town council of an Alaskan burb with a population of 7,000. Ummm, there are senior class presidents with larger constituencies [and a better energy policy, but I digress]
• Was the mayor of Lake Woebegone unavailable?
• She’s no Mike Huckabee
• When you carve out the corruption apportionment, the Alaska state budget is smaller than Obama’s Ohio spend.

I'm just sayin'

Cali-bound

Sorry to be offline last week – decided to take a wee Mexican vacation before this weekend's move. But moving day came and went over the weekend…and of course, I have just a couple of observations from the big day:

• The movers actually wanted to come Friday – but I still had 3 episodes of Jon Stewart to watch before they packed the Tivo. See you Saturday. (Move delayed on account of satire.)
• On Friday afternoon – in the spirit of “i-need-this-like-I-need-another-blue-sweatshirt”, one of my giant trees fell right across my driveway. God appears to be telling me to get a move on (not a Jon Stewart fan?)
• Given the fact that I am moving into an already well-furnished house – I realize that most of this stuff won’t get unpacked until like…2012…[when I can no longer stall on cleaning out the garage]. I’m not so much packing boxes as I am time capsules.
• Rita devised an ingenious plan to mark the “to-be-unpacked” boxes with blue tape and leave all the other boxes unmarked (and destined for the far recesses of the garage). I consider it to be a flagrant attempt to keep the bright orange UT barbie and the 300 or so plastic cups from the Titans home games unmarked and out of the house.
• I was clearly distracted by the bagel-laden moving party that arrived because I COMPLETELY neglected my blue-tape duties. Which means I spent the last half of the move running around the house screaming “WHICH BOX HAS THE COFFEE POT IN IT???” (everything else can go to the garage – but the Bunn coffee maker got triple-taped.)
• Just FYI…when arriving for an early morning moving party – you should NOT ask the already anxious mover if she “thinks that truck can even MAKE IT to California?”.
• After my obligatory lunchtime run to Starbuck’s, my neighbor asked me whether I left the movers “alone with all your stuff??” ummmm, they’re going to be alone with it for the next two thousand miles…I don’t think this extra 20 minutes is going to cost me a coffee table or anything.
  

My stuff is off to Cali. I am off to….Massachusetts. What move?

My post convention bounce

Denver is one of the few stops NOT on my itinerary this week. But that doesn’t mean I wasn't there in spirit. I even declined an invitation to a work dinner last night with the excuse that I “had to watch Obama’s speech”. The only reply I got from my boss was “that makes me ill on so many levels”. I felt like it was a really excellent networking moment.

So sorry – not much to blog about…but I do have a random collection of punditry from the past four days:

• After last night’s speech, the Republican who DOESN’T get selected today as the VP may be one lucky republican
• Obama took a look of heat for the “messianic look of the greek temple stagecraft”…ummm, I think that’s supposed to be the oval office – granted an oval office with Stevie Wonder playing in it, but the oval office, nonetheless. If you don’t like the architecture, talk to Thomas Jefferson.
• Barack and I are now texting regularly.
• I, for one, will be paying close attention to Cindy McCain’s speech next week. Because let’s be honest…if the president is 73 years old…it’s really going to be the wife running the country.
• We consume 25% of the world’s oil and have less than 3% of the world’s reserves. Even if we drill in ALL of John McCain’s backyards… we STILL won’t be able to affect the price of gas.

I hate that I will be out of the country for the start of the Republican’s convention…but I am SURE I will have ample blog material for the end of next week.

Welcome back

It’s good to be online again….and there are certain ways I can tell people are back reading the blog after the hiatus:

• I got really cool comments telling me things like – I’m “officially middle aged now”. Ummm....I need a BLOG for this??
• Coincidentally, I got three emails about Christmas travel the same day I blogged about going to NYC for t-giving. Tomorrow I should blog about “things you can do to help my move”
• Nicola had my passport in my hand by breakfast today.
• My readers have voluntarily topped up my Starbuck’s card (# 6034-4310-3885-9900). Just sayin’
• My bit in the blog about John McCain’s houses has really taken off in the media.
• All the cash donations.
• Ummm…this is a little awkward…but see…I can literally tell who’s reading my blog by the trace on my site. The trace that tells me not only who is reading the blog, but…kinda cool, here…what site you came from in arriving at savemethecall. Sooooo… “GE Plastics”, thanks for your loyal readership…but at some point…you REALLY should quit shopping for Corvette accessories at work.

Someone fire my travel agent

This week’s itinerary? Nashville to Boston. Boston to Philly. Philly to San Diego. San Diego to [Somewhere], Mexico. Now, it’s hard to complain when your week ends with a vacation in Mexico – but do I really have to make four stops to get there? What am I?…going on a tour of (some) of John McCain’s houses???

The whole thing makes for QUITE a challenge when packing. Here are a few things I’ve noticed:

• I have discovered that I brought a certain number of things (like…twenty-three) to Massachusetts just to Fedex them to California so they can be packed for Mexico. My bathing suit should be ASHAMED of its carbon footprint.
• My cowboy hat is going to look GREAT in Mexico. It does, however, look ridiculous in the Providence airport.
• The Mexico portion of my packing got a LOT more attention than the Massachusetts portion of my packing. Go figure.
• I will do ANYTING to not check a bag…thereby engaging the different-city-same-outfit rule and pushing casual Friday boundaries to the limit with plans of a beach wrap.
• If I work out every single day while I’m gone…I STILL won’t need all 13 of the sports bras I packed. (Really? And not a single hair brush?)
• Know what would have been handy to include in the suitcase…a passport. (ummm….Nicola?…if you’re reading this ….)

Home for the Holidays?

Turns out mother’s computer is shut down with a virus. Or as us bloggers at savemethecall like to call it…”amnesty”.

You know how I was in the dog house with my mom for a while. Well – you know how you get OUT of that dog house? Tell her you’ll take her to NYC for Thanksgiving!! [AFTER clearing it with Rita, of course. Of course.] Now THAT’s a great idea. [all comments re: my mother playing me like a cheap violin have previously been submitted, thank you very much.]

All I have to do is find a hotel room. Do you know how many Euros it costs to rent a hotel room right now in NYC – four. That’s right. If you speak Dutch, you can stay in NYC for the equivalent of an hour’s pay. If you are from Nashville, TN, you can stay in NYC for the equivalent of a small house in your neighborhood. Honestly – after calling to check on hotel rooms for Thanksgiving, I just wanted to scream at the operator…I don’t want to BUY the hotel room, just stay it in for a day. Not even the whole day…just from like 10 p to 10 a?? Holy cow. Maybe John McCain has a condo there I could borrow??

Plan B was Hilton Points. But do you know how many nights you have to stay in a Hampton Inn to earn a stay in Manhattan? 2007 is a decent start. Oh wait. I.Did.That. And I STILL don’t have enough Hilton Points. I have determined that Hilton Points have the inflationary value of some African nation’s currency. You think they’re worth something when you earn them…but when you go to spend them…you find out they’re worthless.

Someone has to explain to mom why we’re staying at a youth hostel.

The bitch is back

Given my disposition the last two weeks…you have no idea how accurate that subject line is. I am on assignment in Massachusetts as temporary manager of a (somewhat troubled) billings & collection team (and yes, they were troubled BEFORE I began my assignment, thank you very much).

It is MUCH more work than I have become accustomed to. So HERE are the Top 10 signs that I’ve been working too hard:

• I’ve quit drinking diet coke…because it interferes with my starbuck’s consumption
• While listening to iTunes, I requested an email account for my new staff member…Matt Nathanson. Now…I don’t know about you…but Matt Nathanson is one of my FAVORITE new singers – but he is NOT on my staff…Matt O’NEILL is on my staff, but not Matt Nathanson. I do, however, know where you can email Mr. Nathanson, if you’d like.
• With only minor provocation, I find myself telling my 8 a.m. staff meeting that “I’M ALREADY FOUR HOURS INTO MY WORKDAY”. So much for never-let-em-see-you-sweat, eh?
• My staff to performance-plan ratio is not even 2-to-1.
• Ummm…the family starts talking about MY “paranoia level” instead of [redacted]’s =)
• I start referring to my daily (hourly?) starbuck’s latte as my “virgin bailey’s & coffee”.
• I can now afford to take my mother to NYC for Thanksgiving…which will be a lovely little segue into tomorrow’s post
  
  And # 1…
• I don’t have time to blog =)

But that’s all in the past….here’s hoping I can properly prioritize my blog posting this entire week.

Even Obama gets a vacation...

...wow they are really making me work up here in Mass. So just like Obama...I am taking a few (more) days off. So focus on your Olympic watching...I hope to be back on-line next week...

All work and no play...

makes Maeve a dull blogger! No use checking back...nothing good is happening here in Florida to blog about =(

Opening ceremonies

If you didn’t watch Friday night’s Olympic opening ceremonies – just go ahead and skip this post…

But if you DID watch the opening ceremonies…could you even believe that??? A few things crossed my mind while watching:

• Did you see all those drummers perfectly synchronized? I couldn’t help but think that the first guy who misses a beat gets sent to the gulag.
• How about the world’s largest LED screen being rolled out across the field??? I expect to see that thing at Lorri & Amy’s house for football season.
• No wonder our economy is in tatters…the Chinese have been spending all their money on large-scale production numbers instead of our auction rate securities.
• That Chinaman-in-a-box thing is soooooooooooooo Ocean’s 11
• Was it just me or did it look like the Chinese soldiers had waxed brows and glossed lips?
• If you’re one of those guys in the box whose entire job for the last year is popping up and down according to rolling waves…WHAT do you put on your resume now that the Olympics is over????…(professional jack-in-the-box?)
• Those floating dancers only LOOKED supported by wires. They were actually suspended in smog.
• Ummmmm, let’s see, the China opening ceremonies had 2008 drummers in perfect time, 2008 popping box boys, 2008 tai chi practitioners…and what did WE have? Whitney Houston? These people are soooooooo going to own us someday.

Travel karma

I have been scoring some bad travel karma lately. I’m in the Allentown, Penn airport on Wednesday (don’t ask) getting ready to set up on the work counters to do a little blogging work. Except there is a small pile of debris on the work area. Now usually, I would just mind my own business and leave it there… but noooooo, THIS trip I decide...I’ll set a good example, clean up the table, throw away the trash. Except…as it turns out…It.Wasn’t.Trash. The ONE time I try to clean ANYTHING up and I end up tossing out someone’s garbage-looking salad set-up. And no sooner had I returned from my trip to the trash can than skinny bitch shows up looking for her croutons and no fat dressing. How uncomfortable.

What else can you say besides “sorry”? Apparently, “can I buy you a new salad” is the preferred answer. But I was having none of it. It looked like it was going to be a real salad stand-off there in gate B2…but then luckily the gate agent called for us “A-listers”…sorry Salad Sally – I gotta go…enjoy lunch?

THEN, on the very same flight, the middle-seat-sitting lady beside me is snoozing HARD. Well, at least she WAS until my glass of sparkling water shimmied right off my seat back tray, fell to the floor and created a seltzer water fountain that the folks at the Bellagio would have been proud of. She just kept wiping her face and arms…never being QUITE awake, but never quite DRY either. After about 3 minutes of this I was SURE she was dreaming about some beach-front vacation with the ocean spray in her face. Wait til she wakes up to find the damage the bailey’s and coffee did when IT splashed to the floor (what?? I had drink coupons). Don’t ask me how THAT story ends…all I can say is “seat-change”.

I’m just hoping all this bad travel karma ends up being of the lost-luggage variety and NOT of the time-to-use-the-exit-rows variety!

Calling the help desk

I should have a birthday more often (doesn’t that sound like fun?)…because I get a boatload of electronic crap. For this year’s b-day, I not only got a Nike iPod that tells me I am running 7 minute miles (wrong, but lovely), I also got a brand new GPS after someone realized I don’t even know how to get from Rita’s house to the San Diego airport – despite making that trip 63 times over the last 14 months. [who pays attention to directions when the conversation is so engaging???].

And we’re not talking just any GPS, but the Blue Tooth/Emergency Responder/Direction Giver that comes pre-programmed with 911 in it. Now if only Nicola had been here in Massachusetts to program it. Because while the pre-programmed 911 feature is nifty, you would be AMAZED at how easy it is to accidentally dial 9-1-1 on that little jobbie. Three times. [=) smiley face?] “Hi Marge, it’s Maeve again…no…no emergency this time either – yeah, I hope I get the hang of this thing too.”

As soon as I DID get it working, however, I also realized my rental car had XM satellite radio and everything in the whole car started talking to me at once – “turn right here for 106 talk radio stations.” Without even realizing it, I had told the whole car to “wheesht up you sons of bitches or I will pull this car over.” [That’s an inside joke for anyone who has ever taken a vacation to Florida with my father.] At one point, I even found myself carrying on a conversation with the glove box after my blue tooth went off after storing the thing.

Look – if you could program this thing through an Excel pivot table, I’d not only have directions and my favorite radio station, but I’m pretty sure I would be guiding satellite traffic. As it was, however, I felt just like John McCain must feel with that new fangled E-lec-tron-ic mail.

A picture is worth...

For those of you who’s office firewalls don’t block pictures from the internet, you can enjoy the priceless photo of John McCain being driven around by George Bush Sr in Bush’s golf cart. For those of you who can’t see the photo – just flash back to the movie Cocoon and you’ll get the visual.







Which I, of COURSE, cannot resist commenting on. So here are my observations of the Senior Open:

• Papaw for President
• Check out that “OBX”-like “41” sticker in the window. If either one of them even knew what OBX was, this would be so cool [Outerbanks, Niall]
• This photo op next to the 84 year old Bush Sr. is supposed to make McCain look YOUNGER, right? ummmm, bad news…. [The secret service guys look younger – McCain looks like he has to be driven around by an 84 year old]
• I can’t help but think the secret service is there to protect the overmatched septuagenarians from vicious squirrels.
• Please tell me this is a scene from Caddyshack II and NOT a presidential preview.
• The Farhford goes AARP?
• The Can’t-Walk Express
• Let’s just buy McCain the golf cart and tell him he WAS president and see if he can remember the difference.

Back on track

Back on track

Well thank god THAT full week of work is over. Now I can get back to where the big money is – blogging. Nothing like a 9 hour trip from San Diego to Southboro Mass to get you back in the blogging groove.

As an "A-lister" passenger on yesterday’s cross country Southwest flight, I was able to grab the Exit Row aisle seat, otherwise known as Southwest First Class. Right behind me, this professional-looking, but quite foreign, athletic couple tried to join me in First Class only to be told that “Passengers must be able to give directions in clear, understandable English to sit in the exit row seats.” Seriously? How fluent must you be in order to scream “get the &$%#^ outta my way?” Nonetheless – Helga and Sven...to the back of the bus.

The very next person who tried to sit down was a seventy year old guy with wild curly hair, coke-bottle thick glasses and rumpled clothes (either a mad scientist or a homeless guy). All I could think was “the East German swimmers can’t sit in the exit row, but Mr. Magoo can?” And within 30 seconds of sitting down…he asks me …wait, wait… if I play basketball. It really isn’t a Southwest trip without that question, now is it? He did tell me he was a physiologist for college basketball programs helping “tall people who should be good at basketball, but aren’t.” Gotta give him points for character assessment.

We finally settled for an exit row populace consisting of two pixie-thin teenage girls (can you say “unaccompanied”), Mr. seventy-yr-old mad scientist, a 2nd white haired gentleman, one 300 lb lady (who did speak fluent English) and moi – the non-basketball playing tall girl with the drink coupons. To top it all off, no sooner had the waitress told us about the safety features of our Boeing 737 than one of our pixie-thin seat-mates asked for help With. Her. Seatbelt. A word to the wise…when mapping your emergency route…skip the exit door dependent on the chick who can’t fasten her seatbelt.

God help us if these exit rows become…well…exit rows. Especially since the only part of the exit I had mentally rehearsed was the part where I knock over Mr. Magoo on the way to the jet wing.

unscheduled vacation

Wow - these people in Southborough Mass really expect me to work. What the ? so i am taking a bit of blogcation this week (makes you wonder what the heck i was doing on the other 86 days that have a post, eh?). I'll be back posting on Monday...

Welcome to the doghouse

I am happy to report that after spending some quality time with a hair dryer, my phone is now working again. And even though I had to use my Visa for Friday’s edition of the NY Times, I otherwise had enough cash for all my trips to the Diet Coke machine.

Which left me free and clear to enjoy the weekend with my sisters and my mother. I think I may have mentioned that I was in a little trouble with my mother for missing my birthday. Here are just a FEW ways to tell that mom is upset with you:

• She tells you. Frequently. Well.…when she’s not telling Nicola how upset she is with you, that is.
• Your picture in her wallet has been replaced with this:


• Even Anne Louise is ahead of you in the “love game"
• Your brother tells you that “your stock with mom is looking a little Enron-ish"
• The silent treatment would be a reprieve
• She starts referring to Nicola as her youngest
  

And speaking of Nicola…it’s my Irish twin’s birthday today. Happy Birthday Nic.

One of those weeks

So here I am in Southborough Mass and I forgot to get cash before I left. The good news is I found $30 in the shorts that came out of the wash so I had enough for whatever I needed at the airport that the drink coupons wouldn’t cover. (Y’know…it’s amazing that I manage to get myself dressed most days nevermind hop-scotching across the county.) When I went to the ATM on Monday morning…that ATM machine slurped up my debit card like it was the last bite of ice cream. Granted, it was a little warped from too many trips through the washing machine, but I got no “please enter your code”, no returned card…nada. Now I have to navigate the entire week in Southborough Mass on $16 cash. Which is hardly enough to cover the Diet Coke runs to the vending machines. And let’s not EVEN talk about shopping for my sister’s birthday present [you can have anything you want as long as it can be purchased with a Starbuck’s gift card]. I know I COULD go to a Bank of America branch and write a counter-check, but I can either spend my lunch-hour blogging or running errands. Enjoy the blog.

Then yesterday my phone quit working. I could say “suddenly” quit working, but only in the sense that it suddenly quit working after it decided to do the backstroke in my car cupholder. Lovely. When I say “savemethecall”…I really mean it. And while I still haven’t done one single thing about replacing that debit card, I was IMMEDIATELY on the (hotel) phone to AT&T to get a replacement phone. I was worried I may eventually have to answer the awkward question of why my broken phone smells like coffee…but I hoped to have my warranty replacement in hand by then.

Tech support took me through their scripted set of questions until we finally got to the meat of the issue:

“Do you see a dot at the base of the battery pad…what color is that dot?”
ummm, pinkish? [give me my replacement phone, dammit]
“It’s pinkish? Is that the color you see?”
Why yes, it looks pinkish. Why…do I win a prize? Does that tell you how to fix it? [give me my replacement phone, dammit]
“Ma’am, if that dot turns pink it means the phone has suffered liquid damage.”

Can you dig that? AT&T has obviously been burned by one too many people who have dropped their phones into a toilet. What exactly do you say to that? “Those damn kids, I a going to kill them”. How embarrassing. I am sure I am on some AT&T watch list now.

And THAT is why I haven’t called my mother this week.

Your sister's birthday

The McSisters ride again. It’s Nicola's birthday this weekend and in true McConville fashion – I will be joining my mom and AL to celebrate the occasion. The invitation from my mother came wrapped as an ultimatum. “The pleasure of your company is cordially demanded at the birthday of your sister.” The birthday girl seems entirely indifferent to my attendance (“I don’t have to pick you up at the airport, do I?”) But mom seems rather EAGER to see me. See…it turns out mom was really expecting me to be in Nashville for MY birthday.
Which is why SHE was in Nashville.
After being gone in Ireland for 15 days.
When she would rather have been home.
But then I wasn’t there due to a misunderstanding [me misunderstanding how much trouble I was going to be in!]. Wow…THAT conversation was fun…I got three “awk Meave’s”, a “disappointed” and nary a mention of the birthday prizes that I am sure await me.

But my brother was in Nashville TOO – why couldn’t celebrating with HIM be adequate [well…for so many reasons…but none that a mother can admit] – What? He couldn’t make it either?? Was it because HE had to fly all the way across the country? No? He just had to drive a couple miles down the road in order to celebrate his birthday with his mother?? But he STILL couldn’t make it? I see. But at least he’s coming to Nicola’s b-day, RIGHT?

Moving, moving, moving

Dateline: Southborough Mass (don’t ask).

Well…all this garbage in my house is apparently NOT going to move itself. I guess the first step in executing any relocation is to get quotes from various moving companies. And where better to get information on people to entrust your entire worldly possessions to than on the internet???? Just a tip – when you click on “GET FREE MOVING QUOTES” your email address is automatically distributed to the 4,000 MOST reliable moving companies in the world. If anyone has trouble emailing me, it is because my mailbox is full.

I recognize that inventorying your things SHOULD be a count-your-blessings sort of exercise…but there’s something disheartening about completing said inventory with a guy making $5.85 an hour while calling himself your “move coordinator”. Listen “Freddie”.….if you want to provide that extra personal touch, you may want to quit calling me “Miss Mauve”. And if you ask me one more time if that’s “IT for that room??? Really??”, I am NOT going to pay you the buck seventy-five that you are going to quote me.

Once you finish the “room-inventories”, you get the “all-other” questions…
“Vacuum cleaner?” Nope
“Stereo?” Nope
“Lawn mower?” Nope
“No appliances of ANY kind????” Nope
“Let me guess…cinder blocks?” Very funny, #$%@$.

He sounded very apologetic when he explained that additional insurance coverage didn’t start below $30,000 and while “we would pretty much have to lose every single thing you own to warrant that level of coverage”, they still recommend it.

If anyone needs me I will be at the Pottery Barn trying to make myself feel better.

Baggage claim

I think if we each had to identify our worst behavior…baggage claim would most likely be involved. Something about paying $25 to wait an extra 30 minutes for your bag brings out the WORST in people. And listen...I understand that SIX generations of your family came out to meet your plane…but do they ALL have to stand in front of me at the baggage carousel? I still believe this is where the “C” boarding passes exact their revenge.

The scene earlier this week at the Philly baggage carousel takes the cake. It probably didn’t help that the plane left at 6:30 in the morning…which basically requires you to set your alarm clock for the day before. By the time you get to baggage claim you have been up for 6 ½ hours and are suffering from caffeine-induced hallucinations. Then on top of that, you are flying to Philly…how happy can you be about THAT?? (I mean you probably have a Ben Franklin costume in your future).

So we are all at the roulette wheel of baggage claim, packed three deep, jostling for position and throwing elbows when out in the front there rose such a clatter…I averted my eyes in hopes it won’t matter. Away to the back I flew like a flash, pulled over my luggage and ignored the big crash. [I mentioned being pumped full of caffeine, right?]

And then this lady (and not even a big lady, mind you), suddenly wheels around in my general direction and at the top of her lungs shouts at this little old lady and her husband “OH, SO EVERYONE IS JUST GOING TO PUSH ON THE PREGNANT LADY. THAT’S GREAT.”

Well…what the HELL do you say to THAT??? “don’t make eye contact, don’t make eye contact”. At which point, Mrs. Gabor turns right around to me and in this little Hungarian accent says…"I am wust a wittle old wady, I do not poosh. We still wook for our bag” [My Hungarian accent sounds suspiciously like Bugs Bunny]. Of course, all I could think of is “Who the &#%#^ am I…Judge Wapner? Who the hell crowned me king of baggage claim?”

Thank god the pregnant lady stomped off, because otherwise I was CERTAIN I was going to be in for a real-live American Gladiators battle. Fury vs. Helga.

Planes, trains...

Since I am staying in downtown Philly this week, I am taking the train to work each day. For some reason, navigating the purchase and use of my $400 plane ticket doesn’t freak me out NEARLY as much as my $7 train ride. But seeing as I have plenty of time to hang out in the downtown train station, here are some of the more interesting things I have seen:

• Not one, but THREE different people going to work dressed as Benjamin Franklin. I could NOT work in Philly…I fear the dress code.
• Each day, the same well-dressed lady claiming to be stranded after accidentally forgetting her purse at home. I only gave her money the first two days.
• The inspiration for The Fisher King.
• An air conditioning system from 1945…glad I packed the suit
• A weird caste system where social position seems directly correlated to days since last shower. (No speculation on where i fit in, please.)
• The strange feeling that I am riding in the bus again while all the cool kids drive to school.
• A Chinese grocery, three news stands, the last non-automated ticket booth in the country, approximately 215 ATMs and not. A single. Starbucks!!! And me with a gift card and everything.
• One nervous, tall accountant asking that “stranded” lady for directions. For a fiver.

All-day meeting

I’m in Philly to for a couple of all-day meetings. All-day meetings = all-day fun. And I am simply NOT the best participant in these things as my attention tends to wander. So here are MY accomplishments from yesterday’s all-day meeting

• Next year’s birthday list…(I do NOT take my birthday too seriously – I swear).
• I have soooooooooo mentally called my mother
• Today’s blog =)
• Tomorrow’s blog
• Another to-do list. (Actually, I just reordered my other three to-do lists…I feel much more productive now)
• Transcribing the first three stanza’s of the Brady Bunch theme. "All of them had hair of gold, like their mother". The Lord’s Prayer…I can’t remember. Verse 3 of the Brady Bunch theme? No problem.
• A disturbingly detailed listing of why I really, really don’t like one of my co-workers. [what do you MEAN that doesn’t count as tomorrow’s blog???]
• No resolution to the ethical dilemma of whether I can bill for this hour.
  
  And the really bad thing is that it was MY meeting.

No post today

:( no need to check back...i'm not just tardy - i've got nothing to post today

Maevearita

For those of you who think Maevearita is the latest trendy cocktail (a tall, yet sophisticated aperitif) …think again. Demonstrating why she is never allowed out of the house without Judy…Suzanne has volunteered to host the premier event in the Patiopalooza summer concert series. Okay, okay…the Maevearita Women’s Muzak Festival will be the ONLY event in the hosts’ bar-exam shortened ‘08 series – but that just means it will be all the more festive. Think of it as Bonaroo for the debt-set. Complete excess and still home by 10 p.m.

Originally, everyone promised to bring a tent and make a night of it…but I think we settled on taxi fare and staying til dark. Woodstock it ain’t. But any summer concert event that can be completely powered by a $99 karaoke machine PROMISES to be a good time…at least until everyone figures out that a) Sarah McLachlan is NOT going to be there and b) they’re missing a Titan’s preseason game.

So while Judy spent Sunday morning trying to un-volunteer for the event (and Lorri & Amy were counting their lucky stars for having dodged the party-at-your-house bullet), the rest of us were making plans for our Elvis medley.

Cooler-side seats will go quickly, so stayed tune for date and time details… well...assuming the promoters don’t run off with the $23 of sponsor money.

Where in the world is...

Just call me Waldo.

Since Rita’s arm is still on the mend, I volunteered to accompany her on her business trip Tuesday to Napa so I could get additional Southwest credits carry her bags (much to my disappointment, it really turned out to be a business trip). My boss DID note that I could always fall back on the bellhop thing if the accounting gig doesn’t work out. I’d rather my boss DIDN’T think of me in interchangeable terms of VP or bellhop.

While in the Oakland airport, I discovered a new pre-screening to the screening. Travelers can PICK which security line they enter…"Expert” traveler, “Frequent” traveler and “Casual” traveler. First of all, Expert should really NOT be self-declared, now should it? Secondly, “Casual” traveler is just a euphemism for too-stupid-to-read-the-many-instruction-signs. To illustrate, I am a “casual” chef.

I felt pretty confident that I belonged with my fellow experts…but I DID feel a certain amount of pressure. The LAST time I declared myself an expert was when I did my sister’s taxes and I can only begin to tell you how well that worked out [lien schmien]. Which may explain why I temporarily started acting like a Southwest “C” passenger. I mean…I KNEW I was trying to smuggle in the 12 oz can of Diet Coke, but c’mon – that rule against liquids doesn’t really mean WINE, does it??? You’re not even allowed GOOD wine? And I still don’t know where that cigarette lighter came from. Turns out, not only was I NOT an Expert, but I single-handedly raised the Homeland Security threat level to red. The only thing worse than being in the “casual” traveler line? Being in the “Watch list” traveler line. Strip search anyone?

Holiday weekend

You may have noticed I took a wee blog-break there for a couple of days (like six). If you were actually checking my blog everyday…let me just point out that you were. The. Only. Person. Working. over the holiday weekend (the holiday that…like Christmas…seems to start earlier each year. My 4th of July holiday started in mid-June). You would think that a long weekend with my sister, brother-in-law and nephew would provide all sorts of blog material….but I am having great difficulty rallying the brain cells. So I’ll just share the highlights of the weekend from my 14 year-old nephew.

• Going shopping with Aunt Rita (!) (watch out Auntie Nicola, GAME ON)
• Meeting his “Surf Diva” swim instructor…and the surf lesson wasn’t all bad either.
• The now infamous Ireesh suntan…he IS half McConville, after all.
• The crap-taking homeless lady visible right outside his passenger side window. [sorry about that son – it is California after all]
• His brand new tattoo (surely he’s told his blog-reading parents by NOW)

And why does Rita seem to have all SORTS of things she wants to blog about from the weekend!?!?

Birthday list

I forgot to mention that little vacation that this blog was going to take, didn’t I? I do that to my boss All. The. Time! But I am back on track now and just in time for a special BIRTHDAY edition. That’s right – it’s time for the top 10 things I want for my birthday…

• My money back on that skirt for Rio that I will never wear again.
• A day that doesn’t start on east coast time and finish on west coast time.
• The name of someone to replace the cleaning lady that fired Rita (and by Rita, I mean me).
• Confirmation that that is REALLY “happy birthday” Rita is saying in Italian.
• A permanent address. A single permanent address.
• Nothing. Really. Not a thing [but you can get Southwest drink coupons on the internet]
• Well, no one came through for Rio, so I’m still in the market for that new ass.
• A ticket out of the dog house for that innocent suitcase blog. World-wide-web, indeed.
• According to Rita…her presence is her present. Y’know…you’re right….that really isn’t all that funny.
• No offense brother…but my own birthday.

No Child Left Behind

Have you ever been in the airport gate when you look up from the 800 page book you can’t seem to finish to s-l-o-w-l-y realize that you were surrounded. by. children? On my flight to San Diego there were…no joke…53 kids on the flight. 53. Did I inadvertently sign up for the Disney Flight? HALF the passengers on the plane were under the age of 12!! Is that even statistically possible? Great…I have priority boarding on the Baby Talk Express. And it wasn’t even a direct flight to San Diego…I was going through Vegas! Is the Skippy John Jones convention ALWAYS the first week of July???

Now I don’t mind kids, but 53? I tried to volunteer for a bump (“No…I don’t mind being routed through Miami on the way to San Diego”), but no dice. Then I tried to trade my A16 in for a C boarding pass so I could see where all the little tykes settled before committing to a seat. The whole time I couldn’t help thinking “this is how Lord of the Flies started, isn’t it?”

The flight, of course, was a prison riot. It may have been a frequent flier ticket…but it.wasn’t.free, if you know what I mean. The jetway was littered with discarded strollers, the overhead compartments were jammed with skateboards. I seriously expected to be served a drink by a waitress in a Mickey costume. And for the first time EVER I was actively making eye contact with passengers looking for a seat – beseeching ANYONE outside child-bearing ages to take the seat beside me. As it was, the kid behind me made farting noises with his hands for the last 600 miles of the trip.

As if it wasn’t enough that a Pampers black market had broken out in row 23, the baby-walking traffic in the aisle was SERIOUSLY delaying my bailey’s and coffee [drink coupon]. If I hadn’t won the championship round of Hokey Pokey, the flight would have been a complete disaster.

Tri swimming

In order to do a triathlon…one really SHOULD be able to swim. Since swimming comes first, it offers a life-threatening beginning to what would otherwise be just a workout. I am happy to report, however, that with the completion of Saturday’s event that I have now completed one race in a row without a water rescue.

I was a little nervous since I hadn’t been in the water since 2005 (the date of the aforementioned water rescue). I decided, however, that if I actually got into a pool prior to the race…I would realize how stupid this idea really was. Better to watch repeated highlights of Michael Phelps while mis-remembering some level of personal swimming competence.

Your start position for a race is generally assigned based on the estimated swim time that you include on your registration. In that way, they hope to limit the number of real swimmers who must literally swim OVER TOP of people like me. Now, I explained that this is a 350 yard swim, right? That’s a mere 7 laps in a pool. I may have been a tad conservative with my estimate of 14 minutes (!), especially with my sleek new aerodynamics (i.e., sans belly ring). The guy in front of me only had one arm and he still expected to finish in 13 minutes. It shouldn’t take me 14 minutes if I stopped for a beer in between each lap (which could not possibly make me any worse of a swimmer).

A 14 minute estimate? Hello contestant # 268! Which means 267 people started ahead of me and eleven people started behind me. Last before I even begin. I didn’t start the race until…oh…the day’s temperature had time to break 100 degrees. And what did those 11 people behind me put as an estimate...a week from Tuesday?

One thing about the swim portion of a triathlon race…tempers tend to flare when you are 1) racing after investing $7,000 in your bike 2) hostile to contestant # 268’s use of the doggy paddle as a legitimate swim stroke and 3) piled up like lemmings because of said doggy paddler…all while struggling to breathe normally. Let’s be honest…I have been at the epicenter of more multi-athlete pile-ups than I care to admit. All while yelling “didn’t anyone teach you the 3 second rule!?!?” – which tends to make me very popular with the other racers.

Remind me again why do I do these races. Oh yeah, because they’re fun. =)

Tri harder

Maeve’s maxim of blogging: The blog-ability of an event is directly proportional to percentage of adults in spandex. It’s true of American Gladiators and it’s true of triathlons.

I must have been suffering from too much self-esteem because I decided to do a triathlon this past weekend. Seriously, the combined body fat of the four participants on either side of me was about 7%. I’m sore today…but I think it was just from sucking in my stomach for three hours. (I USED to do these all the time, but that was before I retired to devote more time to my new wine tasting hobby.) =)

Now I LOVE telling people I did a triathlon because they immediately think of an Iron Man. Well, just to give you some perspective…in the hierarchy of triathlons, Saturday’s race is known as a Tin Man triathlon. The race involves a 350 yard swim that finishes in the kiddie pool of the McMinnville TN rec center. You’re not so much worried about huge ocean swells as you are dodging that unpredictable mushroom fountain.

Now that I have figured out how to insert pictures into my blog posts [ummm, click on “insert picture”?]…I can actually show you the event:

Doesn’t this just look like a massive cluster#@%# ? It’s actually not…these people with their towels and buckets and whatnot take their racing very seriously. Not to mention that there is about $600,000 worth of equipment in this little playpen of fitness. That is no joke. Half of these people have completely tricked out bikes…like a $7,000 bike with $1,500 of contraptions latched onto it. Not me, I do NOT need a bike payment just so I can go 60 seconds faster. In fact…if you are looking for my bike shoes, they are the size 9 jobbies with the binder clip holding the Velcro fastener in place.

Honestly…I am NOT in the same league as people who finish these things in say…78 minutes…check out “Exhibit A” (I’m participant 268):

What does this picture tell you? a) I look as if I have never seen a bike before b) I’m not even headed in the right direction and c) there really is a binder clip on that left shoe.

I’m going back to wine tasting =)

Exiting Kentucky

Nothing exciting going on here today…so as I leave Lexington, I will just blog about my very favorite Kentucky joke…

Why don’t they teach sex ed and driver’s ed on the same day in Kentucky?




It’s too hard on the mule.

=)

And her trusty sidekick...

Okay, I’ve officially become one of those people. Dog people, that is. I suspected I was heading for such a fate when I bought Molly the matching collar and leash. And by matching, I mean matching MY outfit. But now that I have brought Molly with me to the Lexington Doubletree (the Hampton Inn doesn’t really meet Molly’s standards), I have succumbed to the stereotype. Here are some things I have noticed during my dog-accompanied stay at what used to be a nice hotel (but has really gone to the dogs) =)

• Molly treats the fourth floor hallway like one giant dog run. Mostly because I open the door and tell her “it’s your dog run!!”
• Going for a walk in the hotel hallway is all fun and games until you come across someone’s dishes from room service (those big, silver dish-covers make a TON of noise when tossed aside by a feasting dog).
• There are a lot of dogs staying at the old Doubletree…but then again, there are a number of visually impaired individuals here as well. Molly does NOT understand “that you are not supposed to play with the doggies who are at work”
• My white dog does not like black people. WTF. She comes from Appalachia, so I am blaming it on that. Seriously, I am mortified to report that she happily walks right by a dozen front desk people only to attack the night manager. Every time she sees that poor guy she pins him to the wall. Do they have doggie diversity classes?
• The floor of the hotel elevator is a smorgasbord of crap. It’s amazing what Molly can lick off the industrial grade carpet during the short ride to the lobby. (I don’t even stop her – wouldn’t I make a great mother?)
• A dog’s bark echoes really, really loudly in a hotel atrium. “It’s a beautiful wedding, please don’t let us interrupt”

Suitcase sanity

I have to apologize. See…the McConville’s are the reason all of you have to pay extra for your bags when you fly (we’re probably ALSO the reason you have to pay for your drinks now on international flights....but that’s a different story altogether). I took my mom and sis, (along with the contents of their respective homes) to the airport on Saturday. Without exaggeration…pound for pound…mom’s suitcases will cost 7x more to fly to Ireland than my mom.

Which means loading the car to go the airport takes a strategy and a shoehorn (as well as someone else’s car). People start rolling out suitcases and you don’t know if they’re EVER going to stop. “Honestly, people – we call those things garment boxes, not suitcases. In order for it to be a carry-on…you technically have to be able to carry it.” I keep telling mom they sell cigarettes in Europe – but I am pretty sure one of those bags is a mobile discount tobacco store.

Getting every suitcase into the car is like a game of Tetris…there is ONE combination that is going to work and you are going to spend 45 minutes and 300 calories loading and unloading the car until you come up with that combination. But at least everyone is standing right behind you offering their helpful advice.

And don’t forget…this blog entry will self-destruct upon subjects return to US airspace…

Kentucky Castle

You know how we sometimes say “wow, that guy lives in a castle”…and we’re talking about some McMansion with four bathrooms? Well, not in Lexington, by god. The Kentucky Castle (picture below) is a private residence in Lexington, KY. [again…I CANNOT make this stuff up]

How would you like THAT in your cul-de-sac? Apparently, some East-coaster’s wife [was SOMEBODY’S favorite movie “Shakespeare in Love”??] wanted her rich-beyond-sense husband to take their role-playing a little too far and permanently ensconce her as Guenivere. She got divorced (beheaded?) before the thing was completed (probably due to arguments over building.a.castle.in.Kentucky).

I mean, I KNOW Kentucky bears a certain resemblance to the middle ages, but that does NOT mean you should build gun turrets. I, for one, would like to encourage a renaissance. I mean…does building such a castle make you the monarch of the moronic? Maybe we have finally found King Cheney’s undisclosed location.

I know I am giving Kentucky a lot of grief but 1) it’s Kentucky and 2) I come from someplace called Kentuckiana…which tends to make you a little bitter. I mean…how low do your test scores have to be before you form a regional cooperative with Kentucky? Kentucky (or Hoosier) jokes are about the least offensive commerce that goes on between the two states (seeing as Kentuckiana is the geographical equivalent of a meth lab).

Although it is inexplicably going to remain as a private residence, the Kentucky Castle owners plan to rent it out for special events that can be conducted in “medieval-like” splendor (bubonic plague is extra). So now I FINALLY know where we can celebrate Rita’s big birthday next year. =)

Chik-free-a

Driving “home” (i.e., to the hotel) from the office on Friday, we drove by a Chik-fil-a parking lot FULL of pitched tents and campers. Now…I know this is Kentucky and camping in a strip mall parking lot is probably a tradition handed down from generation to generation…but it still looked pretty odd. $4-a-gallon gasoline and it’s Hoovervilles in the heartland.

It looked to me as if a crowd of Deadheads were all on their way home from Bonaroo with a bad case of the munchies, if you know what I mean. But my co-worker explained that Chik-fil-a (or “CFA”, as they like to be called) gives free food for a year to the first 20 customers at each of its grand-openings and all these people were camping out to be the first customers at the Lexington CFA. [I CANNOT make this stuff up.]

This crowd looked like they could use some free fast food. The median age must have been about 21 and the absence of shower facilities did NOT look like it was causing much concern (chicken camp-out or an Obama rally?…take your pick). I just wondered how the smell of incense was going to affect the food.

The whole time I am watching this, I’m thinking…“It’s.fast.food. You’ve relocated to a parking lot in hopes of dodging the 99 cent menu?!?” Sheesh, what would you do for a Klondike Bar?? But these people were having the time of their life…a veritable chicken carnivale. Even the CFA “Eat Mor Chikin” mascot was there…we’ll call him “Gallows the Cow”.

To top it all off…the local news was covering the event! Listen people – you are within driving distance of Noah sailing through a corn field and you are covering this fiesta of fowl?!?

Then we drove by this morning and just like that…they.were.all.gone…off in search of more free waffle fries.

Missing posts

Sorry to miss TWO posts this week for my paying, loyal, BORED readers. And I missed making entries despite being in the midst of the cultural phenomenon known as Kentucky (the mullet is ALIVE!). But it’s been a slow week – or maybe I’m just building a tolerance to triple-shots of Starbuck’s espresso. I DID try blogging each night this past week…but I ended up with 3 straight blogs about that $%#@ live band.

I am, however, committed to blogging every day next week…after all, my mom & sister will be out of the country so I can blog with impunity (or immunity – whichever). Of course, who are we kidding…Nicola “the Help Desk” McConville probably has an alert to “ping” her across the globe at the electronic mention of her name. At which point, I will get bad computer karma until I blog about how great her dog is and she lifts the hex. =)

But maybe with my mother tucked safely away in her homeland I can FINALLY blog about her side-swiping my brother’s brick mailbox (I mean the one that used to be there). You would be amazed at how evenly matched a Buick is to a brick edifice. [Nicola – NO FAIR printing this out for mom before you guys go to the airport!!!]

So stay caught up on your blog-reading because I will sooooooooooooo be deleting THIS entry before my mother returns.

Postcards from Lexington

Greetings from Lexington, KY. You would think the state of Kentucky would be ripe for all SORTS of blog material – but I guess my blog filter is still set uncomfortably tight after last week’s surgery recuperation =)

Flying into Lexington is a little like putting down directly into a plantation. I feel inclined to disclose the news of the industrial revolution to these folks. The horse-farm-to-trailer-park ratio is about four to one. Incidentally, city ordinances here in Lexington require frequent and awkward usage of thoroughbred horse references. Man O’ War International Airport [Really? You’re naming your airport after a horse…doesn’t that seem self-defeating?], Triple Crown Parkway, Seabiscuit Arena. The Most Exciting Two Minutes In Sports Lounge has the shortest happy hour I’ve ever seen. I don’t know about you, but I’m just hoping that injured auditors in Lexington don’t get euthanized.

The hotel, however, is not as idyllic as the scenery. The Hilton Garden Suites sits in the middle of the Chukkas retail/office/restaurant complex on Secretariat Boulevard alongside the lovely Run-for-Roses man-made lake. The setting is just charming….until.you.hear the adjacent restaurant’s LIVE BAND wafting up the perfect, Carnegie-Hall-like acoustics of the Garden Suites’ five floors. I mean like bionic woman perfect acoustics.

If I didn’t already have an iPod full of bad cover music, I could make a perfect bootleg tape [more stocking stuffers?] from my hotel room. And can I just ask…is there some cover band credo that requires you to play “Margaritaville” every hour, on the hour??!?! When I phoned downstairs, their response was… ”Don’t worry…they.only.play.til.10” Can three chords really sustain them for another 2 hours?? So each night, I get exactly.the.same 4 hour montage of Bob Seger/Travis Tritt/Jimmy Buffet. It’s like being trapped in a week-long wedding reception. I can barely hear American Gladiators over this ruckus. I don’t know if I will be able to fall asleep to anything other than “WE LOVE YOU LEXINGTON!!”

American Gladiator

Is there still a TV writer’s strike on??? Because I just discovered that the newest installment of reality TV includes American Gladiator! Exactly who’s reality is this?!? And it’s not even on cable. NBC can’t fit the national political conventions into its primetime lineup, but it can sponsor a bunch of grown (and over-grown) men in spandex running around an adult-sized version of your 4th grade field day?

For those of you unfamiliar with the American Gladiator tv show (and based on its reflection on me… I hope that’s MOST of you) – the show consists of several earnest contestants trying to complete various buffoonish obstacle course events that go by the names “Eliminator” or “Travelator” or “Governator” [oh wait]…while their families look on proudly (?). And they must do this while being blocked & obstructed by the steroid-fueled likes of “Mayhem” and “Justice” and the rest of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. If you win, you are officially qualified to staff the “bouncy castle” at any four-year old’s birthday party.

The show also contains little cross-promotional tie-ins like…”Test your gladiator skills with our on-line challenge!” Seriously? Do you think you can pull this show’s demographic away from the “Jackass” website? Maybe we could use the “Gladiator on-line challenge” as a Trojan horse for some GED prep questions and actually do some good here???

This year’s incarnation of Balco’s American Gladiator is hosted by Laila Ali. Did someone sell their soul to the reality-tv gods? I mean…that woman owes someone her extra fifteen minutes. (Was she a star before her captivating American Gladiator turn or is hosting a juiced up version of the Village People the tantalizing reward for a dancing championship?)

The only thing more depressing than watching American Gladiator, was discovering that it is merely the lead-in for “America’s Got Talent” where Sharon Osbourne is the final arbiter of skill and performance.