“Marriage must constantly fight against a monster which devours everything: routine.”
~ Honore de Balzac
Margot and I couldn’t work out as usual last night, but she decided to come over to utilize my prodigious cutting and pasting skills to make a project for her class. She wasn’t coming over until 8pm so after putting dinner in the oven and dropping on the sofa, I threw a baleful glare at Harley.
Wait a second...
“I need to bike tonight,” I sighed, snuggling down in the cushions.
J. glanced over at me, saw my lazy intentions, and grinned cheekily.
“I bet you won’t.”
I sat up sharply. “Excuse me?”
“You,” he reiterated. “I bet you won’t bike.”
“The hell I won’t!” I snapped and dragged it of its corner before everything clicked.
“Oh. You’re clever. I’m on to you.”
“But is it working?”
“Yes. Drat.”
“It snowed last year too: I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea.”
~ Dylan Thomas
Buddy
Yes I know I sound narccissistic, but I need your help for school. What is your favorite childhood memory of me? I need to make a short story of it.
Gio
Probably all of our made up games we played on the trampoline
C.
I always liked jousting with those ridiculous bouncy-ball things.
Buddy
I need an exact memory to put into a story.
Gio
Then use the jousting one. Those were awesome
C.
What was our war cry again?
Gio
CHAAAAAAAAAAAARGE! Good times, good times…
Buddy
This isnt helping?
C.
Why not? Here’s your story. One day we were bored and Mom had banned us all from TV (we’d probably done something illegal). After she kicked us outside the three of us pouted, moped, and whined for a while before Gio picked up one of the bouncy balls. Me being the charming older sister that I am, decided to give chase on the other bouncy ball. You, four-year-old Buddy, were at the height of your knight-obsessed stage and recognized our idiocy for the potential genius of modernized jousting that it was. You ordered us to opposite sides of the yard to wait until you signaled, at which point we let out a battle cry and bounced with all our might at each other. First one dislodged lost. Thereafter every Sunday in the summer, we held tournaments.
Hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny.
Buddy
I cant write a whole page on “chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrge!!!”
“One of the best things about marriage is that it gets young people to bed at a decent hour.” ~ M.M. Musselman
I thought I might try to get up and watch Middleton bring it off, but I seriously doubted my ability to haul myself out of bed that early. Luckily I seem to have developed a slight case of insomnia lately so the point was sort of moot. By the time 4am rolled around I was dying for something to do anyway.
I’m not a royal watcher, but I think there is a place for the monarchy in the modern world if it can adapt to changing times and modernize when necessary. And although I’m not sure I’d wish her future life on my worst enemy, I like Kate. She’s classy and savvy. Best of luck. And yes, both your dress and hair were fabulous, dear.
Note: Will and Kate both looked exhausted, frankly I would be too with the sort of scrutiny and To-Do list they must have had. I hope at some point some nice groveling courtier takes them aside and spirits them to one of the hundreds of room in one of their many palaces, begs them to take their shoes off, and take a nap.
“Next to excellence is the appreciation of it.”
~ William Makepeace
Being a secretary is largely thankless. It doesn’t matter that you can’t use a fax machine without my help and haven’t the faintest clue how to order your own printing paper, I will still be lower on the totem poll. It’s worrying, poodles.
But it’s Office Administrative Professionals Week and Susie bought us all cupcakes to celebrate our awesomeness. I’m munching on a chocolate cake with cream cheese frosting and Nutella stuffed little tribute to the fact that we are good at our jobs. Cheers!
“It must be exhausting to be you!” “It’s a living.” – C. and Margot
It is a great thing to have friends who are not just wonderful, but wonderfully interesting. Take Margot. We work out together three times a week during which we have deep conversations, rant about our frustrations, swap recipes, plan parties, debate politics, discuss religion, trade books, and do our best to absorb tidbits of life wisdom from each other.
We also spend an inordinate amount of time dodging her would-be suitors.
This + PhD = Margot
Margot has this amazing ability to turn men into stricken puddles of hormones at her feet – without trying in the slightest. And with good reason! She’s frighteningly funny, devastatingly intelligent, both pretty and charming, has eyelashes about an inch long that flutter just so, and gorgeous masses of blonde hair. Boys trip over their own feet to talk to her. Which, as you may imagine, can make things a bit congested on a jogging track.
Last night a very nice, very eager boy who met her once about a year ago and has been smitten with her ever since, accosted us on our workout. He seemed harmless enough so we struck up a conversation in which she took the lead, and I hung back and let the boy have a go. I was too busy chuckling at him to realize that five minutes in she had skillfully maneuvered me between her and her gallant. When I did catch on and tuned into the conversation, I understood why.
“And this plays into my theory that nothing in life is free. Take Facebook, it’s a classic philosophical example of the interconnectedness but inherent loneliness of human life! Did you see my latest status update?”
“No…” Margot said politely, as she couldn’t very well say that she didn’t even know what his last name was, or confirm they were in fact Facebook friends.
“It was about this very theory! I explained it all! Of course, this probably stems from my many romantic failures in high school. This one time…”
A half hour later she threw me a look of desperation so we politely excused ourselves and ended our jog early.
The truly funny thing about this incident for me is that it is, approximately, the 4073rd time it’s happened.
Thank goodness my academic gown was good for something! The racket those manufacturers must run makes me weep. The year I graduated the university changed its policy on renting graduation gear I had to buy my whole kit instead, and I wore it for a grand total of two hours. Luckily Sav and I are the same-ish height and when she needed a last minute gown, I was thrilled to oblige her with mine!
Academic dress loses some of its oomph on this side of the Atlantic. In my parents’ hose there’s a great picture of Mum kneeling with her hands between those of the Vice-Chancelor, feudal style, exchanging Latin phrases with her Masters hood trailing down her back. Much cooler than our polyester blends robes and little to no ceremony. Although apparently one of J.’s professors taught classes in his academic robes because, in his words, “When you think of all the time and money I spent earning them, this is the most expensive suit of clothes I own. And I’m going to get my money’s worth!”
No offense to either Mum or this entirely awesome professor…I think J. looks the best in his own get up. We are officially done with his undergraduate degree! Good Friday indeed!
“I have not always in my dealings with General de Gaulle found quotations from Trafalgar and Waterloo necessarily productive, and he has been very tactful about the Battle of Hastings.” – Harold Wilson
Apparently there is a particular zoo in Germany housing a penguin by the name of Bonaparte. He has, against all the rules of biology, genetics, and common sense, fallen in love with a black and white Wellington boot.
An event only the truly nerdiest of history nerds can appreciate.
“We do have a zeal for laughter in most situations, give or take a dentist.”
~ Joseph Heller
Accustomed as we are to dealing with characters, you’d think we’d be a bunch of cynic old cranks unperturbed by any but the vilest of persons. That we would have long ago reached the impossible to amuse, world weary, emotional wasteland of a DMV employee at 4:55pm on a Friday. That we would have, literally, seen it all.
But let me tell you, pumpkins, when a wizened old man with his pants belted almost up to his ribs marches into your office, slaps his liver spotted hand down on the counter and declares roundly, “Hell, I’m John Smith, and I’m a dentist,” you crack a grin, sit back, and prepare to be entertained.
I'm not sure we can help you. Did you choose the correct police box?
And Doc Smith did not disappoint. We all sat in rapt attention as he told nearly one dozen jokes in a row (several without a discernible punchline), used racially, sexually, and culturally insensitive language, and told us his life story. He has been an Air Force reserve colonel and “FBI police officer,” owned his own dental practice (his teeth were more metal than organic, please note) and now owns a few apartment complexes. Which, in the end, was what brought us to the purpose of his visitation (calling it a mere visit would simply not be adequate). Apparently some kids who did not live in his buildings were using his parking lot and he wanted it to stop so, enterprising old cook that he was, he took himself to the nearest police station to purchase a car boot.
When we could get a word in between his jokes, we told him we were completely unable to help him, as we could not sell university owned equipment. The best we could do was google some information for him and wish him the best of luck. He stayed another ten minutes telling jokes and his adventures as an airline pilot before disappearing. To parts unknown.
“A host is like a general: calamities often reveal his genius.” – Horace
There is very little that can crush the spirit of Small Dog, minions, but taking one’s car in to be serviced and having what one has long suspected confirmed as true – it needs new tires – is a spiritual and financial blow. I handed over the credit card with clear eyes and teeth clenched. It’s awfully hard to keep improving one’s savings when one’s car decides to be disagreeable.
And I absolutely did not mistake cyanide for baking powder. Enjoy!
And then, because my cup was not yet full, we had a couple of people visit from the parish yesterday. I was just finishing up dicing cheeses and fruits to broil on french bread slices (Palm Sunday pretensions, kittens, because I was in no mood to cook a full meal) when they knocked. I figured they wouldn’t be staying too long so I’d let the oven heat up while they visited. Ten minutes later, I smelled burning and realized that I had left my pizza stone in the oven and that the oils in it were beginning to smoke. The fire alarm went off. All the windows had to be open. I joked and laughed the whole thing off, but I was secretly mortified.
That pizza stone (which has given me no end of angst) is now at the bottom of the trash bin. Cheap pieces of….
J. has only one more final and then we are done (free!) with his undergraduate degree! Thursday and Friday are his graduation celebrations, and then we throw ourselves full time into grad school preparation – in spite of car related financial irritations.
“It’s bad enough that everybody coming into this courtroom has to walk underneath a banner that says: “Read Your Bible!” Your Honor, I want that sign taken down! Or else I want another one put up – just as big, just as big letters – saying “Read Your Darwin!” “That’s preposterous!” “It certainly is.” – Inherit the Wind, 1951
One of the most irritating, fatuous sort of accusations and complaints that gets flung at the police department is religious in nature.
You've been warned.
Editor’s Note: Just so we’re clear, this is not about the merits of religion, my ideas on it, or your ideas on it. It is, as usual, about people behaving badly and thinking sloppily. So let’s leave the trollish commenting to the dunces who sit at home of an evening and rant on CNN stories and youtube videos, alright? Onward.
Humans, being what they are, seldom want to accept the effects of their actions. But I find it continuous funny that persons raised in religious traditions often try to use religion (which presumably is supposed to teach them some idea of philosophical, cosmic cause and effect) to get out of the consequences.
“I hope you read the Bible tonight and think about what you’ve done. God would be ashamed of you!” one gentleman tries to dodge arrest after we collar him for taking pictures up girls’ skirts.
“You can’t keep me away from my wife, God put me in charge of her,” an abusive husband foams at the mouth after we serve him a restraining order.
“Would Jesus write me this ticket?” another woman demands fiercely after being caught parking in a handicap area.
Guys, you make me part these traffic jammed chariots one more time, I'm turning this exodus around! I am not kidding!
I’ve read the Bible (among other holy books of various traditions), and the whole first half of it is a pretty long list of rules and the assorted punishments and consequences that come from breaking them. Honestly, I suspect that if he’d thought of it, Moses might have made taking pictures up ladies’ skirts punishable, perhaps by a light stoning? And though I have not personally met him, I am absolutely positive that the Jesus of religious tradition would not have parked in a handicapped stall. Ever.
Throwing religion around as an excuse for bad behavior is certainly nothing new (hi, Crusades!), but I’m constantly perplexed by the petty ways people try to use it. Religion, boiled down to its very, very, bare bones, purely-behavioral-and-not-at-all-about-morality basics, is all about actions and consequences. If you are jerk in this life, you’ll come back in the next one as a mongoose. If you do not obey certain behavioral strictures, you will continue to be alienated from God and His chosen people. If you do not seek after enlightenment, you will never achieve nirvana. Etc.
Ergo, trying to use any values system that teaches cause and effect to dodge your earned consequences is bad logic. Stop it.
Small Dog Syndrome 