In Which I Am Impressed By The Level Of Some People's Commitment To The Holiday

Winner!  It's hard to top this yard for its authenticity, scope, and overall design. It's too bad that realty company Berkshire Hathaway had to destroy sight-line continuity with its sign, but hey--that's business. And you know what President Calvin Coolidge (famous dead guy said), "The business of America is business."

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A New Feature: Dear Nance

Surprisingly, a number of people click my email link and ask me for my opinion and advice on many wide-ranging topics.  Maybe not so surprisingly--I'm way cheaper than seeing a therapist or life coach.  I offer anonymity (if it's sought), and because I have nothing to lose, they are going to get an unvarnished reply to whatever question they submit to me.

Here are a few that landed in my Inbox.  I'm of course going to keep their identities a secret.

Dear Nance,

I'm not sure why I'm writing to you, other than a friend of a friend gave me your email.  I mean, you're not sports oriented at all, but maybe that will be good in that you'll have a more objective perspective.

I was in my first Olympics when I was really young.  I did okay, but I wanted the gold medals.  Since then, I have been chasing that Olympic dream.  I train and train so that every four years, I can compete.  I've been in several as a result, and I did get gold.  Now I'm plagued by injury and have had to drop out of competitions due to constant surgeries and rehabs.  Basically, I don't think it's entirely fair that I should have to qualify for the Olympic team.  My past history and performance is on the record.  Why shouldn't my spot be a given?  Let these newbies have to qualify for the remaining spots.  Do you see what I mean?  Sochi may be my last shot, and if my knees hold out, I deserve to go.

Sincerely,
Dynasty Athlete

Dear DA,

Let me tell you a little story.  Back in 1981 when I got my teaching degree, I had a hell of a time getting my first job.  I finally got my foot in the door, subbing for a teacher who had been there a long time.  So long, in fact, that she had trouble getting around and problems in general.  So her schedule kept her in the same room all day, teaching the same thing all day.  Her duty was hall duty right outside her room.  Unheard of for a high school assignment.  She retired only because she became legally blind.  Fast forward thirty-three years later. I am retired, but the English teacher my husband had in tenth grade is still teaching.  The teacher the district hired to replace me is long gone, cut due to budget concerns.  But my husband's former sophomore teacher is still there, going on year eleventy million.  So, no.  I don't see what you mean.  You make millions in endorsements.  You are taking someone else's spot.  Grow up and get a real job.  You are a selfish, stunted child who is afraid to face the real world.

Dear Nance,

I'm sick and tired of my hair.  When I was working, I truly did not have time to do anything with it even though I could certainly afford to have any stylist I wanted come to my office or home and give me a cut and blow-dry.  Besides, I felt like it would reflect poorly on my sense of priorities at the time.  Now, as a private citizen, (at least for now) I can do pretty much whatever I want.  I'm still in the public eye, so I can't do a big change, but I want a transitional look that will soften my features a little.  Can you suggest anything?  Oh, and just in case I decide to get back into public life in a big way, I need it to be able to look very capable and businesslike easily.

Thank you,
Party Grrl

Dear PG,

So easy!  Feather it around the front a little and go for bangs.  Not a heavy London Girl fringe, just a soft light bang that can easily grow into a sideswept, then off the forehead look.  Later, when you grow out more, you can work into a French twist with a few tendrils.  You know, feminine but capable.  Like, Red Phone Capable.

Dear Nance,

I hate my job.  Well, not so much my job, but mainly the people I work with.  Some of them are just plain awful.  If I say yes, they say no.  If I say it's up, they say it's down.  If I say we have to have more money for something, they say we have to cut out money for something else.  It's ridiculous.  It's like they hate me on principle.  What did I ever do to deserve this?  I can't get anything done with these people around.  And the worst thing is, I'll get judged by the work these people do.  The whole thing is lousy.  Thank goodness I only have a little more time left, and then I'll never have to work here again.  Ever.

Aloha,
Counting Down

Dear CD,

Didn't your parents ever teach you to stand up to bullies?  If they didn't, certainly you saw it on "The Brady Bunch" or "Leave It to Beaver" reruns or the holiday film "A Christmas Story."  If your co-workers hate you on principle, then you have nothing to lose.  Start with that as your reality and lead from there.  They're going to spin negative everything you do, so do everything!  Don't be like the Puritans.  The Puritans believed in Predestination, the idea that God had decided at birth whether a person would go to Heaven or to Hell, and no amount of good works or evildoing would change that destiny.  Now, to our modern way of thinking, why didn't the Puritans live sinfully and play hard and fornicate day and night since their behaviour did not determine the destination of their souls?  Instead, they tried to live lives of strict purity and goodness and deprivation, hard work and prayer.  Why?  It didn't matter; it wouldn't influence God.  So, CD, don't live your life like it's 1634.  It's 2014.  Get in there and mix it up.  Show those bullies who's boss and bully a little yourself.  Knock some metaphorical heads and make some deals.  Call in some markers.  Leverage, CD.  Use your remaining time as Leverage.

What fun, right, Readers?  Do you have anything to add?  Who else do you think needs my advice?

The Revolution Has Begun

There is a deep and profound undercurrent of fear in this country.  Many of its citizens worry that, one day, if we aren't vigilant and don't make note of what's going on, we will be Taken Over.  Oh sure, at first it seemed as if They were here to help us, to provide for us, to make our lives easier.  Then, we came to depend upon Them for various products that we use in everyday life.  Now, They've started to turn on us.  And it's scary.

I am, of course, talking about Cows.

Don't feel embarrassed if you were caught unawares; if you sit there now thinking, "Holy crap! I thought she was talking about the Chinese or the Saudis or the banking industry or the republicans!"  You are not in the minority.  Not everyone has a Cow Alert in his or her Google Newsreader (although he or she should, clearly).  Trust me, this is an Alarming Trend that has begun to develop in the past year, and I have followed it with increasing...er, alarm.  Allow me:

Exhibition A:  A gang of thug cows broke into a residence in Arkansas last winter and, after stealing food intended for the family pet and generally wreaking havoc, they collapsed in a mud-and-manure orgy and had to be removed by authorities.  Later, the cleanup crew hauled out a wheelbarrow full of their muck.  The pictures are harrowing.

Exhibition B:  Think Ames, Iowa, and what comes to mind?  The republican crazyfest known as the Straw Poll, where candidates can literally buy votes with barbecue tickets and country music concerts?  Well, yes, but add this.  In an all-out stampede, one pregnant cow led Authorities on a two-hour chase before she was finally sedated enough for capture and transport.  Did I say sedated?  That would be a vast understatement.  This renegade bovine was shot with "four darts during the two-hour ordeal, each one carrying double the amount of tranquilizer that normally would be required to sedate an animal."  This raging cow actually swam the river twice after sedation, prompting more shots.  And she's reproducing.

Exhibition C:  Now to Florida, where a cow mysteriously escaped from its pen near a construction site and crossed into traffic, confounding drivers and diverting Authorities from undoubtedly more pressing criminal matters in this Miami area suburb.  Resisting attempts to corral it, the cow repeatedly ventured onto walkways and near thoroughfares, finally roped into submission by a somewhat heroic construction worker who credits his hunting expertise and proximity to cattle for his success in restraining the animal.  Tied inauspiciously to a nearby Bobcat vehicle, the cow appeared docile, awaiting its next opportunity.

Exhibition D:  Bella, the YouTube Sensation Cow, (what? You never heard of her?) is perhaps the most insidious of all of the DangerCows.  In July of last year, she was among a dozen cows headed for a slaughterhouse who got loose when the truck she was in crashed.  She hid out in the woods for about a month, evading capture despite all the publicity surrounding her case.  Posses were out on the hunt for her, sightings abounded, and she became Michigan's Most Wanted.  Finally rounded up, Bella was unused to civilization.  She had Gone Native, and actually charged at humans.  About a month later, she had a calf.  (They are Replicators. It's all part of The Plan.)

Exhibition E:  This seems like such a Feel-Good Story About Cows, but do not be fooled.  Oh, sure, on first read it is a lovely Winter's Tale about firefighters coming to the aid of a poor, sad cow named Annibel, who had fallen through the ice on a freezing cold pond.  We can all say, "Oh no! Poor moocow! How scared she must have been, all slipping and sliding on that ice like Bambi, and then to suddenly fall in that horribly cold water, just like BlueLips Leo in Titanic! How terrible for her!"  But we would all be foolish (and obviously too addicted to NetFlix and film references).  Instead, we should be looking below the surface (sorry, inadvertent pun) of the story here and see the Dangers that lie beneath (again! sorry!).  There are two things which are very telling:  1.  This quote:  The cow's owner, Lois Ramsey, said...she thinks watching the other cows is what prompted 5-year-old Annibel to wander out on the frozen water.  2.  And this one:  Annibel wasn't the only life the Fire Department saved. The cow is pregnant and is expected to give birth within the next two weeks.

I think we all can see what's going on here.  THE COWS ARE TAKING OVER.  BY FORCE AND BY SHEER NUMBERS.  AND THEY ARE COMPELLING EACH OTHER--HERD MENTALITY, PEOPLE!--TO DO IT.

Even more frightening, it's not just here. They are taking over everywhere.  Bossy, Scary Cows are in Europe, terrorizing the tourists and locals alike.  People are being trampled, bitten, and hospitalized by these cows who, as one Authority says, know "exactly what they are doing" and they have warned people not to even look them in the eye.  Walking, a common European traveller's pastime, is now fraught with peril.  Even the police aren't safe, as in Ireland, where a rampaging pregnant cow knocked down members of the Garda and went for the crowd.  And no one in Germany can really be sure where Yvonne is, or what she may be planning.

Let me tell you, it is truly a Sad Day for me.  The Rose-Coloured Scales have fallen from my eyes when it comes to cows.  Now, when I read this story and watch the accompanying video, I no longer smile and chuckle.  I fear for kindhearted Duane Button.  I cringe when I behold the cow's sudden and coldly assessing gaze at the camera.  And I am fearful of what that last bellowing moo may portend.

My Perspective On Irony, Or How I Choose My Victims Carefully And Toy With Them First, But Oh So Very Gently...

Perspective is something I struggle with, and perhaps it's because I seem to see the Irony--the Ridiculous Irony--in so many things.

Consider these scenes.

Scene I.

High school classroom. Students are in their seats. Teacher at front of room behind lectern. Finishing up instruction. Checks clock, sees that there are four minutes left.

Mrs. D.: Okay, everyone. Take the last four minutes to double-check that you have the assignment written down correctly. Are there any questions? (surveys room. sees no hands raised) Great. You've got the last few minutes to yourselves. Wow. Are you lucky, or what? Have a great day, and that's an order.

(as if by unseen decree, half the class rises and begins to shoulder huge bookbags; they wander towards door. teacher, shocked, halts them)

Mrs. D.: Um...where on Earth do you think all of you are going? I do believe that this is still room 245 and that all standard rules and regulations still apply. Stay in your seats until the bell rings.

(general moaning, bitching, crabbing ensues as wanderers roam back to seats)

Mrs. D.: Holy crap. How ridiculous. Can you just imagine the phone calls I would get from Mumsy and Popsy if my rule said "All students will shoulder their fifty pound book bags four minutes before the bell and stand in a huge herd like bison in front of the door. They are absolutely forbidden to sit in their seats to wait for the bell but instead must press their bodies against one another and jockey for position like marathon runners at the gate." ? You are, all of you, insane right now. Here I am, giving you four minutes of respite from those gargantuan bookbags and the terror of the hallways, and this is the thanks I get? Never again!

(Students roll eyes, sigh, a few smile. Bell rings for dismissal. On their way out, several are heard to say, "She's right, though." One actually whispers to teacher, "Sorry!")

Scene II.

(Living room. Mother and "adult" son are sitting on couch. Completely annoying commercial for Ford Edge comes on television in which girl in nasally voice extols virtue of "texting hands free while driving" because she is "constantly on her cellphone texting and talking anyway.")

Nance: Jared. I want you to listen to me right now and with a completely open mind. Can you do that?

Jared: Oh god. I don't know. Yes. What now? Oh no.

Nance: Seriously. Pretend that it's about ten years ago. And I'm telling you that you have to type email messages on a very small keyboard that is approximately one-twelfth the size of your laptop.

Jared: Okay...

Nance: And that you have to do it very fast. And that you have to pay for the privilege to do it. And that most of the time where you want to do it, it will be illegal.

Jared: I get it.

Nance: Do you hear how incredibly ridiculous that all sounds?

Jared: I know, right?

(Nance smiles triumphantly and victoriously, almost as if she has discovered the cure for AIDS and Rush Limbaugh all at once. Sadly, it is all meaningless because not only are AIDS and Rush Limbaugh still very much with us, so is rampant and inane text-messaging. Sigh.)

Scene III.

(Classroom. Students are chatting; some are finishing up work, others already done are socializing. Teacher is circulating.)

Liz: My brother lost the cordless phone again. It's ridiculous. He's such an idiot.

Jessica: Doesn't your phone have a pager thingy? Ours did. We just all have a cell now, so we cut off our house phone.

Liz: I don't think ours does. Anyway, the battery is dead. He's in so much trouble.

Mrs. D.: You know what would be great? If the phone had something like a cord attached to it so that it didn't get disconnected from the base. That way, it wouldn't ever get lost. It couldn't!

Liz: Yeah! That'd be awesome! You should invent that, Mrs. D. That's genius.

Jessica: (rolls eyes) Are you serious? Liz. She's screwing with you. All phones used to be like that back in the day. That's why your phone is called a cordless phone. Hello? BECAUSE IT HAS NO CORD. ANYMORE. DUH.

Mrs. D.: (winks)

Liz: Oh. I get it. Good one, Mrs. D.

(Teacher pats her head, grins, and moves on. She has more minds to...illuminate.)

Turns Out That I've Had What It Takes All Along!

Sorry for the hiatus, but I've been in a sort of self-imposed Cone Of Silence here at the Dept. I'm shying away from The Media Circus as of late. Why? Well, holy crap! It turns out that I'm super-qualified to be Vice President, that's why! Let me run down my case for you:

1. Foreign Relations: My roommate in college was Jewish. I've had foreign exchange students in my classes from Finland, Germany, and Switzerland. I am half Croatian and my best friend all through school was Serbian, which shows that I have excellent skills in negotiating beyond age-old nationalistic Balkan grudges.

2. Foreign Policy: I have travelled in Canada often, including the provinces of Alberta, British Columbia, and Ontario. In 6th grade, my foreign country report was on Norway, and I received an "A." I have seen all of Daniel Day-Lewis's movies set in Ireland and feel pretty well-versed in the whole IRA thing. Also, since my concentration in college was in English literature, I'm pretty up on England.

3. Lipstick: I wear it daily--Revlon Rum Raisin. Once in a while, Revlon Cappucino.

4. Domestic Issues: I've travelled to 27 of the United States. I've flown over more, but I don't think it's fair to count those. My husband is a terrific handyman and my two sons aren't oddly-named or prematurely parents, but I am a MOM and a WIFE, nonetheless. I chose to have both my children...oh, wait. Wrong script.

5. Fiscal Responsibility: I worked at City Bank as a teller across from U.S. Steel and Lake Terminal Railroad during summers to put myself through college. On the Fridays those two places got paid, the lines were out the doors nonstop. I would run hundreds of thousands of dollars through my window alone, and at the end of the day, I would still balance to the penny. As newlyweds, Rick and I had the two worst careers in 1981 in NE Ohio: teacher and carpenter. Neither of us could find a job. I worked at the bank and he sold shoes. We balanced our checkbook to the last cent and that summer, we rolled change to see A MOVIE. And my prowess at shoe bargains goes without saying. Come ON. Well-documented. A given at this point. Duh.

6. Executive Experience: I have been the advisor for the school's literary magazine for 20 years. I have one year of experience as a junior high student activities advisor. I have been in charge of a high-school classroom five times a day for 182 days a year for 28 years. And for 8 memorable years, I was Third Floor Tornado Spotter, a weighty responsibility that stays with me still.

7. Technology: I don't have to put up some crap on Ebay. This blog. 'Nuff said. Please. I'm boring you right now. Do I even have to href a bunch of baloney? No. I can html and snipurl rings around...oh, nevermind.

8. Wardrobe: I was wearing pencil skirts way before Certain People were even thinking about stacked heels and cropped jackets. Spare me. Let me just say that I have moved on to several other Fashion Planes already, people. Oh. My. If I posted my Burberry plaid pumps right now, there would be Bedlam. I'm just saying.

9. Bridge to Nowhere: I've been to Ketchikan, one of the proposed terminii of the Bridge. It is "Alaska's first city and the salmon capital of the world." There are more salmon there than people. There are more jewelry shops there than people. It's way tiny. Very scenic, but it would be like connecting your front and back yards with the Golden Gate Bridge. I vote No before, during, and after. Period. I'm not a fan of bridges anyway, except for Jeff Bridges, who I think is a pretty good actor and sorta underrated.

Okay.

Personally, I want my Vice President to be Someone Who Is Way Smart and NOT YOUR AVERAGE PERSON OFF THE STOOL AT STARBUCKS. Who cares whether or not you can "identify with" your President or Vice President? People, give me a big freaking break. Isn't it time to have someone sitting in The Big Chairs who is so damned smart that it takes your breath away? Someone who is dignified and together and brilliant and inspirational? And wouldn't it be great if other leaders and other people met them and said, "Wow! What incredible individuals!"

And if those people then, by association, thought that about ALL OF US?

I Need the Cronkite 12-Step Program--If There Is One

Hello, my name is Nance, and I am a news junkie. I know...admitting you have a problem is the first step. But, the problem is bigger than that. There aren't going to be enough steps in this recovery program. The problem is bigger than I am. I'm hooked and hooked for good. Just the past few days alone have convinced me of it.

It started with this little tidbit, which I read in The Plain Dealer. Up until this story of the python in the Australian toilet, I totally believed--no, needed to believe--that this sort of happening was purely an urban legend. I have a terrific fear of snakes; I will not even touch a photograph of a snake. Once, when I was a little girl, I was terrified that there was a rattlesnake in our toilet. Horrified beyond measure, I screamed for my mother from the hallway. "Mom! Come quick! There is a rattlesnake in the toilet! I can hear it rattling in there! Come listen and then call the fire department to get it OUT!!" My mother came tearing into the hall. She stopped. She listened. Then she started laughing. She tried like hell not to, but she couldn't help it. Her shoulders were shaking with unsuppressed mirth. I was crying---hard. "Nance," she said, her own tears sliding down her cheeks, "honey, that's the wind through the Venetian blinds."

The next news item that gives me pause is one that I heard on MSNBC today. It is the results of a poll given annually for National Kids' Day. Just about 1500 kids under the age of 10 were surveyed as to their opinion of what would be "The Very Best Thing in the World." Number 1? "Being a celebrity." Number 2: "Good Looks"; Number 3: "Being Rich." Now, I realize that "the very best thing in the world" is really broad, and that these kids are very young, but honestly...Number 9 was "Watching Films"!!! Oh, and all those things beat out "God", who rounds out the list at Number 10. Now that's gonna piss off some right-wing conservative Christians, and right at Christmastime, too. I wonder if they specified whose films... 'cause if it's like Adam Sandler or Lindsay Lohan, then it's pissing me off royally.

Finally, we come to an article AND video, the footage of which I cannot seem to get for you but that I saw on both MSNBC and our local NBC affiliate. But before I discuss it, I must digress. (No! Really? La.) It is with great dismay that I observe and note the proliferation of the Inflatable Holiday Yard Decorations. They are no less than an atrocity. What started out as a mere novelty has now turned into an all-out urban assault of not just the standard secular figures of Yuletide; nay, it is now de rigeur to have a yard full of these airy erections in a variety of forms: Sponge Bob in a Santa Hat, the Grinch, a penguin with a scarf, Santa on a Harley, and this year's newest incarnations, the Sno-Globe and the Christmas Carousel. No. I am not making any of those up. They are all in my neighborhood proximity, I am sad to report. The only one I am even remotely flexible on is the Inflatable Eeyore with Reindeer Antlers and that is because, come on! It is Eeyore. If it were up to me, an enormous inflatable Eeyore would be required on every single street. Just not in my yard.

But, I digress.

This report, which I read and saw the shocking and amazing video footage of in no way involves me. I swear it on my life. There is no way, despite my obvious antipathy toward all non-Eeyore yard inflatables, that I would ever stoop to attacking and stabbing one with a screwdriver in the dead of night. Besides, it is clear that the attacker is a man. And I would not go back four times over. Duh.

There you go, as The New York Times' masthead boasts, "all the news that's fit to print."

All This Testosterone Is Getting to Me

As the only female in the house, I find that it often falls to me to make certain concessions in the interest of Family Harmony. Happily, some of them are trivial...even fun. Others, however, require the diplomacy of an ambassador and the silence of a cloistered nun, two traits that I am not entirely famous for. Allow me to give you some examples of my sacrifice:

1. Fantasy Sports: My husband and two sons are deeply embroiled in this occupation. Rick can spend hours in front of his laptop laboring over his draft picks; Jared spends geological eras in front of his notebook computer, sweating over his nightly lineups in the NBA (er, that's National Basketball Association for those of you in the non-sporting group); Sam disappears upstairs and hollers down to Jared for consults regarding his teams. Jared picked my brain incessantly regarding his bench vs. active rosters until finally, I said, "I'm going to have my own team!" They all stared at me. Naturally, it was too late "to get into a real league," so I logged onto SmallWorld.com and picked my team. I had one criteria only: looks. I christened my team Cute Boys and my fantasy team was born. I don't give a damn how many points or anything they have. I just want them to look good. And they do. They are darned cute. (Although, if Etan Thomas doesn't get his facial hair under control, even his sexy dredlocks are not enough to save him.) Here is my #1 Cute Boy. Tell me he isn't the cutest thing ever. I love him. He is from Brazil. Or some country that starts with a "B." Who cares? He's cute.

2. The Nativity Scene: Okay, so. My nativity scene has a very special meaning to me. It is carved from olivewood from the Holy Land, and my husband bought it for me for our very first Christmas together in our very first apartment together. Every year, I lovingly wrap it up, each individual piece, in tissue paper, and store it away. Starting last year, the standard figures of the Nativity have been joined by the starting lineup of the Cleveland Cavaliers basketball team bobbleheads. And LeBron James, whose feet have been broken off, has now supplanted baby Jesus in the manger. But don't despair: power forward Larry Hughes is carrying baby Jesus in one arm--Larry's other arm is holding a basketball, natch. Not only are there Three Wise Men, there are Two Zydrunas Ilgauskases: one is a stretchable, and one is a loomingly large bobblehead. Oh, and there is also a black Santa Claus statue. Only one, though. The other one is strangely MIA. Hey! Don't look at me. I had nothing to do with it. I'm just biting my tongue and wondering who/what is next to join the tableau.

3. ESPN: Are any or all of you aware that this "channel" or "network" or whatever is a non-stop sports thing? Because, really, it's just uncalled for. We must watch "SportsCenter", "Around the Horn", "Pardon the Interruption", as well as the reruns of "classic matchups" which could be, oh, let's say the 1978 North Carolina vs. Mudflap State game. Remember, no one in my family or Rick's family went to either of those colleges. Or even travelled near any of those states. That does not matter, for perhaps Larry Bird's grandpa or Michael Jordan was a peanut vendor at one of those games! That is enough for Jared. So, I grab my Plain Dealer and read or do the crossword puzzle until the news comes on. And get this: Jared says, "The news? All you ever do is watch the news! Nothing ever happens. Besides, it comes on again at 11." Good heavens. "SportsCenter" is on 24 hours a day. Or more.

4. The Christmas Tree: It's a battleground of taste. The polar bear balancing on the circus ball has to be showing its butt. The surreptitious re-hanging of "back of the tree" ornaments on the front of the tree goes on all month. Sam's plastic condiment cup ornament, colored in 1st grade with green and black magic marker and hanging crookedly from a pipe cleaner, keeps mystifyingly reappearing on the front of the tree right at eye-level. The wooden moose and rabbit must be showing their butts also. And any of my crystal drop-style ornaments magically have other obliterating ornaments hanging in front of them. Both boys are almost an entire foot taller than I, so they re-hang uglier ornaments high and in front where they know I cannot reach them. And their father, unless I make a strong appeal, goes along with the joke. This year, I refuse to react. Who really cares? The only people who come over to see my tree know my freakish family and, most importantly, love them anyway. Feh.

Bless them all, my 3 men. In all the insanity of The Holidays, I think they keep me sane. In their way.