Things Currently Drawing My Ire That Are Not republicans (Although You Know I Can Link Each One Back To Them Very Easily)

*Warning: This post may contain strong language. I'm feeling snarky and I'm not in the mood to self-edit. I just might "go there." Okay.

I'm feeling real frustrated. (I'm not gonna lie; it is That Time, and that probably has a lot to do with it. Sorry if there are a few of you that feel I'm oversharing, but guess what. My blog, okay?) I've spent the entire school day giving a major test to my students that I totally prepared them for. I told them what was going to be on it. And as one class was taking it, I was grading the previous class's "efforts."

Whatever.

They are sucking big fat rocks on it and I am pissed. So I am now locked into a downward Snark Spiral that is, for now, boundless. Basically, I'm IRKED AT/ABOUT EVERYTHING.

Allow me:

1. My hair: I did not share with you that right before my Hideous Surgery, I had a Major Life-Altering Haircut. Three times. I had it cut. Then recut. Then re-recut. And recently, I had it cut again in a very short, choppy style that, apparently, my hair hates. Consequently, my hair looks different every single day. This is...difficult for a control maven such as myself. Do not attempt to recommend a Hair Product to me. It will work one day and not the next. Trust me. Today, I had a Good Hair Day. Yesterday, not. Tomorrow...who the hell knows?

2. Rick: The laundry is piling up. This is traditionally his job, which he cheerfully took on a few years ago and has, apparently without warning, decided to wantonly abandon every so often. There have been days when I am forced to wear my third-string underwear. You know what I mean: the stuff that is Emergency Level DefCon 1. One step above maternity underwear. Okay.

3. Mysterious Animal Inhabiting Garage: Why? There is no food in there. What is it? Raccoon? Skunk? Feral Cat? Something is in there and we cannot get rid of it. We are fastidious re: garage and garbage cans, yet Pig Pen People next door never put lids on garbage cans and have used grill utensils on their deck at all times, yet have no animal in garage. It is getting in because the door needs to be lowered. Rick is aware of this, yet has not yet done anything about it. See #2, and add this to it.

4. Right Foot: Intermittently, my right foot sprouts an almost-bunion for no reason, making some of my adorable shoes painful. Then, it will go away. WTF is up with this bullshit? Shoes are part of my Fashion Image. Come on!

5. Pen Theft: Pens on my desk in my flamingo coffee mug are disappearing. Roommate Andrew is NOT a suspect, but our aides and ill-prepared and lightfingered students are. This is unnecessary and unacceptable, especially since I keep a container of "rental" utensils at the ready in the room. I hate thieves.

6. Newspaper Delivery Guy: This a-hole has one mission in life and this it is: to take out my Boston fern. At least twice a week I find the Cleveland Plain Dealer lying amid the fronds and dirt of my now supine fern and fern stand on my porch because this moron has to launch the newspaper from his car window like he's up for the Cy Young award. Someday, I'm going to take the day off and lie in wait with my BB gun and take out this guy's windshield. Bet me.

7. House: As in the TV show. Which used to be excellent and now basically sucks. This show went totally downhill when House fired his team and then began the quest for the new team. Actually, come to think of it, it really started its downhill trend when they did that stupid show with the cop who got all over his case about the drugs and then went after Wilson and the hospital and tried to get House fired. At any rate, it's now become a very mediocre show that I watch for two reasons only: Hugh Laurie who I have a major crush on, and Jesse Spencer whom I have become almost unhealthily obsessed with lately. Yikes.

8. Project Runway: This season is terrible. I hate every single person on it. But I reserve a special hatred for Kenley, who really, really irritates me. She is socially autistic, rude, obnoxious, breathtakingly overconfident, untalented, and really, really needs to have her adenoids removed. Wow. I am such a bitch about someone I don't even know and will never meet. Okay.

But she was rude to Tim Gunn, and that, in my book, means war.

9. The Ongoing Dinner Drama at The Dept.: Oh My God, how much do I hate this? It was bad enough when other people lived here, but now that it's just Rick and I, it's even worse. He is just as ambivalent about dinner as I am half the time, and there is nothing Grown Up about eating potato chips or Nutella for dinner. And nothing ever "sounds good." It's just so fricking hideous and terrible. I'm sure we are both so vitamin and mineral deficient now at the age of 49 that we are going to have osteoporosis and die bent-over at the age of 55. The only good thing about that is that IT MEANS MANY MANY LESS YEARS OF FIGURING OUT A GODDAMN DINNER MENU.

10. Stupid Errors in Student Papers That Are, Apparently, Never Going To Stop Despite My Endless Efforts: High school students are completely unaware that there is a singular noun meaning "one adult female person." To them, "women" is both plural and singular. There is, and never has been, any such word as woman. The germane event in Massachusetts of 1692 was the Salem Witch Trails, which, I imagine, were the paths followed by the convicted spellcasters to the gallows. I could go on and on and on, but then I would have to shoot myself.

The way I feel right now, I might anyway.

No Child Left Behind At My School

My colleague Dawn and I were busily working in the lounge the other morning, she at the computer and I at one of the round tables. She was fretting over her attendance, getting ready to make yet another parent phone call. She spun her chair around and fixed me with a frustrated grimace. "So my armed robbery suspect finally shows up after being out three weeks!" she says, aggravated. "I don't know where the hell he's been. Is he in jail? Has he even had his trial, or what? What? What!" she says to me, clearly annoyed now, because I'm laughing.

Yes, laughing. Because I lost it after "my armed robbery suspect." I mean, come on. She led with that. She teaches tenth grade. Quite the attention getter at 8 AM, right?

(Oh, I know. It is a tragedy; it is. But that's life at my school. We all have them: armed robbery suspects, petty thieves, drug dealers, grand theft autos, statutory rapists, B & E's, assault and batteries, gang-bangers, you name it. I've had kids taken out of my class in cuffs. We just don't dwell on it. It's part of our demographic; it goes with the territory. And it's not like they do it in our class. )

Dawn sighed. So did I. She said, "You know, it's like: what on earth are we doing with these kids? I'm teaching pronouns, for God's sake. And he's going to go to jail."

"Well," I said, "I know what you mean. Some of these kids are out there doing God-knows-what, and we're teaching theme and symbolism. It seems ridiculous. But I like to think that we're giving them a view on the world that they wouldn't get anywhere else. A glimpse at something better than just living and surviving. A bit of beauty and perspective. You know? They have such basic, narrow lives."

"You're not kidding, " she said. "Last Friday was sustained silent reading day, so I brought in a bunch of magazines. Some of them tore into them and left them all over the place. So I said, 'Hey! Get back here and clean these up. You're not animals! Do I need to get Cesar Millan in here, or what?' They all said Huh? Who's that? I had to explain who he was. No one had heard of him. NO ONE."

I nodded sympathetically. "They probably thought he was a fashion designer, salad dressing inventor, or at least the guy who got stabbed in Rome."

"Get serious," she said. "Maybe if we were reading Shakespeare's play at the time they would. They had NO IDEAS at all. I'm telling you. NONE."

Today, Dawn and I related this story to another friend of ours, Sue, who has a few years experience on me. "Oh, dear," she said to Dawn, "an armed robbery suspect is nothing. Talk to us when you've had a murderer."

"Oh yeah! That's right!" I said.

"Get out," Dawn said warily. "You guys have not both had a murderer."

Both Sue and I raised our hands. Sadly, we've both had more than one.

But guess who had to get fingerprinted and have an FBI background check--at their own expense--last year due to a new state law? All Ohio teachers. Gotta protect the kids.

The Old Folks At Home

Rick and I were watching television this morning, waiting for Meet the Press to come on. Local news was doing some segment which featured a story showing a huge, opulent house.

Me: Good heavens. Look at that huge house. Can you imagine just the two of us rattling around in that enormous house?

Rick: No.

Me: I'd never be able to find you.

Rick: (looks off into space, grinning thoughtfully)

Me: (charitably ignoring that) You know how I hate to holler.

Rick: And I can't hear you half the time when you do.

Me: By the time I did find you--

Rick:--you'd forget what you wanted me for.

Me: How old are we?

Rick: Huh?

John McCain Is A Big Fat Liar, But That's Not A News Flash Around These Parts

Somebody had better buy John McCain a dictionary. After his big grandstand play of announcing he was halting his campaign to zip back to Washington to focus on this latest national crisis, even going so far as to cancel Friday's debate, he "promised to suspend his campaign, cancelling all advertisements and events, after a speech in New York."

Erm...

Except that as I was sitting on my couch at home in Ohio last night, I was treated to no less than half a dozen McCain ads sleazing their way across my television, spreading their lies and pandering their campaign garbage right into my living room. I want everyone to know that.

He just never, ever stops.

Perhaps along with inventing the Blackberry, he's invented a new meaning of the word "cancel".

This creature reminds me of the kid everyone hates on the playground in first grade who, when you get in an argument with him, resorts to just repeating every single thing you say. That's McCain's strategy. "Hope," says Obama. "Hope," says McCain. "Change," says Obama. "Change," says McCain. "We have a woman running for our office," say the Dems. "I've got one now, too," says McCain.

He's been pandering for so long that it's just the way he does business. He's a Play-Doh Man: he just morphs into whatever he's looking at, into whomever he's talking to, into the very person he needs to be at the time in order to get what he wants. He's the politician's politician.

Now he pulls the big fast one--pretends that he's "putting the country first." Bullshit. Obama's poll numbers are up and Palin's news cycle is in the toilet. Everyone knows that McCain will blow into D.C. and try to act like he's the Seventh Cavalry and Jesus all in one and save his reputation as an Economy Dunce. Sadly, some Limbaugh-Louts will suck it down like the KoolAid it is.

Me, I'm onto it. And I've got to hope that there are plenty more like me who are, too.

In Which I Lament That, If It Is Not, In Fact, All About Me, Then Dammit, It Should Be

How is this happening? It is a gorgeous weekend here in northeastern Ohio. The sun is warm and the temperature is in the mid-seventies. There is no rain. Beyond the borders of my small, midwestern town, the world continues to move on and events occur, one tumbling after another. Even my mother is on a little vacation.

What is wrong with you people? Don't you know that I AM SICK?!

Geeze. Where is the love?

It's not bad enough that last weekend, when Jared came home for a brief visit, that I had the raging PMS. No. (And, hey, when can I expect all that bullshit to stop, anyway? I'm 49; I mean, come on, already.) Here is a brief snippet of the Quality Time I had with my son:

Me: Holy Crap! I have the dreaded PMS so bad, and it's in the Carbohydrate Loading stage. It's making me absolutely nuts.

Jared: Are you all, like, "I'm gonna eat this whole loaf of bread right now, and then get really, really crabby afterward", or what?

Me: More like, "If you don't give me that bag of Lay's Original, I'm blowing your effing head off."

Jared: Wow. Yikes.

But I digress.

So, last week the ice man cameth and naturally, so did the Practice Ohio Graduation Test, which I had to administer for four days to three of my classes who, throughout the duration, sounded like the Infectious Diseases Ward at the Cleveland Clinic. It was like a frikkin' symphony of coughs, sniffles, and snortles. I was horrified, in light of the fact that my shoulder condition has an auto-immune component, which means I'm walking around with a somewhat compromised immunity. (Oh, did you employ the Hand Sanitizer? you might ask. It is to laugh! I did everything short of wear a surgical mask and gloves and garlic necklace!)

To no avail. I have a beastly headcold. Damn them all. My nose is running like a car thief on "Cops." My temples are pounding. Sudafed? Ha! Might as well eat M&M's, except that I have zero appetite. My nose is chappy and sore, but at least it matches my lips! Now would be the time for me to eat some of my wonderful Curry Chicken Soup that I so wisely froze in small containers...but I gave the last of it away to Jared and my colleague Andrew, who shares my classroom and is...SICK WITH A HEADCOLD! A HA!!!!!

In the meantime--while I plot my revenge on them all--I wander about the house in misery.

How can everyone else in the entire world be well and happy and carefree? I AM SICK! IT'S SO UNFAIR!

I carry around a box of Kleenex anti-viral tissues and a plastic bag full of snotty wads.

It makes me feel like those dog-walkers who have to follow their canines with plastic sacks full of their doggy poop. How demeaning!

And why is it, that when you feel least able to deal with it, your body decides to manufacture eleventy hundred gallons of snot a day? Huh?

How come there isn't a shot for this? Why can't I just take a pill and have it go away in, say, a day or two? I suspect a Vast Right-Wing Conspiracy. I do.

Dammit. I hate being sick.

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?

The Crying Game

At times I worry about my lack of sentimentality. I don't take pictures, save baby things, remember lots of "firsts", or even have the faintest idea where my one highschool yearbook is. I do, however, have the Crying Gene intact, and it is ever ready to respond, sometimes at the oddest thing. Oh sure, it springs to life at the Standards like weddings (even those at which I barely know the bride or groom), really sad movies (Terms of Endearment, Life Is Beautiful), and incredibly happy news (it's not cancer after all; you're having a baby!).

My Crying Gene can also be roused by the following, in no particular order:

1. The scene in the film To Kill a Mockingbird when the verdict is delivered and Rev. Sykes says to Scout, "Miss Jean Louise, stand up. Your father's passin'." All around her in the "Colored Balcony," all the spectators are slowly rising to show their respect. I have seen this film eleventy thousand times, and even in a room full of sophomores, my eyes fill with tears.

2. The lobster bisque at Cabin Club restaurant.

3. The lobster risotto at Brio, which, for a chain restaurant, is darn good.

4. The mussels in pernod butter sauce at Carrabba's, another chain restaurant that does good food.

5. Pretty much 2/3 of Chapter 31 of To Kill a Mockingbird. I had to stop reading it aloud to my classes. The part where Scout turns around and starts to narrate how things look through Boo's eyes on his porch..."and Boo's children needed him"...I just can't get through it.

6. The wordless scene in the 1996 film The Crucible when the camera pans the crowd during the hanging of Rebecca Nurse. It shows her elderly husband in agony, clasping his hands prayerfully among the other self-righteous Puritans. Again, I've watched this movie countless times, over and over again in the same day with classes, and it never fails to move me.

7. Visiting the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. I once had a guard in the Dutch Cupboard approach me as I stood, tears streaming down my face, in front of the Vermeers. "Are you all right, Miss?" he asked me as he touched me gently on the arm. I was completely embarrassed. I had no idea I was crying. I was overwhelmed. I could see the brushstrokes. On one, I could see an actual hair from his brush! Do you know there is a DaVinci there? I almost threw up.

8. The song "One Thing" by Finger Eleven. There's an association with it that I can't explain here, but hearing it prompts an involuntary tearful response.

So...what about your Teary Tendency? What sort of odd things get your waterworks working?

I Know Hillary Clinton, I Supported Hillary Clinton, And You, Sarah Palin, Are No Hillary Clinton.

Forgive me if I'm a little late to the party on this one. And, you know, I wasn't even going to say anything at first, but I find that I just cannot let this go. It's too much.

The vice presidential selection of republican John McCain is an insult to women everywhere. Giving Alaska governor Sarah Palin the nod was an obvious play for disgruntled Hillary supporters, the number of whom has been grossly overstated by the media since Barack Obama snagged the nomination.

How ridiculous.

Let me just say this: I supported Hillary Clinton. Sarah Palin is no Hillary Clinton, and women Democrats everywhere will not be fooled.

Women, Mr. McCain, are not interchangeable. When Sarah Palin, your designee, stood beside you, she invoked the name of two other women--political pioneers--and who were they? Elizabeth Dole? No. Condoleezza Rice? No. Geraldine Ferraro and Hillary Clinton, both Democrats. How will that play to your Conservative Christian NeoCon base? What was Mrs. Palin trying to say, Mr. McCain? Just exactly what party is she representing? How will that speech play at the RNC fundraisers or at the Convention? It won't. And the Family Values Voters are already cringing at the news that her unmarried 17-year old daughter is pregnant. (Let's all remember Governor Palin's vociferous denial of support for anything beyond abstinence-only programs in schools.)

Mr. McCain, I live in Ohio and I voted for Hillary Clinton. She stands for what I value and she has the fighting spirit I admire. Sarah Palin is in direct contrast with everything Hillary Clinton stands for, and therefore me as well: Sarah Palin would take away a woman's right to choose a safe and legal abortion, even in cases of rape, incest, and the health of the mother; she is against stem cell research, she opposes the use of birth control pills and condoms, even among married couples; she supports the teaching of creationism in the classroom--already declared unconstitutional by the Supreme Court...oops; she supports drilling in the ANWR and is against the polar bear being on the endangered species list, despite the fact that the government has already done it...oops; she supports No Child Left Behind. I'm not sure what else she stands for, and I'm not sure she does, either. Her speech was...well, let's say...'scant.' We do know that her husband is a super snowmobiler and that she fought to cut property taxes. Yay.

But I digress.

My point is this: if the McSame campaign thinks for one moment that Doing The Math is this:

1 WOMAN = 1 WOMAN

THEN THEY ARE WRONG.

It's Not Easy Being Three Plus Some Other Stuff That Just Won't Sit Still And Behave

Hey, everyone! The Dept. is Three! And according to this article, now my blog is "full of energy and enthusiastic about living!" It is also "very curious about everything that goes on around" it. This third year is a year that will be filled with changes for my blog, say these experts. About halfway through the year, my blog "may suddenly become strong-willed and disagreeable. It may become emotionally insecure and anxious. It may also become very picky and hard-to-please. "

Wow.

Sounds like both my blog and I will be going through menopause, people! This is not going to be pretty. Holy crap.

In the meantime, I wanted to just get a few things off my mind since it's been such a long time since my last post. I'm way overdue, and so much is happening all over the place that I have to say something!

1. Physical therapy: Tedious, boring, horrid, silly-looking. Some days I cry and it's embarrassing. Some days I look around at what we all are doing and I think "This is what insane asylums back in 1934 looked like."

2. Joe Biden: How much do I love him? He's a good pick for Barack's VP, and he is just terrific. You just know that he'll come out gangbusters with that mouth and start firing off some great ones at McSame while the press chuckles and the republicans cringe. He is a pit bull and the Obama campaign needed someone with that earthy gravitas.

3. Olympics: Why did I have to see eleventy billion hours of beach volleyball and NO cool stuff like javelin, shotput, decathlon, shooting, hammer throw, or THE MEN'S BASKETBALL GOLD MEDAL GAME? Why is beach volleyball even an Olympic sport? And, does anyone really want to watch PEOPLE RUNNING A DISTANCE RACE? AT ALL? No.

4. The Story of Edgar Sawtelle: I do not read fiction, as a rule. I read this book as the last book of my summer. It was gorgeous and moving. It was the author's first novel and if it is his only, it will either be a tragedy or it will be his one book a la To Kill a Mockingbird for Harper Lee. Go get it and read it. The writing is superb without being "writerly" in that it doesn't take away from the power and readability of the narrative. Beautiful, heartachingly sublime writing.

5. McSame's Bullshit: Hey, John, "my friend". Two things. Only a Rove-ian protege can commandeer your campaign and turn it into the disgusting crapfest it has become: painting the first black candidate as a high-class elitist country-club snob who wants to burden the middle class with higher taxes. Excuse me? You cannot remember the fact that you own seven homes. And when Jay Leno asked you about it in a joking manner, you fell back on being a POW and said, “I spent five-and-a-half years in a prison cell. I didn’t have a house. I didn’t have a kitchen table. I didn’t have a table. I didn’t have a chair." We get it already. You WERE a POW. WERE. And this is relevant now....because...how...? SHUT UP.

6. Gas Prices: Hey, the price of oil keeps dropping. Last time I checked, WE WEREN'T DOING ANY OFFSHORE DRILLING IN THE U.S. Is anyone noticing that? Do you think we're...oh, I don't know...finally catching on to this Conservation Thing? Sigh.

7. Meet the Press: Okay, I like Tom Brokaw, but he's not doing it for me here. He's just not. He's got a whole Sean Connery Mouth Full of Oatmeal thing going on there that I just don't like for the long haul, and I don't find him all that riveting. My heart is still searching. Rick says that Chuck Todd (aka The Professor from MSNBC) is The One, and that may be a possibility, but I have a major thing for David Gregory. But he's already got a full dance card at MSNBC and I don't see it happening.

8. Hillary: I love you, girl, but you gotta let go. It's time. The Party is paramount. We need to beat the republicans hard, and until you just stand up and say "It's time", some people just cannot let the last dog loose. Let it go. Just let it go.

9. School: Sigh. Where did summer go? Oh, I know. Doctor offices and therapy rooms. And I'm resentful and not Over It yet. I'm back, and it will be Okay. I am getting stronger each day, but it has been a meat grinder for me. But you know me: THEY will never ever know it.

All done. Joust away in Comments. I've missed everyone. I will try hard to get to your spots soon. But, remember, I'm three now, and I am "naturally self-centered." I believe "the world revolves around" me. But I am "beginning to understand that others have feelings and needs too." I'm trying hard to find energy and time for everything. Please be patient with me.

I'm only three!

...But just barely. Holy crap, what a ridiculous, screwy, confusing almost-week it's been. You know I won't get into a bunch of Medical Details, but I want to let you know what the deal is so that those of you who have been so kind and concerned are all squared away on Things. Plus, "My Condition", such as it is, will be informing my life for a bit of time to come here, and that will affect my posts here at the Dept.

Anyway.

Surgery did not quite go as planned. Once the doctor got the instruments into the four portals in my shoulder, he found that there was NOT a bigass tear in the rotator cuff. The MRI had provided a false read. It was, as I had known all along, my second case of adhesive capsulitis--this time in my other shoulder. The adhesions were horrible, and he birsed them all away and cleaned up the area. It was only after he did so that he was able to finally fully raise and rotate my arm. My "rise" from the anaesthesia and return home later that day was largely unremarkable--those of you who have had surgery know all about the labors of trying to sleep and the post-op discomforts, etc. That is nothing out of the ordinary. I had to keep my arm in a sling for two days.

After those two days, I went to physical therapy and the doctor and got all the tape and packing and the four small stitches taken off/out. The sling was taken away, and I was given the first round of physical therapy, and the doctor's blithe philosophy, which is: "It's going to be hell for the next 4-8 weeks. Intense. And I don't believe in pain meds. It's pretty much Aleve and suck it up."

Okay.

So let me tell you this: I don't "believe in pain meds" either. I had adhesive capsulitis before. And the pain is excruciating. I cannot describe it except to tell you that it is like knives at one time, then like insistent throbbing the next, then like someone taking a rope and wrenching your arm out of the socket when you least expect it. And this could all occur in the space of, say, two minutes. Over and over again twenty-four hours a day for months and months. Aleve does not even begin to do it. So, doc, don't give me your bullshit, okay? How about this instead: "I know you'll be in a lot of pain, and believe me, I'm sorry. But pain meds bring along a whole other set of problems and I'd rather not set you down that road. Let's be realistic together and agree that therapy will be painful, but it will be worth it."

Yikes.

Sorry. I'm being a bit negative. Sigh. Here's the thing. I'm not real sure the surgery was entirely necessary at this point. As I said, I've had this before, and I got through it without the surgery; it merely ran its course, and I had therapy at the end when it "thawed", when I was not in as much horrible pain. Now, I'm still in the terrible pain I was in before surgery, and I'm in pain from post-op, and I have the soreness and stiffness of working the joint and muscles that are slack from not being used. I don't get it.

I am very grateful that I didn't have the torn rotator cuff. That surgery is nasty to come back from. I'm grateful to be able to start school on time, but I feel so weak and tired and not 100%. I start in just a few days! It feels impossible. And I wonder how they (both my family doctor and the surgeon) could have been so wrong with the MRI. Last time, the other surgeon (this guy's brother, ironically!) looked at the MRI that had been read as a tear and immediately diagnosed adhesive capsulitis and that it was a false tear. No one really answered my questions adequately, and it's really just too late now. "It is what it is" and the best I can do is just do my therapy and get over this hump.

I want very much to be well. And soon.

This is sounding un-Nance-like. But we all have our Off Times. I am a firm believer in Wallowing When Necessary. I know many of you will want to suggest Drinking Overmuch as my Home Therapy. I have considered it and discarded it for now as Dangerous. I like Drinking as an Indulgence, as a Happy Thing or as a Rewarding Experience. Drinking now would seem like a Desperate Thing. Not good.

Ah, well. There it all is. But, I am back. And soon, the Rest of Me shall be as well. I don't often wallow long. But I do think I have reason.

IT'S ALIVE!

Thanks so much for all your kind emails and encouragement in comments. I'm doing very well, and I'll be back here in a day or two. There's lots to talk about.

In The End, It's All Politics--But The Politics Never Ends

Like the Obama campaign, I have been trying to calculate when to release this post so that it gets as much attention as possible and gives me the maximum bounce in the polls and is not overshadowed by the 2008 Olympics Live from Beijing. You know...8-8-08 and all that crap.

There is, quite possibly, only one thing that I am sicker of in the news these days than The 2008 Olympics Live from Beijing (8-8-08), and that is Brett Favre. So, let me just say this: Brett Favre is just a football player. He did not discover a cure for AIDS or cancer. He did not build low-income housing for the poor, nor is he rescuing millions of people in danger in Darfur. He did not biologically engineer a new species of drought-resistant grain to feed the starving, nor did he build a fuel cell that will allow my car to run on water. He is a snarky prima donna who has decided that he can't live without his little sport and wants to return to it and is astonished that people moved on without him. SO! PEOPLE! MOVE ON!

Moving on.

(Note to general media and ESPN--see how I did that?)

I will say one little thing, however, about The 2008 Olympics Live from Beijing (8-8-08), and this it is: the government there has the right idea. They have published and distributed to their citizenry a little booklet that instructs them all in the finer points of acceptable dress and behavior. I am certainly on board with that. This is exactly what we in the United States need Government for. It is painfully obvious by a cursory glance in any public venue that Most People are simply unable to do this themselves.

This booklet in China was written by--get this title--the deputy director of the Office of Capital Spiritual Civilisation Construction Commission. Holy crap! It contains these fashion admonitions:
*don't wear your pajamas in public
*don't wear white socks with black shoes
*don't wear more than three colors in your outfit

It also contains these behavior rules:
*no spitting
*stand with feet slightly apart or in the shape of a V or Y when standing
*no public displays of affection
*handshakes should last no longer than three seconds

As you may recall, I have offered to make the Department of Nance a bona fide Government Office and take it upon myself to be the Authority about such things as these. I wouldn't even expect a bigass title like the Chinese guy up there. (Although, wow. That's way impressive.) I also find the Chinese rules to be reasonable and would echo them in my own booklet. But, how do you get your feet in the shape of a Y? Hmmm....

I would probably add a few, as you can guess:
*no Crocs or flip-flops at all; you cannot control yourselves
*no miniskirts or belly shirts if you are over 25
*no sweatpants in restaurants, ever
*no visible underthings of any kind ever on anyone
*no talking on your cellphone at a cash register
*no talking on your cellphone in the restroom
*no children under 17 in any movies rated R whether an "adult" is present or not
*no food or drink allowed inside a live concert or play or musical venue during the performance

That's just a preview, plus my arm hurts. A LOT.

Finally, let me say this--I live in Ohio, also known as The Swing State to Rival All Swing States. We are bombarded with television ads from both candidates on the half-hour. And I have to tell you that I find the McSame ads so incredibly offensive, so obviously mudslinging and defamatory that I cannot even begin to tell you how angry they make me. The one where he actually asks the question "And who is to blame for high gasoline prices?" and then shows a picture of President-Elect Obama and plays a track of a crowd chanting Obama's name makes me ill and is so patently absurd that I cannot believe it is still running. It's even been mocked by members of his own party. And do NOT get me started on the "Celebrity Ad" where he compares President-Elect Obama to Britney and Paris. And his comment to a questioner at one of his "events" was that this ad was him "just having a little fun." He reminds me of the odd, slightly creepy uncle who likes to tickle kids until they beg him to stop, but he doesn't; they start to cry and then he says, "Oh, come on! We're just having a little fun!"

As a teacher, here are a few reasons I'll be voting AGAINST McSame:

*he supports a plan that would base my salary on students' test scores. That's like your dentist being judged by how well you brush or floss at home. Who controls parenting/the home environment/nutrition/access to materials? (AP 7/8/08)

*he wants people to buy their own health insurance on their own rather than get it from their employers. He proposes a new tax on people who do get health care from their employers. (CNN 4/29/08)

*he voted against 5 billion dollars in public school funding while voting for 70 billion dollars in tax cuts for millionaires. (vote #269, 10/26/05; vote #83, 3/21/07)

*he supports No Child Left Behind, but voted to kill efforts to fully fund it. This single piece of legislation is hamstringing our schools and teachers and, ultimately, our kids. (CNN 11/3/05; AP 4/13/07; H.Con.Res.95, vote #114, 4/28/05; S.Con.Res.18, vote #68, 3/17/05).

Go here to get a free Obama button. Be on a mission. Be the change you wish to see in the world. Get enough to give to friends or leave in places for people to pick up. You never know.

In Which I Share, Complete With Intimate Photos

Entering dangerous territory here. I'm not a Sharer By Nature here at the Dept. But posts are about to get fewer and farther between, and you need to know why.

Well, it's been a rough summer overall. As you know, the maintenance of EmilyCat had become increasingly difficult, and I was her sole caretaker. She suffered two "episodes", and was losing weight alarmingly, despite the fact that all she was able to do was eat and sleep. Finally, after she became obviously confused--she kept wandering and whimpering--and unable to consistently use her litterbox, we had to put her to sleep. Here she is a few days before Her Final Rest, when we decided to let her have a day of wandering about the garden.

For the first time in 18 years, we are petless. It's a little odd--a little disconcerting. I don't really miss Emily because in her last year or two she was not very...interactive. She was, in a word, bitchy. But I miss the idea of her. I do still actively miss TravisCat, who was very cuddly and funny puppy-like.

The Big Deal, the one thing that is most upsetting and has been affecting me all summer is this:

That is my MRI. It is my shoulder. It is a picture of my torn rotator cuff which has made my life a litany of pain for months now. Thanks to The Insurance Company, I had to suffer through a month of physical therapy--which actually made it worse--before I could even GET the MRI which showed that I needed surgery, which I will now have on August 12th. Right before I have to go back to school. My entire summer has been an unceasing routine of doctor appointments, physical therapy sessions, and pain. ALL OF WHICH COULD HAVE BEEN AVOIDED IF I COULD HAVE HAD AN MRI IN LATE JUNE.

And yes, there is an undercurrent of fear flowing along with all this anger. I. Am. Terrified. I do have absolute faith in this orthopedic surgeon. It is an arthroscopic and an outpatient procedure; I'll be home the same day, thank goodness. I have had orthopedic surgery before, though, so I know about bone pain and rehab. But I am terrified. I hate hospitals, no matter if I'm in them or visiting them. I am scared of hospital infections.

And it's--of course--my right arm. I'M RIGHT-HANDED. I can't even begin to think about what all this will mean when school starts and I'm in one of those horrid goofy slings for six to eight weeks. It's overwhelming.

So! I'm behind on posts--especially at The Tie Report-- because, quite frankly, it hurts to type and I have to rest a lot while I do it. And I'm not feeling like myself. And once I have the surgery...well...I just don't know how it will all shake down at that point.

Sigh. It all sucks. Can I get a Do-Over?

Day Two--So Much Wine, So Little Time (But We Made The Most Of It)

Sunday dawned pleasant and partly sunny. We lingered over breakfast and decided that we had no real agenda other than to visit Rosewood Estates Winery and Meadery in nearby Beamsville. Our charming innkeeper Tim had thoughtfully printed out directions ("straight from Google!") from the front door of the inn to the drive of the place. We packed up our cooler and snack bag, piled into the car, and set out.

The winery is in a lovely setting complete with a pond and honking Canada geese, for whom we stopped (and then made Ali get out and chase from the side of the road. One of them hissed at her and stuck out its tongue. They are really mean.). The building itself is stately and gorgeous. We were the only visitors, so we were able to get very personal service. We tasted their wines, but of course we were anxious to get to the meads, of which they produce two. The traditional mead is their Harvest Gold dry; the other is a varietal called Mon Cherie, which is a rosé mead made by adding cherries. None of us had ever tasted mead before, so we had no idea what to expect in aroma, taste, appearance...anything. And it was different than we thought in all of those categories! First, I expected it to be a little thicker, kind of like syrup since mead is, after all, fermented honey. I also expected it to smell like honey and nothing else. Finally, I expected it to taste very sweet and sugary, but still like wine.

It was none of those things! The mead was just the same viscosity as wine or water. It had a sort of floral smell overall, then a bit of a honey note. (The Mon Cherie did have that bouquet of cherries also.) But there was also a sort of musty, lavender smell. Finally, the taste: I almost cannot describe it. I'm not even sure I like it! It's a bit musky, floral, a touch of vanilla in the finish, but not an overwhelming amount of honey, nor was there the expected sweetness. The Mon Cherie had the cherry note, but it was not a primary note. It was the oddest sensation, to drink "wine" and not have the sensation of "grape" or "fruit." Rick bought two bottles of it, though, so I will have time to culture my palate a little and see what I think. In addition to the mead, we bought a bottle of their Meritage. This is a variety of wine I had been tasting with intent to purchase at each winery, but I had been mightily disappointed until Rosewood. Meritage is a red wine that kind of reminds me of a "Gentlemen's Club", in that it evokes a paneled study, leather-bound volumes, a good cigar, and a big marbled steak. It's oaky but not too tannic, has a little bit of plumminess and almost a cocoa finish. So! Our big Mead Adventure accomplished, we inquired about wineries in the vicinity. "There are tons right along this road!" said our tasting guide. "There's one right next door; didn't you see it?"
We had, but because it was made of material and had architecture so similar to Rosewood, we assumed it was part of their winery. It was, in fact, a place called Angels Gate.

I won't spend much time on this winery because we didn't spend much time there, and I don't recommend you do, either, if you are ever in The Bench area. It's beautiful, yes, but it's not very welcoming and although they had a positively orgasmic Old Vine Chardonnay there (at $25 a bottle, steep if you are buying a case, I think, and too good for just one or two bottles, thereby making it just too darn pricey) their Gamay Noir is what I need to warn you off of. When I went to taste it, the smell of it was downright nauseating. It smelled exactly like what a wet load of laundry reeks of when you've forgotten it in the washer for a day or two on a hot day--that sort of wet, used, three-day old dishrag smell. Funky, mildewy...urgh. I gently said to the girl, "Could you smell this, please? I think something is amiss." The girl smelled it and sort of wrinkled up her nose a bit. Then she called on another girl, and this girl (who was all of 25), after hearing a brief explanation, poured a sample, swirled it, and took a whiff. She looked at the other girl, looked at me, and said very patronizingly, "That's what it smells like. There might be a bit of bottle shock, but it's fine." What a load of bullshit. Bottle shock makes wine tasteless or a bit lackluster and watery. It doesn't make them stink like wet dog. Besides, if a winery is serving brand new wine at a tasting bar before it is past the danger of bottle shock, then they have no idea what they are doing, and I am not confident in their product or their staff. I said, "Oh. Well, thank you then." We ended our tasting immediately. And left. But I will say this: that Old Vine Chardonnay was incredible--smooth, butterscotchy with a hint of vanilla and a bit toasty. Heaven. But one bottle would just make me crazy for more, and it's too pricey.

We visited at least six more wineries, and I can't possibly go into detail about all of them, but I will give you highlights of a few of them and their wines:

Mountain Road Wine Company was definitely a highlight, though not for atmosphere, certainly: it was like walking into a small basement studio apartment. When we pulled up, there were two women eating lunch at an umbrella table at the end of the driveway. As soon as we stopped the car, they hurriedly gathered up their things and scurried inside. They were the sole employees! They were so pleasant and knowledgeable, and this winery offers a full tasting of all of their wines, including all of their icewines. This is unheard of at all NotL wineries. Icewine runs about $70 a bottle (on average), so wineries charge to taste it. Not Mountain Road! We tasted all 4 of their icewines. And let me tell you: when I tasted their Cabernet Franc icewine, I had to hold onto the edge of the counter to keep from swooning and moaning and...well, let's just say that they need to put at least an 'R' rating on that stuff. It is incredible. My eyeballs literally rolled back in my head. Rick said, "She doesn't need me anymore." Nice man...he bought me a bottle anyway. They also have a wonderful table wine simply called Mountain Road Red that would be great with Italian food or nibblies--you know, snackies like chips, cheese and crackers, grapes, etc.

Cornerstone Winery is run by a Polish couple, and the draw here is their fruit wines. If you are the type of person who likes the idea of drinking wine, but wishes it was more fruity and...well, less sharpish and aged-tasting on your palate, then these wines are for you. Cornerstone has peach, apricot, cherry, and strawberry wines that were inspired by Wanda, the winemaker's wife, who wanted something different. The strawberry is especially wonderful--the fruit flavor is bountiful and natural. It's like drinking Smucker's strawberry preserves, but not so cloyingly sweet. Next year, Cornerstone will have a port wine available, something I have never seen at a winery in NotL or The Bench.

Thirty Bench is a pretty big player in The Bench area. When we walked in, we were swooped in upon by a "Private Wine Consultant" who offered to take us on a personalized tour and private tasting for ten dollars each. We declined and were summarily shown the tasting area and given the standard Free Tasting of two wines, the house riesling and the house red. But, that was okay because the 2007 Thirty Bench Riesling is lovely. It is crisp, clean, and has a beautiful aroma of pears and citrus. The finish has a great snap of lime. I loved it and bought it.

Crown Bench is an interesting place with a Santa Clausy Hungarian vintner who is at once pretentious and passionate about The Bench area and his wines. He is also crazy knowledgeable about all things oenological. By this time, I'm a bit buzzed, so I'll pretty much talk to anyone and listen to anything, so he was shamelessly flattered. The cool thing here is this guy's icewines: he makes them in seemingly endless varieties and a tasting includes one of your choice. I chose one called "Chocolate Ambrosia" and Jared chose "Hot Ice", which was flavored with chiles. All I ended up buying was a bottle of his Verjus, a gourmet cooking item.

As I said, there were a couple other wineries--maybe three, maybe four--one of them is affiliated with Dan Aykroyd's label--and we bought wine at a couple of them. But these were the highlights of our trip to The Bench.

Now do you see why we brought home more than 50 bottles of wine? Looking back, I'm surprised we didn't end up with much more!

A Taste Of My Vaca-hic-tion--The First Two Cases (Or So)

Sigh.

Now that I've gone and told you that I crossed the border with over 50 (FIFTY) bottles of wine, some of you are curious as to just where I got all this vino, and if all I did on this little vacance of mine was to simply go meandering about the Ontario countryside, swishing and not spitting.

If only!

Of course, I jest.

Our primary focus when we jaunt off to Canada is The Shaw Festival in Niagara-on-the-Lake, (NotL from here on out, because it is such a bitch to type!). Click that hotlink when you get a chance and check it out; there are short previews of a couple of the plays available to watch, lots of information and plot synopses, and the Festival runs through Nov. 2nd. There are many great deals on tickets available, especially for students and those 30 and under. We saw two productions this time, Mrs. Warren's Profession and Belle Moral, which is a new play submitted under the newly-expanded rules of The Shaw. Heretofore, The Shaw Festival only put on those plays written during the era of George Bernard Shaw, but now they have decided to include plays that are set during the era of GBS. Both plays were extremely well done, but we vastly preferred Belle Moral, due to the preachiness, long-winded speeches, and lack of comic relief in MW'sP.

Our second reason for the trip was to score some more of Caroline Cellars' Pinot Cherry wine. We discovered this gem on our last trip up to NotL in December. And we REdiscovered it on Independence Day when we had our now infamous Liquid Dinner To Celebrate The Birth Of Our Nation. It's a gorgeous light red with a cherry finish that is lovely when barely chilled. Caroline Cellars was one of the first wineries we hit on Saturday in NotL because I wanted to be sure we could get a case. While we were there, of course I thought it prudent and only polite to taste all of their offerings. They also had a terrific new rosé, very aromatic and pretty, so we bought some of that as well, and headed out to our most favorite winery of all. This one actually was the sole reason for our road trip back in December. I know, how sad.

I had emailed Rosi at Cattail Creek that we were coming, and she emailed me back immediately. She was thrilled that we were on our way--they had a bunch of new reds she wanted us to taste with her. But she was sad to inform us that our all-time favorite wine, the 2006 Off-Dry Reisling--an award-winner for them!--was completely gone. (Ha ha! Not for us! We still have almost a case! ) We zipped over there for a huggy reunion and got down to serious business. Rosi does very generous pours...of all the wines...and we bought another case. This time a split of half Chardonnay and half Gamay. The Chardonnay....oh my. So buttery and lightly oaked and smooth that it was like biting into a piece of morning toast. Mmmmmmm. And the Gamay was like a round, plummy Beaujolais, only crisper, with a small spice note in the background.

This was our third tasting because we had started at another winery to allow Jared's girlfriend Ali to go on a full tour of a winery. By now, I've had...oh, let's just say a lot of wine. I've only dumped probably two. And we've already bought 28 bottles. It's amazing how it just adds up!

Then we simply had to go to Reif Estates Winery to visit our buddies, Carol and Dawn, two sisters in the wine boutique and tasting bar there. We met them in December and they fell in love with Jared and wanted to fix him up with Carol's daughter. (They also shamelessly flirted with Rick, which is understandable--they are in his demographic. All women over the age of 55 adore my husband, and the older they get, the more they love him. In this case, it is absolutely okay because it means free wine tasting. I'm no dummy.) Astonishingly, we see both ladies and they remember us immediately without us even saying anything! Carol is now the manager of the boutique/tasting bar, and she tells the bartender "Give these people anything they want" and shoots them The Look. We taste everything on the tasting menu at no charge. Both ladies stop by often and chat and flirt. Carol tries to fix Ali up with the young man in charge of our tasting in order to free Jared up for her daughter "who is on Facebook, by the way." As we leave, Ali is presented with a free box of icewine chocolates by Carol, who explains, "Since I was a little bit mean." Rick and I buy...oh, I forget, but I think two...three bottles...? Some. (Just kidding. We got a couple of bottles of their Gamay Rosé, which is not only pretty to look at, but has a very beautiful bouquet of strawberry and rhubarb. The finish is not tannic at all, and it is only mildly sweet. As you can tell, we're going in for light reds a bit, and rosés.)

At that point, basically, I was hammered. I'm not going to lie. We had taken along some food in the car, but I had drunk quite a bit of wine, and because we had gone back to very familiar wineries with staff we had developed a relationship with (or as Jared so eloquently put it "we rolled VIP"), we had been treated to some...extremely generous pours. We decided to call it a day after we ran into one last winery merely to pick up a bottle of wine that the vintner likes to call Darth Vader--it's a sinisterly dark and smoky 2003 Cabernet that, for some reason, I really enjoy even though I normally do not like big oaky reds. Rick and Jared have a major aversion to this winery, and admittedly, I'm not a fan, either. It smells musty and doggy, and seems sort of like it's for The Old Folks. Just gives off a really odd vibe. But that Cab--nice.

It was definitely time to pack it in. We were seeing a play that night, and we had to get cleaned up, find a restaurant, and get some dinner. We had succeeded in our Plan For The Day, which was to get a case of Pinot Cherry, take Ali on a winery tour, and go back to visit Rosi and her new reds at Cattail.

On Sunday we had the Entire Day To Do Wineries, and we had A MISSION. We had heard of a Winery & Meadery in a town about 40 miles away. For years, I had read about and taught about knights and lords and ladies drinking mead. I wanted to try it! Sunday would be the day. And while we were there, we'd investigate the other wineries in that area, known as "The Bench".

I'll take you with me in the next post. Bring a bottle of your favorite--excuse me, that'd be favourite--vintage, and a lovely glass.

Back To Life; Back To Reality

It's over. I have returned. I vastly overpacked but wore all three pairs of shoes. My wardrobe was appropriate, but my hair (thanks to an abundance of humidity) looked terrible every single moment except for the first evening's play, where I considered asking them to keep the house lights up so that everyone could appreciate it--my hair, I mean--but decided it would be vain. After all, the audience had gathered there to see a professional performance of George Bernard Shaw's Mrs. Warren's Profession, not my coif.

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On the way to Canada, the following dialog took place:
Me: Hey, did you see that?
Rick: What?
Me: There was a guy standing on top of that water tower!
Rick: Did he have a gun?
Me: No...
Rick: Then don't worry about it.
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Approximately three blocks from our house, we discovered that we had left for our four-hour trip without amassing any CDs to listen to. Rick said, "Oh, don't worry. I grabbed some out of my truck." There was a long moment of silence as Jared and I absorbed this news. I turned to the back seat and exchanged a horror-laden glance with him. "What?" Rick said defensively. "Nothing," we assured him. But we knew what we were in for. Rick's musical taste is...eclectic in the extreme. And his CD collection consists of burned discs of not names, but graphics like a blue Sharpie cloud scribbled on it, or a red Sharpie cloud scrawled on it, or the dreaded blank CDs which are like reaching into a grab-bag and drawing out a prize wrapped in tissue paper: you have no clue what might be inside. Thus, we immediately instituted a Two-Skip Invocation Rule, whereby anyone in the car can invoke two skips. If a song comes on that a listener cannot abide, he or she can simply state "Skip", and Rick (who has audio system controls on the steering wheel--I know, how cool is MY NEW CAR!?) will simply skip that track, no questions asked. Well, let me tell you...we had a wild, unconventional potpourri of Earth, Wind & Fire, Keith Urban, Carl Orff, Wang Chung, Eminem, Wayne Wonder, Seal, Edwin Starr, The Cars, oh...the list is endless and incredible. He tried to sneak some Kid Rock and Alan Jackson in there, but I invoked. Oooh, baby, did I invoke. All I can say is, thank heavens for Blue Cloud Disc. Wait...or was it Red Scribble? Never mind.
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Things got a little sketchy at the border coming home. I am all about BORDER SECURITY. I really am. And I realize that, perhaps, four and a half cases of wine seems like a lot for just four people after only a long weekend. I do. But really, isn't asking, "What are you going to do with 50 bottles of wine?" kind of...dumb? And disingenuous? And did the Customs Officer have to preface his question with "Oh my God! That's like...fifty bottles!" Geeze.

Trying to make me feel bad.

Ready To Pack It In For A Few Days

Sigh. Is there anything more vexing about getting ready for a little vacation than packing ? I detest it. One has to be a veritable seer in order to do it effectively. "What might the weather be like? (Yes, I've heard of weather.com, but that isn't foolproof, you know!) How many pairs of shoes will I really need? Can I get away with wearing this dress twice since I'm going to two different theaters? What might I feel like wearing? What if I spill something, tear something, lose a button on something, bloat and feel too fat for something? Can I both walk a fair distance and feel presentable in these shoes? Will this sweater match more than one outfit? "

Aaaarrrrgggghhh!

Thank heavens I'm riding to Canada and not flying. This means full-size toiletries and unlimited amounts of them. Contact solution, shampoo, styling gel, lotion, deodorant, makeup, toothpaste...I MIGHT JUST GO GET WAREHOUSE-SIZED INDUSTRIAL DRUMS OF THESE THINGS BECAUSE I CAN! The airlines can go screw themselves. Hard.

I also have to think about Road Food: this part of the trip can be critical. No way am I allowing snacks like Cheetos or Doritos or melty chocolate stuff in my still-pretty-new-and-therefore-unsullied car. I must choose wisely. Also considered must be the perfect balance of savory and sweet, salty and not-so-salty. And I cannot have tons of room taken up by a bigass cooler, either. And--Road Food becomes Room Food. Must remember that.

Right now, there is laundry in the dryer, dinner waiting to be made, most of my Jaunt Wardrobe laid out on the bed, and what's left of my sanity dangling over the precipice. I hate getting ready to Go Away.

If it sounds like I need this little jaunt, it's because I do. I'm hormonal. I'm snarky. I'm fussy.

I'm sure I'll be fine. See you in a few days.

Barack, Boozing, Guilt, And Cruising...Good Lord, Strap Yourselves Down

Put on your seatbelt, and consider taking me up on the offer of that helmet. It's time for a ride on the Bullet Train Through Nance's Brain. There's no set route, and stops are random and frequent. Here we go:

• Hey, Barack! Stop wearing The Flag Pin. What is Up With That Lately? One of the big reasons I respected you so much early on was how you calmly dug in and politely told all the zealots to go pound salt about it. About how wearing a flag pin didn't make you a True Patriot. Now you're wearing the hell out of it and, quite frankly, doing some pandering to the moderates and Reagan Democrats, whatever those really are. I have to tell you, I liked you better before. Let's remember the Primary Campaign Barack and get back to Him. And fast. Oh, and those of you who are all about The Flag Pin and The Yellow Ribbon Magnets and The Car Window Flags and all that other Fake Patriot Bullshit? How about you do some real Patriot-ing and do what I do? Donate to the USO. Put your money where your mouth is.



• Speaking of patriotism, can we please call Fourth of July "Independence Day"? It sounds much more dignified and really speaks to what we are celebrating. I don't call my birthday "Third of May." We don't call Christmas "Twenty-fifth of December" and we don't call Thanksgiving "Third Thursday of November." Besides, to be historically accurate, what exactly happened on July 4, 1776? Look it up; you'll be surprised, I think.

Now I'm getting cranky, aren't I? I promise to stop being so snarky for the rest.

• Today, I said, "I really need to get the backs of my legs tan. The fronts look fine, but the backs are pretty pale." I was immediately struck by how terrible that sounded. In what shallow, pathetic universe is that even a permissible goal to have? At this very moment, people are saying things like, "I need to take my mother to chemotherapy" or "I need to work on the cure for AIDS" or "I really need to find a job" or "I've got to find a good tutor for my autistic son" and I am saying "I need to work on my tan." I am disgusted by my hideous, skewed summertime priorities. But really, the back of my legs are pretty white and I am going to be wearing sundresses on vacation next weekend. And I will not be fake-baking, so it's not like I'm paying money for the tanning. Do you hear me just now? I am actually justifying my depravity! I'm so sorry.



• Last night for dinner we (Jared, Rick, and I) had: 5 bottles of wine and some shrimp cocktail. It was a holiday. Don't judge. It's entirely possible that we had something else and I just don't remember. Small triumph--no one had a hangover.



• It has been about 3 weeks since a shoe purchase. I am very proud of myself and I do think this proves that I have considerable fiscal responsibility, maturity, and restraint.



• (Yes, I do see the irony of those last two adjectives after the previous bulleted item.)



• I am getting A Haircut on 8 July. Naturally, in preparation for this event, my hair has looked Fantastic for an entire week now. Previous to this, my hair has been hideous and Uncooperative In The Extreme. I am a teensy bit bored with my hair, though, and I am fighting this feeling with all my might since the last time this happened, this happened. Followed immediately by this. "Just get a trim," I am repeating to myself, mantra-like.



• Speaking of hair, I don't get convertibles. One went zipping by us on the highway the other day. In it were two teenaged girls with long blond hair whipping in the wind. It was about 85 degrees outside, sun blazing, they were going about 70 mph, and I was stymied by the whole thing. I mean, I absolutely cannot stand wind: when I am in the car on the highway and Rick has his window down and I have mine even a tiny bit down, not only is the wind annoying, but the noise! The radio--forget about it. You cannot hear it unless it is turned up to eleventy thousand decibels and then it's impossible to enjoy. And those girls' hair had to be lashing their faces and getting in behind their sunglasses, whipping them in the eyeball...how is that pleasant? And the heat! Coming up off that asphalt...oh, and let's not forget the road detritus flinging up off the pavement! And bugs! And then, when they arrive at their destination--the aftermath of the ride on their appearance! Yikes. How is it all worth it? Wasn't putting a roof on the car an improvement? A technological advancement? Hmmmm....

Hope the ride-along in my brain wasn't too awfully bumpy. I warned you. And you did have the option of putting on the helmet.

If It's Cheese, It Leads

As an English teacher, I like to think I appreciate a good metaphor. I find our second-floor school lounge computer's Star Wars-esque mousepad extremely satisfying, emblazoned as it is with the slogan Metaphors Be With You. This is why a recent news item has me somewhat stumped.

Sculptor Troy Landwehr has chosen a one-ton block of Wisconsin cheddar as his medium and reproduced John Trumbull's painting "Declaration of Independence." Now, if you're not sure what painting this is, simply open your wallet or purse and withdraw a two-dollar bill, turn it over, and look at the back. There it is. (Or, click this handy link! Never let it be said that I don't run a full-service operation here at the Dept.) Here is my issue. I don't happen to find this painting particularly cheesy. I mean, there is no attempt on the part of Mr. Trumbull to insert himself in the painting, or to make the signers look dramatic or florid, or to have anyone draw a sword or stand atop a chair or table as if making a heartfelt patriotic speech. The style is realistic, the skill level good, the balance fine, and the subject matter admirable. So...I don't get the whole Cheese Metaphor. Why this painting? Why cheese? I have to say, I'm even a little offended. Last year, Landwehr did a replica of Mt. Rushmore in cheese. Even worse! President Lincoln--Abraham Lincoln--is on Rushmore!

So, I am offering my assistance to Mr. Landwehr. I want to make sure he avoids the same pitfalls next year, those being A) offending American Patriots (me being one) everywhere; B) appearing to make fun of American historical giants (i.e. President Lincoln, Thomas Jefferson); C) completely missing the point of metaphorical humor/expression/irony.

Here are my suggestions for next year's subjects to be carved in the Cheese Of His Choice:
1. Dogs Playing Poker: These depictions have been the Epitome Of Cheesy Artwork forever. Let's face it. No one except college students, bachelors, or bachelor college students would hang these in their homes. The fact that they exist in a series is just incredible to me. Look, I think they're funny and all, but come on. Cheese factor is like...limburger.

2. Elvis On Velvet: Please. Do I really have to even talk about this? Fact: you can buy these off of individuals who park on the side of the road and have them draped over their cars. This one is especially unbelievable. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit. Cheese factor...Velveeta on a toothpick served as an hors d'oeuvre. With ketchup and mustard mixed together and served as a dipping sauce. Blech.

3. Anything by Thomas Kinkade, self-proclaimed "Painter of Light." (AKA "Painter of Crap" and "Painter of Kitsch" and "Painter of I'm-The-Franklin-Mint-of-The-Middle-Middle-Class") Here is all you need to know about this guy: He is now painting NASCAR race scenes. He's gone from cozy little cottages with flowered gates and haloes of light to "43 mighty race cars thunder[ing] by as "The King" himself, Richard Petty, waves the green flag for the start of the 50th Running of the DAYTONA 500®." Doesn't matter; his stuff isn't art. He's finally realized his audience and he's exploiting them. Cheese factor: Low-fat Kraft American Singles.

4. Precious Moments figurines. Honestly, what is the deal with these things? Normally sane grownups have cartloads of these; moreover, they display them in their homes. Where other people will see them. Certainly I can understand if one has a gaggle of these doe-eyed aliens as the result of a childhood collection. But...it's time to put them away. They're juvenile, they're scary, they're...frankly pastel and fetishistic. Get over it. Not art. Not even close. And oh so very cheesy. Cheese factor: String cheese. Because IT'S FOR KIDS.

Okay, I feel like I've done my part. For Troy Landwehr, for art, and for America. Oh, and for cheese.

"Jug Of Warm Piss" Or Not, Tell Barack I'm Ready To Serve

So I'm watching Meet the Press on Sunday and Joe Biden is on and he gets The Question. It's inevitable, and I'm loving it because I love Joe Biden who is so bombastic and truthful that it's a little like watching a cross between Howard Dean and a pit bull on steroids go after a republican holding a raw Tbone. Here's the most germane part of the exchange verbatim:

MR. WILLIAMS: You interested in the vice presidency?
SEN. BIDEN: I am not interested in the vice presidency.
MR. WILLIAMS: You're not interested in the vice presidency.
SEN. BIDEN: I'm not interested.
MR. WILLIAMS: MEET THE PRESS, April 29th, 2007, Tim Russert asks Joe Biden, "You interested in being vice president?" "No, I will not be vice president under any circumstances." But in a different answer, you answered you'd have to say yes. I don't know, so...
SEN. BIDEN: Well, no. The bottom--look, the--when I was asked that question, I thought I was still going to be president. Now--number one, I, I am not interested in being vice president. I've let the candidate know. If the candidate asks me to be vice president, the answer is I got to say yes. But he's not going to ask me. Look, you cannot walk away...

Exactly, Joe Biden! And therein lies the point of my post today. If Barack Obama asked Joe Biden to serve as his Vice President of the United States of America, he would say yes. Who the hell wouldn't? When called upon to serve, you serve! This is your country we're talking about, ladies and gentlemen! In case you haven't noticed, it's in a big stinking mess, thanks to the republicans. It's time to roll up your sleeves and get to work on cleaning things up around here. Time to recall the words of a famous Democrat and put your own affairs aside and get on with the job.

This is exactly what I said to Rick and Jared as we watched MTP's segment. (Among other things. I also called Sen. Lindsey Graham an Old Lady Fussypants and referred to South Carolina's secessionist tendencies, but I digress.)

Me: You go, Joe Biden! Everyone would be Vice President. Or at least they should. I would!

Rick: You'd make a great vice president.

Me: I would be Barack's vice president in a heartbeat. Wouldn't you, Jared?

Jared: No.

Me: What?! Of course you would! You have to! This is your country we're talking about! If Barack Obama needed you, you would serve.

Jared: Nope. I would be a nightmare. I would tell everyone to go f*ck themselves.

Me: No you wouldn't. You would want to help. You're a student of history. You would care deeply about our country!

Jared: It sounds like a lotta work to me.

Me: Jared! Besides, you get a motorcade and all kinds of cool stuff.

Rick: Nance, it's perfect for you. You finally get to live in D.C., and have a staff and a driver.

Jared: Oh my god. Mom. You just had me drive you around the other day for six hours while you shopped for a purse. And you called and had Ali meet us at the mall to help. There's your driver and your staff. And you boss me around like nuts. You're already vice president.

Summer Sojourn Part I

Had an impromptu outing with my sister Patti yesterday, and I have to say it was a real shot in the arm. Shamefully, we don't get together nearly as often as I'd like, despite the fact that we live near each other and are terrific companions. We talk about absolutely everything, but she does like to get me fired up about The Politics more often than not. I think she knows that I have serious Perspective Issues, but I'm owning that; I embrace it, and even though she does take a serious risk hauling me around in her Brand New Car when I get all excited slagging off on the republicans in general and The Angel Of Death in particular, she knows that the Entertainment Value alone is well worth it.

So, yesterday, while we were leaving the tearoom and walking toward yet another Shoe Shopping Indiscretion (it's only June and I've already bought 6 pair--but none at full price!), I notice one of those "Support Our Troops" yellow ribbon magnets on the back of a van in the parking lot. "Geeze, I hate those frikking things," I say to Patti. "They're pointless and worthless. Not to mention meaningless. Do you know how many of those kinds of ribbony magnet thingies there are now?" We climb into her car and start driving. "There are approximately eleventy million," I continue. "There are pink ones for breast cancer. Light blue for prostate cancer. Puzzly ones for autism. Black for POWs. And by and large, none of them were bought with any of the money going toward that cause. Some of them even say things like 'I heart my rottweiler' or 'I heart the Gators.' And the whole thing came from some dorky song by Tony Orlando and Dawn about some convict in prison who was coming home from serving his sentence! Is this really the context we want for America's servicemen and women? And get this! I used to take them off the back of cars and throw them away! What do you think of that?!" I banged on the dash of her car for emphasis.

Patti looked over at me calmly and smiled. "I'm not surprised at all. And, for the record, I never liked that song."

*More of our outing in the next post.