If You're Not Stressed Already, You Can Read This Post And Jitter Vicariously

If you're like me--and believe me, I sense your panic through the Interwebs already just at the thought of that--you've been feeling kind of stressed lately. And it's not any one thing, either. It's an all-over, total-body workout sort of stress that makes you feel as if one minute you're wading through wet concrete with a toddler strapped onto your back, and the next minute as if you're wearing rollerskates and careening downhill. After drinking a double-shot of espresso. In a Red Bull.

I get you. Hoo, boy do I get you.

When I get like this, everything's a crapshoot. There might be dinner; there might not be. I might make it past 7:30 pm before I fall asleep, mouth open like a 90-year old rest home resident on the couch; I might not. And work? Let's not even go there. I cannot even begin to tell you what it's like because every single teacher at my school is living this too. I've never heard so many creative uses of The Eff Word in the lounge in my life. And while many of them are, in fact, coming from me, a helluva lot of them aren't.

So.

While I've got a bit of a head of steam built up here and you're a nice enough audience, I'm going to blow some off. You know, work through it a bit, and see if I come out on the other side. Here goes.

HEY! I get that the weather here has sucked really bad since Christmas. We've had the worst, coldest, snowiest January on record. Some people have not been able to take down their Christmas lights/decorations. But it's February, so WHY ARE YOU STILL TURNING THEM ON? Also, we did have several days above 40. Couldn't you take the wreaths off your houses at least? Holy crap. Who are you people, anyway? How holiday-challenged are you?

GO AHEAD! I'd like to take all these self-righteous republicans and tell them to go screw themselves. I'm sure you've heard the latest: some republican governors are loftily asserting that they will refuse the federal government's stimulus package funds. This is, to quote the ageless cliche, cutting off their nose to spite their face. Something tells me that if Alaska and Louisiana (those poor, poor people--again abandoned by an idiot republican politician!) don't want the money that's coming to them, I bet my state of Ohio will be glad to take their share.

AAARRRGGGHHH! Speaking of shares, I'm finally getting mine, and I'm talking about grey hair. I turn 50 in May, and heretofore I have not had much grey hair that's noticeable. Thanks to the stress levels I've been enduring in the past several weeks, there has been an Explosion Of Grey Hair on my head. I pointed this out to Rick today as we were out running errands (shortly after I pointed out--for the umpteenth time--that he was still over-accelerating our hybrid, thereby reducing its fuel efficiency; it was even at the exact same place that I pointed it out the last time! When will he learn?). Rick said (without even looking), "You can't turn grey in such a short time, Nance." I said, "Certainly you can. If someone is under extreme stress, she can turn grey practically overnight. It's been documented and scientifically proven." He smiled and said, "One of my customers told me I've gotten a lot greyer lately." This is typical. It is A Rick Strategy when he doesn't want to argue with me. It is called Divert The Topic Away From Nance. Sigh. At least I prefer this strategy to the other one he employs which also follows the smile. It is called Chuckle And Tell Nance She Is So Cute.

PFFFTT...Well, I feel a little bit better. At least it's the weekend. And this winter can't last forever, can it? And pretty soon, I'll probably stop watching the news, except to see Brian Williams' tie. That might help. And the grey hair? Oh, hell.

Politics Inspire A Revival Of The Snarku! (All This, And A Long Weekend Too! Hey, That Rhymed!)

The Muse is upon me, Dear Readers, but I'm still feeling pretty snarky about a lot of things, especially the Political Landscape. This can only mean one thing: it's time to revisit the Snarku. For my longtime readers, you may recall this poetic form that I created back in the summer of 2007. For those of you who are new to the Dept. or who may not recall what the Snarku is, here's a quick refresher.


The Snarku retains the original syllabic structure of the haiku: the first line is 5 syllables, the second line is 7 syllables, the third line is 5 syllables. But, the Snarku differs in that it is 2 stanzas, not just one. This allows the writer/crafter of the Snarku to really build up and then blow off the head of steam he or she has about the topic being expounded upon. The only other "rule" of the Snarku is that by the end of it, there should be some residual sense of snarkiness.

Now then, let's get snarking, shall we?


To The Minority Party, In Hopes That They Recall Their Status

Hey! Republicans!
Remember THE ELECTIONS?
Reality Check--

Your way didn't work.
In fact, you broke the country.
Now let us clean up.


Their Sense Of Entitlement Is Breathtaking

Here's an idea
For all U.S. senators
pay your damn taxes!

Don't try telling us
"Oh, it was an oversight."
We're not idiots.




Take The Gloves Off

Bipartisanship?
Honeymoon's over, Barack!
(They're sore losers.)

We all saw you try.
Now it's time to kick some ass.
(We'll take down their names.)





Vanity, Thy Name Is John

What's with Boehner's tan?
This guy is from Ohio,
Capital of Clouds!

How vain is this man?
Foundation? The tanning bed?
Metrosexual!




Go ahead and get your Snarku on in the comments section. Or your plain old Haiku. You'll feel cleansed and poetic. Kind of like a...colonic for the soul. Or not. ?

Stop That Stimulus Vote! I Want To Add A Few Billion To Combat Rampant Stupidity

All right, everyone. The time has come for the Dept. of Nance to answer the call of duty...er, hold on. Make that The Call Of Duty (there, that's better; if ever the shift key were called for, this is it). There is just way too much Stupid going on out there, and it is High Time that someone did something about it. It's patently obvious that no one else is stepping up, so once again, I am offering my services. Certainly, President Obama can do far worse than to offer me a position in his Administration. My credentials are above reproach, my wardrobe is impeccable, and my admiration of President Lincoln and his wife is indisputable.

But I digress.

My point, and I am well on my way to making it, is this: Stupidity is once again running free in America, and the media is perpetuating it as a legitimate news source rather than calling it what it is or, better yet, ignoring it because it is...stupid. My job, which I will eagerly and cheerfully undertake, is to smack down the stupid. Immediately and with great zest. If necessary, I will provide intelligent commentary, replete with polysyllabic words just to counter the effect that the stupidity may have had.

Had I already been on the job, here are a few Stupid Things I would have already taken down.

Item: The No-Jacket VS. Jacket in the White House Controversy. "Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you all for coming. Let me assure you, President Obama is never unaware of the gravity of his responsibility, both to this great nation and to the Office of the Presidency. His sartorial presence is but a miniscule part of the Oval Office, a room in which the defense of your rights, the Constitution, and the refurbishing of America's image across the globe must take priority. At this epoch of economic distress, it may be that the visual metaphor of your leader sitting down in shirtsleeves, ready to roll them up and engage in hard labor to get you back to work, is perhaps more encouraging than you know. Now haven't we all got something far more deserving of our distress? Because, really, this is, in a word, stupid. Good day."

Item: "Everything I've ever needed to know I learned through sports," chirped Sarah Palin to Esquire magazine. Among other g-dropping, folksy, inexplicably goofy things. Really, Sarah? Everything? You know, Esquire, after she said that, I would have stopped the interview. Because that's just stupid. I've never played sports in my life. Millions of people, millions of them much smarter than both Sarah and I are, never did either. This quote is the equal of Sporty Sarah's avowal to Katie Couric that she did, in fact, read "all of the newspapers." Why is the media still covering this woman? I'm torn here, you know? On the one hand, she's a complete embarrassment to the republican party, and if she's their face and frontrunner for 2012, I couldn't be more delighted. On the other hand, however, she sets Women back about 200 years every time she opens her mouth. She might need a little Back-Room Stupid Smackdown: "Look, Sarah. I know you cannot possibly help yourself at this point, and I appreciate any woman trying to run a little game on the Big Boys in politics. But do yourself a favor and read a hardcover book, subscribe to a newspaper and read it, and since I know people like you subscribe to Reader's Digest, start doing the "Word Power" section. If possible, try not to speak any more until you perform these small tasks. Thank you."

Item: Octuplet Mom Is Swamped With Media Deals. Because so many people want to know how they can be the unemployed single parent of 14 kids, and live with their parents, yet claim that their childhoods were "dysfunctional" and that they "just longed for certain connections and attachments with another person that [they] really lacked,...growing up." That they "...didn't feel as though, when [they were] a child, [that they] had much control of [their] environment. [They] felt powerless." Remember, this woman's parents (who perpetrated the claimed dysfunction) now live in the home and provide child care! The Octomom, 33-year old Nadya Suleman, is now being repped by a public relations group who is sifting through book and TV deals. The PR firm has already had to discount published reports that one offer was for Suleman to host a television show on parenting. Now that would really have been the Epitome Of Stupidity. But this whole thing is stupid, stupid, stupid from beginning to end. And don't even start with that "Who are you to judge" bullshit. I'm a rational, sane person, that's who. And if you're 33, living in a house with your parents, have no job, already have SIX KIDS, then you don't go and have EIGHT MORE. PERIOD. Especially if part of the reason you were out of work is because of anxiety over the last time you had a baby. And because your back is injured. Do you know how much backwork is required in being pregnant and caring for SIX kids, let alone EIGHT? And what the hell happened to Doctors' Ethics? A big dose of STUPID, that's what. I don't know if a plain old Verbal Smackdown will do it in this case. I might just have to get physical.

LINE 'EM UP !!!

Ahem.

This is only a small sampling of Recent Stupidity that needs to be smacked down. Michael Phelps, grab a towel and get over here. Your poor mother.

When Right Is Wrong And Simple Gets Complicated

(This was mentioned in an email by my buddy Shirley as a possible topic to explore here at the Dept., and when it came up in the comments section on my other blog, I thought it deserved discussion.)

Have you ever noticed how damned hard it is to do the right thing anymore? We were told to start drinking more water, so we all ditched soda and began buying bottled water. Now we're being carped at about how gullible we are for spending money on water, of all things, and worse, for overloading the landfills with more needless plastic containers. Then, we find out that--horrors to end all horrors--the reusable bottles we opted for to save the environment are made out of Bisphenol A and phthalates, which are detrimental to our health and may linger in our bodies far longer than first thought. Holy crap. What the hell are we supposed to do? I guess just dehydrate or get hammered on wine, which, depending upon the studies, may or may not be good for us.

We're all trying so hard not to add to the general clutter of our planet and our lives. The mantra for the last ten years seems to be Simplify, Simplify. I like the concept. I really do. I used to get two newspapers a day. I subscribed to four magazines: Vanity Fair, Newsweek, Entertainment Weekly, Bon Appetit. Then I realized something: when each one came, I sat down immediately and read it, cover to cover. Then it sat on the coffee table where it used to get knocked off by someone (Jared or Sam) propping his feet up or a rambunctious cat event, or used as a coaster. I had to keep moving it to dust or look for something. Eventually, I'd recycle it, then wait for the new one. And I hated Magazine Gleaning--you know, the time you take to first rip out all the stupid subscription cards, overpowering perfume samples, and freefalling ad cards that inhibit your reading enjoyment. Finally, I stopped renewing, and I don't miss any of them. I read lots of interesting stuff online. Where there are no annoying cards, no smelly perfumes, and I feel like I'm being environmentally-conscious as well.

But...yikes. Have you seen this? I feel really guilty! So many magazines are folding. So many people out of work! Crap.

Now, the newspaper thing is a little different. I am down to one newspaper a day for an entirely different reason. I stopped our local paper because I just could not tolerate A) the poor level of writing; B) the obvious bias against our high school; C) the delivery person's stubborn refusal to stop tracking through our landscaping. Okay. But my wonderful remaining newspaper, the Cleveland Plain Dealer is having its problems as well. Layoffs! Job cuts! The publisher that owns it and other newspapers sees a grim future. People are getting their news online, no doubt about it. And...that is keeping lots of paper out of the waste stream. And the demand for recyclable material in this economy is down anyway. See what I mean? I'm being green and environmentally responsible! Yet I might be hurting the U.S. economy as well!

I think this is, perhaps, an example of a Catch-22.

So, my question is: Am I part of the solution or part of the problem?

Am I The Only One Keeping Up Appearances? (If So, Then The Martinis Will Have To Be Stronger)

On Friday Rick and I ate dinner out, and I indulged in two of my guilty pleasures, martinis and People Snarking. It's a terrible thing, I know, but I just cannot help but be continually aware of how some individuals simply do not care how they present themselves in public venues. True, we were only eating at a franchised restaurant, but it was still a nice one, and I have long maintained that if one is going out in public, one should bother to put on something more decent than what one finds on the Five-Cent Table at a garage sale and consult the services of, oh, perhaps a mirror before one goes out.

Anyway.

As Rick and I were having our drinks, I noticed a large table directly in front of my field of vision, inhabited only by a middle-aged couple, but set for a party of considerably more. The woman was wearing (horrors!) a baggy could-be-grey, could-be-light blue, who-the-hell-could tell sweatshirt, and her hair was a ratty, 80s modified page boy with feathered bangs and that terrible dry, home-highlighted-with-the-roots-showing look. The husband looked much more decently attired, which surprised me: sweater, Dockers, hair neatly combed. It did not surprise me one bit when their drink order arrived: two beers, a Budweiser and a Miller Lite. What did not arrive, however, sparked the following conversation:

Me: Do you see that? You have got to be kidding me.
Rick: What?
Me: Why on earth would you order a beer in a restaurant and not at least get a glass?
Rick: I don't know.
Me: That's just awful. It just looks terrible. If you have to order a beer, at least drink it out of a glass. Good heavens.
Rick: Well, I like beer, but for you tonight, I've stepped it up and ordered a Captain and Coke. Aren't you proud of me?

Me: Whatever. People could look over here and think you're just drinking a Coke. How would they know it's a rum and coke? They wouldn't. They could think you're a recovering alcoholic.
Rick: Well, if they knew what I lived with...

Welcome To My America, At Long Last

(image from cleveland.com/darcy/)

"I leave you now and you will write it. You will interpret it. That's your right. But as I leave you I want you to know — just think how much you're going to be missing. You won't have George W. Bush to kick around any more."

Okay. So I took a bit of a liberty with that quote. The Angel of Death didn't actually say it, Nixon did. But it's timely and it's fitting. Despite W's overall demeanor during his Farewell Tour, he's been more than a bit edgy from time to time, and he's never been shy about maintaining that he'll be more than happy to have History be his Judge. He should--and probably does--know better. After a momentary fugue by the legitimate press, he has been judged all along. And it hasn't been favorable, Fox/Faux News notwithstanding.

I've said plenty all along, with lots of other Democratic bloggers, and I'm probably not done, but that's not what this entry is about. This post is about my elation, my glee, at what is to come.

For too long, we've celebrated mediocrity in this country, led by a buffoon who crowed about his C average to the graduating class at Yale. The electorate punched their ballots for a "guy who they'd like to have a beer with," and they glorified an anthem with the lyric line of "we'll put a boot in your ass/ It's the American way." This administration was a big, dumb, self-righteous bully who thought it could wreak havoc during the week and by going to Sunday service, ameliorate all its sins and start over again on Monday. We all got bossed around by a bigassed Hemi-driving, hobnail boot-wearing, gun-toting, Bible-thumping, loudmouthed, blinder-wearing heehaw who was born on third base and grew up thinking he hit a triple.

But it's over.

I'm ready to celebrate the Return Of Intellectualism. Ladies and Gentlemen, a person who knows how to speak correctly is taking The Big Chair. This is a man who has corrected his subject-verb agreement on the fly. With a collective pronoun subject. I. Know. This is a man who is proud of his education. He speaks in measured tones and uses the spoken word as a tool to motivate, not instigate and provoke hostility. Civility will be making a comeback. The press didn't call him No Drama Obama for nothing. So far, even Maureen Dowd's worst barb has been to say that perhaps Obama is "neurotically reluctant to make enemies" and "prefers seducing...antagonists." Oooooh. (And W. called her "Cobra?")

Whatever. I'm all excited. It's cool to be smart; I've always felt it to be so. I'm just glad that now the rest of my country will come out of hiding with their fancy schmancy books and newspapers and >gasp< poetry and wine and stuff! Are we Elitist? Maybe not anymore.

Come out, come out, wherever you are. It's lovely--reading, sipping a glass of nice vintage, discussing books or politics, being pleasant and polite. Starting tomorrow, it's The American Way.

The Wild Kingdom (And No, This Isn't About School)

Time once again for Dept. of Nance to alert you to News In The Animal Kingdom. Lest you should worry that I am becoming something of a One-Note on the subject of pandas, I have this time a virtual menagerie of creatures to discuss (although there is, in fact, a panda among them). So grab a handful of kibble or a nice fish or something, and let's dive in!

Many Dept. readers will recall this post I did earlier about the pelican who slammed into a swimmer's face off the coast of Florida. Well, perhaps it was not just a rogue bird after all! According to Jay Holcomb, executive director of the International Bird Resue Research Center in San Pedro, California, hundreds of pelicans have turned up wandering along roadways, crashing into boats and cars. "These birds are on the freeway getting run over," he said. Holy crap! This is happening in Oregon and California! Imagine the trail of death and destruction, I said to myself, that these birds left in their wake from Florida on their way West. But no: some experts think a marine neurotoxin in algae may be the cause; others, that the birds ingested some chemicals, used to fight Southern California's wildfires, now flushed into the ocean. Personally, I liked the image of Badass Pelicans On The Move from Florida to California, slamming into stuff as they move West.

Next, we have the admonition of biophysics researcher Gabor Horvath, who would like us to please, dim our lights before we totally screw everything up for everybody--and by "everybody," he means "animals in general." Artificial light from the world's cities is leading wildlife in wrong directions, and often straight to their deaths. Insects that lay eggs in ponds and lakes are confused by the tall glass-surfaced modern buildings and mistake these structures for bodies of water. Cute little baby sea turtles use the direction of moon and star light reflections off water to navigate to the ocean when they leave their nests on the beach. These babies make wrong turns and migrate toward the big city's downtown lights. So many metaphors spring to mind here, not to mention classic song lyrics: "How you gonna keep 'em down on the farm/After they've seen Paree?", for example. Imagine the poor sea turtle, trying to make it on his own in Vegas or New York City, when we all know how tough it is. Everyone there is a waiter/actor or a maid/singer. Come on! Traffic and rent alone are ball-busters.

Did someone ask for a Panda Story? But, of course! This time, it's Gu Gu, a panda at the Beijing Zoo who has tasted human flesh not once, not twice, but now for the third time! Apparently, a man and his son were playing catch with a stuffed panda near Gu Gu's enclosure, and the toy went over the five-foot fence. (Note to Zoo: five feet isn't much for a panda enclosure.) The good dad went into the pen when he thought the coast was clear, but Gu Gu went on the attack. The victim, Zhang Jiao, did not fight back because as he said, "The panda is a national treasure, and I love and respect [him], so I didn't fight back. The panda didn't let go until it chewed up my leg and its mouth was dripping with my blood." Wow. I hope all that was worth it for a stuffed panda toy, which is pretty much what old Zhang Jiao became at that point. What is it with these Chinese and these pandas? Don't they read CNN.com? Because this is the eleventeenth Panda Mauling Story I've read, and they've all been in China. OKAY.

Thank goodness the Animals are taking matters into Their Own Hands and are helping each other out. In Australia, sheepdogs are being used as protectors for a colony of endangered fairy penguins. These Maremma dogs were enlisted two years ago after the number of penguins in Warrnambool dwindled from 1000 down to 10 due to attacks by non-native predators. These dogs bonded with the flock of penguins, going so far as to lay down their lives to protect them. Does anyone else sense a Disney Movie Opportunity? Happy Feet meets Lady and the Tramp? I'm also wondering how a dog bonds with a penguin. Does it start walking funny? Does the dog slide around on its tummy or wear a tuxedo? And what's in it for the dog?

It's a jungle out there, Dept. readers. And remember, there are more of them than there are of us.

Pieces Of Eight For '09

Wow. Talk about "being off the grid." Hope you all had a great holiday and are looking at 2009 with at least some Cautious Optimism. I have the oddest feeling that The New Year hasn't even started yet--and won't--until we have Our New President. Like 2009 is being delayed until the Inauguration. Poor Barack Obama: the entire nation is holding its breath, and the collective sigh on January 20th will probably blow him off the podium.

It's hard in such Times As These to think altogether positively. We're being bombarded by Bad News, and frankly, I'm damn sick of it. Taking my cue from this article, I'm going to come up with eight good reasons to be cheerful, even just for a little while. See if you can do the same.
Oh, come now--do try!

1. Netflix--So forgiving and so convenient. Non-judgmental and not pushy. So, I ordered Traffic and let it sit for two weeks and realized, "Hey, I really don't feel like watching this. Doubtful that I ever will anytime soon. See ya, Traffic." Back in the mail it went, and two days later, here came In America. Did Netflix get all bossy and snarky about it? No. For the record, it did not.

2. Coffee--The unsung hero of my very existence. All it takes is one sip and I am reanimate and alert. I am like Dr. Frankenstein's monster getting a voltage jolt in his neck bolts. Am I addicted and a caffeine junky? Definitely. If you feel like preaching to me about it, I suggest you cop a more Netflix-type attitude. Thanks.

3. Aveda Brilliant Hair Gel--And, by association, Rick, who does not hammer at me mercilessly about how much it costs. This is the only hair product that performs consistently on my idiotically temperamental hair. I love it and it smells really good. All of these things are major benefits, as you all know, and are worth the cost. Almost. Sigh.

4. No More Math--As a grownup of 49+, I am now old enough to refuse to do all math. I detest math; I never succeeded in math; I find math to be annoying, frustrating, and pointless. Certainly, I can do basic arithmetic (i.e., adding, subtracting, multiplying, and division that is not "long"), but as soon as you stick in letters, we must part company. If letters were meant to be part of math, then the alphabet would read as follows: A1B2C3, etc. It is not; therefore, Algebra is bullshit. So, if math is involved in anything, I simply stop whatever it is and defer to someone who is more mathy. Period.

5. Medium Coming Back--This television show is a good one, and it's due to return to NBC on February 2nd. I'm not even sure if it's the premise of the show anymore (housewife with the ability to communicate with the dead) that I am intrigued with as much as it is Jake Weber, who plays the husband. His character is endearing, and he's just interesting looking. I've written about him before. Who cares? It's destination television for the Dept.

6. Camisoles with Shelf Bras--I love these things and wear them constantly. I detest bras in general. I have no idea what size I wear. I only have one that is decent and I tore the tag out years ago. Instead, I wear these little spandex camis under everything, so I have them in about eleventy hundred colors. They keep me warm, and since I am...er...not very amply endowed, they contain me just fine. I know that someday I will have to be (heaven help us) professionally fitted for a real brassiere, but I keep putting that off and hoping The Bra Fairy will just leave a nice assortment under my pillow or in my lingerie drawer. What?

7. Doris Kearns Goodwin and Michael Beschloss--I love these two historians because they are so incredibly smart, articulate, and interesting. I read Goodwin's book Team of Rivals about Lincoln's cabinet when it first came out, and I could not stop reading it. Her writing is compelling and just the right mix of conversation and scholarliness. Michael Beschloss is an expert on the US Presidency, and it doesn't hurt that he is very tall and handsome. He is quick to point out leadership styles and pitfalls in governance. I practically drool when these individuals are on Meet the Press. It is also thrilling that Our New President Obama is a student of history. To me, this is Absolutely Critical.

8. Knowing How to Cook--I am so very glad that I know how to cook. I can stand in front of my pantry, fridge, freezer, and cupboard and pretty much scare up a meal any day of the week when I have to. Yes, I bitch and moan about having to much of the time because I do get sick of being The Creative Force Behind It All, especially when I don't feel like eating, but still, I can do it. And I'm not afraid to toss stuff together and try something new. This is especially fun during the summer months when I have more time. (Although, I made a lovely ham and bean soup this week that was, I must say, poem-worthy.)

And now it is your turn. You don't even have to think of eight. Brainstorm one or two small things of comfort that are cheery and pleasant and good. Let's get some good karma flowing for '09 here at the Dept.

Merry Christmas From The Dept. Of Nance

It's time, Dept. readers, to take a Long Winter's Nap and spend that Quality Time with family and loved ones dear. I plan to rest, recharge, and make a Real Effort to think about What's Really Important.

As a very smart person who happened to be a minister said in the paper the other day, Christmas should be more about presence than presents. I hope to remember that.

Thank you for your presence here: your spirited comments, your emails, and your support at Stuff on Our List and at The Brian Williams Tie Report Archives.

The vast majority of you, I've never met--yet I feel like we're old friends. And that's so very nice.

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Have a Very Nice Rest

from Nance, Rick, Jared & Sam at

Dept. of Nance

Just Because It's Christmas Doesn't Mean I Have To Be Jolly (Although I Am Trying)

Christmas shopping this year was brutal for--oh, so many reasons--and at one point, I just wanted to go buy one of those electronic bullhorns and stand in the middle of the mall and yell the old Susan Powter mantra Stop The Insanity, but I knew that while everyone would hear me, no one would listen.

The item that really sent me over the edge was this, the Digital Photo Watch. Holy crap, you're thinking, in an age of thong underwear in the little girls' department, this is what sent Nance over the edge?

Yes. And here is why.

I'm becoming increasingly irritated by the mania our society has for Multi-tasking Items. It's bordering on the insane. Just look at cell phones. It's not enough for you to be able to just place and receive telephone calls. Good heavens, how archaic! Cell phones must also have keyboards so that you can type inane messages like idk, cu l8r @ moms, k? . They must also be Internet browsers, email centers, messengers, mp3 players, high resolution digital cameras and video recorders, sound recorders, and GPS devices. For the record, I have had the same phone for 6 years; it does none of those things, and I am fine with that. Pretty soon, cell phones will devolve to the point where the advertisements will read: This technological breakthrough comes with an optional telephonic voicer that can plug into your cellular device so that you can both make and receive calls!

You read it here first.

The Digital Photo Watch is plain stupid. Really, what is it for? Who the hell is going to say, "Want to see some photos of my grandchildren? Here, look at my watch. The pictures are only an inch and a half square, and they have, of course, those annoying hour and minute markers and hands on them, but you'll get the idea. And there are 60 of them, so I'll hold my arm up here for about 4 minutes, no problem." How horrid. For everyone concerned. A watch is a portable time device. It can be a fashion accessory, sort of. But to think that you're going to use it to effectively haul around a stack of pictures of anything is just idiotic.

People need to stop making me think I have to be doing eleventy billion things at once. I am never going to watch a movie on my computer. (That, to me, is just silly. A big, epic film on my little tiny computer screen. Sometimes I don't even like watching them on my large-ish television at home. I feel like I'm missing the experience.) I'm never going to type on my phone. EVER. I'm never going to look at photos on my watch. I'm never going to show a movie in my automobile. I'm not even going to use my microwave to disinfect a sponge! I'm never going to do those things. Period. There's just a lot of really distracted, unfocused people wandering around doing half-assed stuff, and they think they're multi-tasking effectively. They're not.

They're inventing silly, random crap that other people are buying because they're too busy doing ten things at once, probably gabbing on their cell phones, to notice what goofy gifty they're loading into their shopping bags.

My Theme For This Christmas: Focus On The Family (Whaddya Mean "That's Taken"?)

We finally got The Tree up at the Dept., and let me tell you--there is nothing that makes a bigger Scrooge out of me anymore than that job. I know, I know, how horrid does that make me sound as a Person and as a Mother and as a Woman and, by default therefore, The Holiday Bringer? But, holy crap, when it's just two grownups wrangling a seven-foot spruce and eleventy billion strings of mini-lights, the Jolly goes out of the task really fast.

(Interjection here by Rick: Whaddya mean "two grownups?" You are a lightweight and can't even stand near the door while I bring the damn thing in because you will get cold. The stand weighs more than you do. I do all the lights while you dress up the mantel. Now go ahead. )

Anyway.

After all the grunt work is done, the decorating begins, and that part is pretty okay. I mean, I try very hard not to be a real martinet about which ornaments hang where; it's just that some ornaments are front-of-the-tree ornaments, and some...well, they just don't make the cut. They're not First-Stringers, if you know what I mean. Now, ornaments I inherited from my dad's childhood tree? Front and center. Those have sentimental value. Plastic ornament I can't remember the origin of? Back of the tree. Handpainted likenesses of the dear departed TravisCat and EmilyCat? Hanging together in the front, right next to the sweater-head girl ornaments that Emily used to sneak off the tree while we were asleep or at work and we'd later find in her water dish. All the ornaments have a hierarchy, and almost all have a memory attached to them of some kind.

That's why I just don't get The Themed Christmas Tree. Really, what the heck is that all about? I mean, I understand them in stores, all decorated in a Circus Theme or a Teddy Bear Theme or a Color Theme, but that's to sell ornaments and lights. Why would you have that in your home at Christmas?

I look at the Family Christmas Tree as an eclectic celebration of the family. The ornaments are things that you've collected, things your kids or you have made, things that reflect your lives. Each year, Jared and Sam and I would take a day and go to breakfast and then go and look at all the decorated trees at the department stores. Each of them could pick out a special ornament of his own. To this day, each remembers which ornaments belong to whom. For a while there, they were stuck on foods: we have a kiwi, a pear, a pickle, a slice of watermelon. Then it was animals. Then sports. But the point is, those decorations personalize our tree. And when those boys leave my home to start one of their own, they can take those ornaments with them.

A theme tree doesn't have any of that. It matches a room. Or an idea. It could be anyone's tree. It could be in Pier One or Pottery Barn or Macy's just as well as in your home.

I think the absolute worst theme tree I ever saw was in a garden center in 1997. That was the year that Titanic hit the big screen. This garden center had a Titanic theme tree. I almost threw up. It had a continuous loop of the Celine Dion theme playing, and it actually had a few replicas of the ship stuck in it here and there. The ornaments were all rather Edwardian looking--lace, muslin, flowers, some baby's breath, all that crap, and some blue plastic gemstone hearts. But what a horrific idea. I leaned in to my husband and said, "Where are the life preservers and the bluish, lifeless bodies? How about a few chunks of polar ice?" Good heavens, how tasteless. And the Cleveland television station came to do a story on it! Why do I live here? Aaarrrrggghhh!

Every year there is a story about The War on Christmas. Every year I think that's a bunch of bullshit. What we really should be fighting against is The Theme Christmas Tree. It's destroying the very fiber of The American Family. So, right now--go get some pipecleaners and some Cheerios and make a wreath to hang on your Christmas tree! Make a Rudolph out of popsicle sticks and cotton balls! To paraphrase Charlie Brown: "It's not such a bad little tree. All it needs is a little love."

(Oh, and here's a Classic Dept. of Nance Post about Christmas Trees Past.)

Sex And Gay Marriage In The School Library

"Mrs. D., why is it that all everyone talks about is sex?"

I turned to face Alex, one of my juniors doing research in the library. I heard the scrape of chairs as half the kids at computers pushed back to see what my reaction would be. Patti, one of the librarians, smiled behind him. Quickly, I scanned Alex's expression: his face was open and inquisitive. He wasn't trying to start something.

"Well, are you referring to the research topics in class, Alex? Remember, everyone in here chose a controversial issue, so topics like gay marriage, whether or not homosexuality is genetic and things like that are issues that your colleagues chose to research. That's why they're being discussed," I said.

"No, I didn't mean in here," he said. "I mean, like, everywhere. On tv, in the news, in commercials. It's sex, sex, sex. There's just a lot of it being debated everyplace. Why is that?"

Allow me to state here, for the record, that for the first time in many days, I had everyone's full and undivided attention. And believe me, I paused and thought before I answered. A. Lot.

"Well, Alex, first of all, let me say that I think you're right," I told him. "There is a lot of yammering about sex on television and everywhere else. And I think part of the reason for that is the same reason every single one of you is listening to me right now--and way more than when I talk about commas or symbolism or how to do a citation. Because sex is very interesting to pretty much everyone. Right? Sex sells. So if a show is about sex, people will watch it and then advertisers will buy spots so products make money. Sex is now the lowest common denominator. It's like, not everyone will get a political joke, but a sex joke? Everyone gets that. It's sad, really. At least, I think so."

Another student, Brittany, chimed in. "I think it's sad that some people think that someone else's sexuality is their business. I mean, my topic is gay marriage. Who cares if gay people want to get married? It's not like someone is forcing someone to be gay and get married."

Alex said, "This is what I'm talking about. I'm uncomfortable with this discussion. I don't want to think about it."

"You brought it up, dude," said Tyler, amiably from his computer in the corner where he was researching whether or not minorities are unfairly represented in textbooks. "I'm all for live and let live. My people have been persecuted throughout history. I'm not about to do it to someone else just because they happen to want to marry someone who has the same plumbing."

"Exactly!" said Brittany. "My godfather is gay. I love him. If he wanted to get married, I'd be the first person at his wedding!"

"Hmmm," said Alex. "What did you wish for?"

"What in the hell are you talking about?" asked Brittany, looking at Alex as if he had just landed from another planet.

"I just figured, if you had a fairy godfather..."

please note, photo credit

Santa's Not The Only One With An Interesting List Around Here

So I'm going through my "Blogbits" folder on my computer. This is the folder where I save all the things I read online and think, "Hey! This might make a good blogpost someday." Let me tell you, just reading the titles makes me more than a little concerned if, for some odd reason, someone had reason to confiscate my hard drive and poke around. "Yikes," he or she would say, "what the hell is wrong with this chick?"

Half of the articles lead to a 404 Error, or page not found, so I'm out of luck on those. And, I figure--just like the clothes closet rule--if I haven't used them in the past 6 months to a year, I should just toss them. But, before I do, I feel the need to at least get some use out of them. So, I'm offering up the best ones here, in a list. Here are:

The Best Headlines Of Real Stories I've Read On The Interwebs
1. Toadzilla Captured in Australia
2. Coyote Caught at Downtown Quizno's
3. Kids Take on Lunch Lady--and Win!
4. Police Boss Kills Workers Who Asked for Raise
5. California Carpenter Can Work in the Buff
6. Woman Has Yard Full of Snapping Turtles
7. Monkey Crackdown no Funny Business for City
8. Ton of Snakes Seized on Plane
9. Put Those Polar Bears on a Diet!
10. Urine Trouble--Whizzinator Makers Plead Guilty

(That last one has a great first paragraph that still makes me chuckle.)

And, actually, you can still read the Toadzilla story. Go ahead. You'll thank me for it, especially when you get to the quote that includes the phrase "rampant male." It's damn good. But I did just kill 10 possible blogposts in one fell swoop. Oh, well.

But, speaking of lists, I'll sneak in a plug for Stuff On Our List. I know readers here will remember Jared, who appears often in my posts here at the Dept. He and I have collaborated on this new blog, which we've just started for fun and a way to do something together even though he's away. Click over if you have the time and inclination.

But watch out for snakes. And toads. And really, really, fat polar bears.

In Which I Ask The Age-Old Question: Who Is Dumber, Sarah Palin or a Japanese Zookeeper?

Sorry for the stretch between posts. Things got a little...busy at the other place. I think I've got things well in hand over there now, so I can breathe again and get back to running the joint here. Onward.

And I must also beg your indulgence while I bring up yet another story provided by our friends at CNN.com, again involving our neighbors of the Asian Persuasion. And animals.

Because goshdarnit, as I said last week, "when there's a good Animal VS. Human tale, I'm all over it. That's my vow to you." And this one is especially dear to me because, as an American Public School Teacher, I'm really freaking tired of hearing just how goddam smart everyone else in the world is compared to us. How our schools are producing a nation of drooling, pantspooping idiots who are too stupid to know that "Africa" is not a country, but a continent. What? Sarah Palin thought that Africa was a country? Well...she is a pantspooping idiot. But I digress.

The story is this one, and the headline reads "Zoo Solves Mystery of Celibate Polar Bears." The dateline is Tokyo, Japan. Now we all know how smart the Japanese are. They can make an entire computer so small that it can fit onto the butt of a gnat. They have a rail system that runs entirely on human waste. They don't even use money over there anymore, just debit cards. (All of that is true. I got it from Wikipedia.) Anyway.
(the polar bear in question--look how dirty it is!)
It seems that three years ago, a zoo procured a polar bear cub, named it Tsuyoshi after a famous baseball player, raised it, and then in June, introduced it to its 11-year old resident female bear Kurumi and waited for a romance to develop. But, much to everyone's disappointment, nothing ever happened. Tsuyoshi never made any amorous advances at all, aggressive or otherwise, towards Kurumi. Finally, the zookeepers decided to find out if there was anything amiss.

"Earlier this month, zookeepers put Tsuyoshi under anesthesia to get to the bottom of the matter. That's when they made their discovery: Tsuyoshi is a female."

So! Let's review:
1. Japanese=way smarter than Americans, but
2. they raised this bear for three years
3. they thought the bear was male for three years plus
4. they had to anesthetize it to find out is was a female only after it would not mate with a female
5. they had the bear for three years when it was a baby (this, I think, bears repeating)

Yet, it gets better.

Tsuyoshi's "brother," who was adopted by another zoo, has also turned out to be female, Japan's Kyodo news agency reported.

Now! Let's recap:

1. Chinese college student breaks into panda enclosure because he wants a hug
2. Japanese zookeepers cannot tell the sex of polar bear they have raised for three years

Gosh, I feel smart!

Stupid Human Tricks, The Chinese Version

You know, it's nice when it's not Americans making headlines for doing stupid things, for a change.

I'm talking about this story, but really, there's no need to go there. I'll be quoting from it extensively here because A) it's about pandas, and B) there's just so much great stuff in it that I can't resist it. It's right up there with the Pelican Story. And you know me--when there's a good Animal VS. Human tale, I'm all over it. That's my vow to you.

First of all, thank you CNN.com for this stellar headline: Panda Bites Student Seeking A Hug. There is no freaking way I'm not reading this story. Half of me is hoping that it's not a real panda, but some minimum wage-earner dressed in a fake fur suit doing on-site promo work for a Chinese restaurant who is being mauled by some drunken college frat boy on a bender. Okay.

But no. "A college student in southern China was bitten by a panda after he broke into the bear's enclosure hoping to get a hug," says CNN.com's source. Further, "the student scaled the fence surrounding the panda, named Yang Yang," a park employee said. How many of you--right now--are saying "Why isn't this kid in class or in his dorm room studying? What was he doing at a zoo?"

"Yang Yang was so cute and I just wanted to cuddle him. I didn't expect he would attack," the 20-year-old student, surnamed Liu, said. And this kid is in college? What is he majoring in, underwater basketweaving? The history of Hello Kitty? What the hell kind of logic is that? Is this kid from Oz? His parents better do him a big favor and keep him away from the pretty, pretty kitty-cats with the fluffy heads. Or the big, brown teddy bears!

And now, to the question that we all have been asking all along and that, if this were an American newsreport, would have already been cleared up: "The student was pale as he was taken away by medics but appeared clear-headed," a park employee said. Which is the Chinese equivalent of the American "alcohol did not appear to be a factor."

To which I reply, then what the hell is his excuse?

But here's one of my favorite parts: "Yang Yang, who was flown to Guilin last year from Sichuan province, was behaving normally on Saturday and did not seem to suffer any negative psychological effects, the park employee said." I'm telling you--the Chinese are all about their pandas! Remember, there are 1.3 billion Chinese, but only between 700-1000 pandas. Which do you think is more important, some idiotic 20-year old who thinks he can hug a freaking wild animal or a precious endangered symbol of an entire country and valuable link of an ecosystem already threatened by earthquakes, climate change, and habitat encroachment? Duh.

Finally, I love the common sense of the Chinese. No constant threat of litigation there. Witness the testimony of the park employee when asked if they would be adding yet more signage warning people not to climb in and try to hug the pandas: "We cannot make it like a prison. We already have signs up warning people not to climb in," he said. "There are no fences along roads but people know not to cross if there are cars. This is basic knowledge."

Well, maybe for most Chinese. For Americans...we still put warnings on our sleep aids that they "may cause drowsiness." Sigh.

Winter Cleaning: Also Known As Cheap Therapy

Let's play a little game. It's called Cheap Therapy. I get to dump a Whole Ton Of Mind Crap on you and toss my head junk out, and then in Comments/Brainstorms, you can clean out your Cranium Clutter. Doesn't that sound great? Here we go:

^*^My blog is currently blue to celebrate the Democratic Mandate Of November 4, 2008, AKA: The Day America Returned To Its Senses. I am not particularly fond of the color scheme, so I will return the Dept. to its regular appearance pretty soon. I just really needed to react on the Interwebs.

^*^Can I just start bitching RIGHT NOW about the onrush of The Holiday Season and how it is being shoved down my throat incessantly and how it started on...oh, like November 1st? Seriously, I get that the Economy sucks and that Consumer Confidence is at an all-time Low and that if I don't start spending my huge enormous monies that WE WILL ALL BE STANDING IN SOUP/BREAD/CHEESE LINES TOMORROW, but enough already! I am not yet ready to start You-know-what shopping, so back off my jock, everyone in retail! The fact that I ordered my Thanksgiving Turkey already is major. I usually talk about ordering it weeks before Thanksgiving but don't actually get around to doing it until about four days before. So, I'm all holidayed up, thanks.

^*^Did anyone else see Brian Williams on the cover of the Sunday (11-16) Parade newspaper supplement? Was that the dorkiest picture, or what? And the accompanying piece was terrible. Come on, BW. Do not tell me that you are so pedestrian about food. Food court food? Ugh.

^*^I found a CD on my desk at home by someone named "Missy Higgins." A couple weekends ago, Rick finally decided we should listen to it. After a few tracks, this was the conversation:
Me: This isn't too bad. It's sort of like Sarah McLachlan meets Anna Nalick.
Rick: And a little Sinead.
Me: Plus some Alanis Morrissette tossed in.
Rick: Wow.
Me: Really, then why do we need Missy Higgins?
Rick: Exactly. Time to thin the herd.

^*^It's been snowing here every day for three days. I repeat: snowing. And it's sticking. On the ground and stuff. Hideous. I can think of no good reason for it. I blame the republicans.

^*^Rick has a little crush on Rachel Maddow of MSNBC. I am so proud of him. He said, "I don't know. There's just something about her. She's so intelligent and capable and has such strength about her. I'm really attracted to strong, intelligent women like her." And yes, he knows she's a lesbian. He also told me after watching the interview with the Obamas on 60 Minutes, "Wow. If Michelle came in here interested, I'd follow her right out the door." Bless his heart. I would, too.

^*^I'm looking for the perfect pair of black dressy boots. I want a high heel, but not so high that I look like I'm into S&M. I want the boots to be up to my knees, but not covering any part of my knees. I want a little embellishment, but nothing flashy or whorey-looking. And I don't want to pay more than 75 bucks. Can someone please get on this for me and save me a lot of calisthenic malling? Size 8 1/2. Oh, and no patent leather. (See "whore" ref. above.)

^*^I'm giving up my short hair. Main reason: I. Am. Freezing. I never realized how warm my hair kept my neck and shoulders. Secondary reason: It consistently pisses me off. I cannot count on it. It is worky. My hair looks different every single day. Yesterday, Great Hair Day. Today, Okay Hair Day. Last week, several Total Failure Hair Days. Amount spent on new hair products: Enormous. Amount of satisfaction derived from success rate of new hair products: zero. Conclusion: might as well use Jell-O, Elmer's Glue-All, Minwax, or Vaseline. (Sidenote--Rick says, "I think your hair always looks nice." Sigh.) Okay. Maybe I have the order of Reasons switched.

^*^I keep thinking about getting a cat. I KNOW! Someone stop me. Now. And hurry. Jared says, "Mom, what is the big deal?" I say, "Jared, it's the hair. THE HAIR!" He says, "Mom, it's only an issue for you." Duh. Does he realize that statement speaks volumes?

Probably I should quit now and give all of you a chance. Vent away! Rid your brains of their burdens. OR--go ahead and psychoanalyze mine. Just be careful in there.

Wordsmithing

Words are my business and my passion. And I'm not going to lie: words are my favorite weapon, too. I teach my students that all the time. Nothing is more valuable to put in your personal arsenal than an impressive vocabulary. And they believe it, too. I never dummy down my vocabulary when I talk in my classroom, and I tell them to sing out when I use a word they don't know. Often, I have a Designated Dictionary Person in the room and that person knows to go get the dictionary, look up the word, and once he has it, raise his hand and read the meaning out. It doesn't happen as often as you'd think, though. One, they don't often care, and two, much of the time the word's meaning is apparent through context. (I feel like #1,however, is the biggest reason.)

Anyway, I try to instill an appreciation of words in my students. In honors, we look at diction and the way writers write. Even with my regular juniors, we take a look at that when we can, especially when I read aloud. They humor me when I fling around a few "big words" here and there at them; they retaliate by slinging slang at me.

I love to keep current with slang. I find it refreshing and encouraging. The English language is such a vibrant, living organism to me. It's constantly expanding and accepting; it morphs and grows as the world changes and moves forward.

My new favorite slang term was introduced to me on Monday. My student Taylor was tardy to class without a pass. She came charging in, breathless and apologetic. She's never tardy and kids in Creative Writing want to be there. I merely looked at her and waited while she gulped air and composed herself.

"Ms. D," she said, fanning herself and huffing and puffing, "I'm so sorry I was late, but me and Ms. Roberts was in the team office choppin' it up about colleges and we just lost track of time."

*choppin' it up--talking things over; chatting about a topic extensively

I love it. It's very evocative and somehow precise. Not too far off from "chewing the fat" but so much more...oh...direct and simple.

Yesterday, I thought I had invented a new word. Well, not an entirely new word, but a noun form of a word that would, I thought, be so nice and easy to say. I had never really heard it said, and I already had a snippy little snarky use for it. I rushed to a dictionary just to be sure and...crap. It was already a word. That word? Ubiquity. I love the word ubiquitous already. I use it often. It's even fun to type. (Go ahead and try it--ubiquitous--it's quite the workout getting that q in there.) Anyway. I never knew that there was a nice, short noun form already. I thought it would be fun to start putting some of Brian Williams' ties in a Fashion Den of Ubiquity--you know, the ones he wears all the time--and thought, wow, Nance, you invented a cool little word, there. Except, not. Sigh. Dammit.

Finally, I do want to invent a new use of an existing word and here it is. You know how some people just wear you out? (In the interest of fairness, I must admit that my Very Own Husband will immediately nod and say, "Yes, Nance, I do. You, for instance." ) How those people put you through an incredible amount of arduous and strenuous effort or mental distress? These individuals might be co-workers, children, family, or even friends. Here is the new word we can use to describe them: calisthenic. Heretofore, this word has been a noun only, meaning "exercises designed to develop physical health and vigor, usually performed with little or no special apparatus." Well, forget that. Now, we are going to start using it as an adjective, and it is going to describe people who just work us out until we are exhausted. Here is an example:

I am done with these hour-long phone calls with my mother; she is just too calisthenic.

My friend Leanne finds purse shopping with me to be calisthenic. I find my seventh period junior regular class of 16 boys and 4 girls to be highly calisthenic.

What fun! I just love choppin' it up about words.

Now, We Must

At last, my country again.

Doing My Part For Consumer Confidence (And Somewhere In Here Is A Pun On Dogs)

Things have been so tense here at the Dept. lately. It's nonstop Politics--mainly because we're a Battleground State and we are inundated with ads from every media outlet, but also because it's all we talk about and our televisions are constantly tuned to CNN, MSNBC, and CNBC. It's also nonstop Economic Gloom and Doom for the same reason because those same channels watch the Dow forecast our Fiscal Armageddon even before our statements arrive in the mail. Rick and I just grind our jaws and madly press buttons on the remote, and when I can't take it anymore, I do two things: watch dog shows and go shopping!

Let me be clear--I do not own a dog, nor do I ever want to. Dogs are way worky: you have to train them, walk them, play with them, take them out even when it's cold and rainy and snowy. Forget all that. Plus, they are hairy/furry. I have finally rid my home of extraneous cat hair left by the Late Dept. Cats, Travis and Emily, and they've been gone since September '07 and July '08, respectively. In all reality, dogs are pretty much just furry toddlers who never quite grow up. Major style-crampers. Watching dog shows, however, gives me all the enjoyment of appreciating the really neat breeds without all the labor-intensive bullshit that goes along with Dog Ownership. As a result, I can identify the vast majority of AKC breeds by sight and know their proclivities and standards. And because I am a religious Dog Show Viewer, I even know some repeat entrants by name. I know, how sad.

So, I'm watching a dog show--I think it was a Eukanuba; which one it is never matters to me unless it is Cruft's or Westminster, which are the only two that really matter to anyone anyway--and I come to a few realizations about a few breeds that I just don't have any tolerance for anymore, and here they are:

*Brussels Griffon: Hideous bat-faced dog. The commentator says, "this breed is not suitable as an outdoor dog." No kidding! This dog is just too damn ugly to be taken out in public, really. I think that if the dog is in dog shows, it should at least be so ugly that it's cute, like a shar-pei. Not like this. Ugh.

*Chihuahua: I'm sorry, but these dogs are just spastic crack dogs. They're always shaky and always look like they're scared and/or hiding their stash from the cops.

*Shih-Tzu: This thing is not a dog, it's a hobby. For shut-ins. Please.

Finally, I was going to file a Viewer Protest because the winner of Best In Show was a pug named...Boo. Please. I wanted to throw up. What the hell kind of name is that for a dog? And a pug? I can think of eleventy billion better names... for any animal. IN THE WORLD.
Anyway.

On to shoes. Which was my shopping part.

On Sunday I decided I couldn't wait any longer to buy the Shoes I Had Been Coveting For Ages. And I really needed a Shopping Fix. I couldn't remember the last time I had bought shoes, but I think it was actually summer. So I zipped out and came back with The Shoes (on sale!), a second pair (half price!), and a purse (also half price!) in a Major Shopping Tour de Force. Allow me to share them with you now:

Holy crap, are these the cutest shoes or what? These are The Shoes I Had Been Coveting For Ages. I wore them on Wednesday with grey and black teeny-houndstooth pants and a long grey coat sweater, and it was major. The black is patent leather, including on the heel. Don't you just love styling details like that? Next up:

I got these because the second pair was automatically half off, and there was no way I was walking out of there and leaving a deal like that on the table. So I found these. I don't know if you can tell, but they are a gorgeous plum color. I have a knit dress that they will match, not to mention any number of grey and black things that these can accent nicely.

And, somehow, I was able to avoid the usual Purse Agony when, by a stroke of luck, I found the exact purse in black that I had bought in buttercup yellow for spring, thereby saving me at least six grueling hours of foraging through Handbag Hell and practicing the various moves I execute daily with my leather appendage: the one-handed wallet grab, the blind key-search, the strap-flip, the no-look lipstick rummage, etc.

Sweet victory. And at 50% off.

I really feel like I'm doing my part for the economy. My own little Stimulus Package for Ohio. When the economy gets tough, Nance goes shopping. Just not for a dog.

I Say Skip It And Go Directly To The Next Real Holiday On The List

I hate Halloween. I just absolutely hate it. I've kvetched about it before here at the Dept., so I won't get all in a lather again, but really, when on Earth will this little holiday go back to being just that--a Little Holiday and stop being some bigass Extravaganza Of Retail, Adult Idiocy, And Overall Bad Taste?

Let me take those 3 areas one at a time:

1. Retail. Just browse through the Walgreens advertisement and you can meet up with some incredibly horrific items that defy not only basic sales logic but plain judgment. Only at Halloween time would anyone dare to market things called Hulk Cakes: chocolate cupcakes frosted in an alarming lime green. Those, however, pale in comparison to the Blood Tablecloth, Gory Wound Sleeve, and something called the Lighted Window Leecher. WTF is a "leecher?" Try looking it up in a dictionary. Lord help us if Walgreens made a typo and it was supposed to be "lecher." But those are just small potatoes compared to the animated guillotine you can get for your front yard! This festive decoration "features a talking prisoner with lighted eyes and a working guillotine!" Finally, for those Holiday Addicts, there is actually a Two-Season Lite Set: "Go from Halloween to Christmas with the press of a button!" In reality, in my Walgreens, all I have to do is walk 10 feet. The aisle directly in front of the Halloween aisle is already stocked with Christmas wrap, artificial wreaths, ribbon, tags, stockings, and all sorts of red-and-green crap. I almost wept.

2. Adult Idiocy. Remember when Halloween used to be all about little kids going out in costumes and trick-or-treating? And they had little parties and their parents helped them carve basic jack-o-lantern faces? Now, Halloween has turned into women wearing soft-porn costumes, "grownups" decorating their houses to look like the set of a bad B horror flick, and otherwise sane individuals thinking up ways to scare the hell out of kids who come up to their houses for a free Snickers bar. Specialty Halloween shops crop up in empty storefronts overnight, and pundits try to predict the outcome of the presidential race by which mask sells the most. I always get several parents at my house for trick-or-treat pushing strollers with children who are far too young to ingest any sort of candy. They're not trick-or-treating, they're begging. For themselves. How tacky.

3. Overall Bad Taste. Halloween has become such an over-the-top celebration of...what, now? Death? What is the explanation for the house on the corner (not far from my street) which has the inflatable hearse complete with coffin, the dead body hanging in the tree, the tombstones, and the gigantic black widow spider on the roof and all the webs? What--exactly--is being celebrated here? What parallel do we draw here between death and...what? I'm just wondering how it all got so...overblown and tasteless.

Or is it just me?

I Don't Look At It As Wine; I Look At It As A Foreign Investment

So! How is it that we ended up with yet more wine? I'd like to quote the famous reason for scaling the peaks of Everest: because it's there! Or, to loosely paraphrase the iconic quote from Field of Dreams, "if I taste it, I will buy."

We took a drive up to The Bench area again to pick up some mead and some wine for my roomie Andrew, as well as to revisit Cornerstone Estates to try their port, which was not available in July. The port was lovely, tawny and warm--perfect for taking the chill off a cold afternoon or relaxing after a long day at The Rock. On our way back to the Q.E.W. (Queen Elizabeth Way highway), we stopped at a winery called Vineland Estates. As soon as we entered, I was a bit put off; it was very large and commercial. I prefer smaller wineries, and this one gave off a very corporate air. But, we were there, so we went up to the tasting bar and a young man named Hayden began to take care of us. He introduced us to the winery and then our tasting began. He was incredibly knowledgeable and accommodating, and at one point he said, "How much do you want to taste? Because I have an idea where I want to take you, but I need to know how to get you there." Oh, that was all I needed to hear! "Hayden," I said, "I'm good for several...oh, quite a few more varieties!"

Basically, I lost count. And it was all gorgeous. Here are the standouts:

Vineland 2007 Dry Riesling: Like biting into a snappy, cool Granny Smith apple. Very young, very drinkable, almost no mineral taste and a perfect acidity. If I had not already bought so much wine in July, I would have bought at least a case of this. A steal at $13.

Vineland 2006 Cabernet-Merlot: Smoky and cedary with just a hint of plum and berry jam in the back and in the bouquet. This is almost like a good Meritage in that it would be a terrific red meat wine. I'm serving it with steak. I was disappointed with all the Meritages I tried after I forgot to pick up another one at Rosewood. This one was a major bargain at $15.

2006 Syrah Reserve: Oh God. I don't drink red often, and when I do, I don't drink the trendy Syrah/Shiraz. But this wine is lovely. The bouquet is of berries and spice, and the wine is velvety but not heavy in the mouth. There is a brisk finish that is fruit-forward, reminiscent of bing cherries, and there is almost no tannic feel. If you're used to Napa or Australian Syrah/Shiraz wines, this one is not so leggy and chewy even though it is 12% alcohol. I cannot believe I spent $40 on it. But actually, Rick did. Holy crap. I know. I know!

(But those prices are in Canadian Money. And the exchange rate is favorable now. So, I'm good!)

The next day we confined ourselves to the NotL wineries: we visited our favorite ones to say hello to friends and finished our friends' (and a certain son's) shopping lists, and then we had to scope out the newest winery in town that had mystified and intrigued the locals and sparked a ton of gossip. That winery was Southbrook, also known as The Wall.

Southbrook looks pretty avant garde for NotL--it resides within a massive purple wall that stretches well past both ends of its building proper. No one can figure out if it has a real purpose, but as far as I can tell, it's basically there for "art." By the time we rolled up on Southbrook, Rick and I had both had plenty of wine, but we had to satisfy our curiosity. So, we decided to get a good look at The Wall and limit ourselves to their specialty, the fruit wines. Southbrook makes four of them, cassis (blackcurrant), blueberry, blackberry, and framboise (raspberry). These wines are so concentrated in flavor and so pungent that they are almost more like liqueurs, except that they are not syrupy or cloyingly sweet. Of the four, we bought the blackberry and the framboise, which I found to be the most flavorful and to have the most fruit at the finish. The cassis--and I love blackcurrant--was disappointing at the end. The flavor simply faded away after the swallow. No punch. I am no fan of blueberries, but that variety had the same failing. Each elegant looking bottle is $15.75.

Don't those wines all sound tempting and gorgeous? And with the U.S. dollar doing so much better now, really, I was smart to buy more wine at this time.

Oh Canada! Without You, We Would Have More Room In The Cellar For Non-Alcoholic Things

Que un weekend merveilleux!

For those of you who do not read The Tie Report, where I made mention of it, (really, how could you not? It is a fashion tour de force! But, I forgive.) you may not have known that I was away on a three-day jaunt with Rick and just arrived back at the Dept. We gave in to the siren call of Niagara-on-the-Lake yet again and had another relaxing time seeing terrific theater, meeting lovely people, and discovering yet more gorgeous and tempting wines to share with you here.

Give me a day or two for re-entry into my Real Life (sigh!), and I'll introduce you to a new Niagara-on-the-Lake winery known for its commanding structural oddity as well as its line of fruit wines, and I'll take you back out to The Bench for a taste of some rieslings and reds that almost melted the Dept.'s VISA card. How on earth did we end up, after bringing back almost five cases only three months ago, bringing back another case of wine? We're hopeless.

Be back soon. And don't judge!

...And Now, This Public Service Announcement

It's important to note that The Hostage Crisis That Is The Bush #43 Presidency entered an important phase today. No longer do triple digits mark the remaining days of The Worst Administration In History.

You're welcome.