I Have Decided To Use My Power For Good (But Just This Once)

As you may recall, last year I was pleased to bring you news of Joan's Legacy: Uniting Against Lung Cancer and its annual benefit.  This worthy cause was founded to honor the life of Joan Scarangello, a writer at NBC News, who fell victim to lung cancer in 2001 despite never having smoked in her 47 years.  In 2010 Brian Williams donated an auction lot of six autographed ties--the reason I got involved--and they ended up selling for about $5000.

(That's a lot of money for ties, especially for the Hermes with the penguins on it. And to think I described it as a faux paisley print--11 February 2010...sigh. Pre-HD, though.)

But it's nowhere near what is needed to combat the Number 1 Killer Cancer in the United States.  This scourge is the world's deadliest cancer; an estimated 157,000 Americans are estimated to die from lung cancer this year - more than colon, breast, and pancreatic cancers combined.

More than 220,000 Americans will be diagnosed with lung cancer this year, but only 16% of lung cancer is being diagnosed at its earliest and most curable stage.  Like Joan, sadly, many of its victims are misdiagnosed and the cancer is too far advanced to effect a cure. 

That's why aggressive research and awareness are so desperately necessary. 

To that end, Joan's Legacy: Uniting Against Lung Cancer announces its Strolling Supper with Blues and News, hosted by Brian Williams and Tom Brokaw.  Another silent auction will be held and, while there will be no ties, the slate of offerings is impressive.  Along with a set visit and seat in the Director's chair at The NBC Nightly News with Brian Williams, it includes:

*Hanging out on-set at The Big Bang Theory, The Daily Show, and The Colbert Report
*Autographed memorabilia from Lady Gaga and Santonio Holmes
*Vacations at Costa Rica, Cancun, and Cape Cod
*Vespa scooter in your choice of color
*Designer wares by Coach, Kate Spade, Michael Kors, and Betsey Johnson
*A Longer Shelf Life:  Your name as a character in a future Sue Grafton novel
               AND MUCH, MUCH MORE!

This year, there is also online bidding--it begins November 9th.  Click here to go and see all the items and reserve prices.  That way, you don't have to go to New York; you can just sit at home in your tasteful jammies, pour a glass of Chardonnay, and use your mouse and your credit card to get some early You-Know-What shopping done.  (You didn't hear That Word from me. Not here, not now.)  And then you can bask in the toasty glow of Altruism.  Helped along by the Chard, but whatever.
The Dept. is honored and proud to use its powers on the Interwebs for the Greater Good, even in this small, small way.  For even more information, and a chance for a little bit more of BriWi--you'll recognize the tie, an old favourite of his--you can watch this short viddy:


Thank you.  And, for your handy-dandy convenience, use the clicky graphic at the top of my sidebar anytime to jaunt directly to the Joan's Legacy auction site.  With your help, Joan's Legacy can be a cure.

The DoN Indulges In A Little Bit Of "Pop Culture" (Which Is What We Prefer To Call It In Public)

One of my little adjustments still in the works is timing dinner.  Since I often have all day to plan and make it, the whole meal can be immediately ready when Rick walks in the door at the end of his workday.  Problem is, he's not usually ready to eat it, having just had his lunch a mere four hours earlier.  Since I am not a luncher myself (and breakfast is only coffee), the schedule makes plenty of sense to me, but I'm flexible.  So we use the time to chat, cook a little together, and sometimes, as was the case a few days ago, watch a little TV.

Rick likes to watch Dr. Phil.  He finds the drama of other people's issues to be relaxing since they allow his/ours to pale by comparison.  Also, Dr. Phil is great for mocking.  His downhome Texas sayings, which he passes off as Psychology For The Masses, allow us to riff on and on.  Our favorite one to hybridize is always, "Just because the cat has her kittens in the oven, that don't make 'em biscuits."  Go ahead, try it.  Like this:  Just because the dog has her puppies in the garage, that don't make 'em Volvos. The possibilities are endless, and you can make a great game out of it.  Sometimes, we like to get a little R-rated, but you can always decide on your own rules.

But, I digress.

The other day, we tuned in well into one of Dr. Phil's earnest and sincere diatribes directed toward some blonde woman whose boyfriend was the problem. Here's an approximation of how the scene went:

Dr. Phil:  (already in mid-lecture; stern and earnestly intense)  ...but all those are relationship issues.  Those we can deal with later.  Right now, what I'm hearing you say is that he put his hands on you.  In anger.

Blonde:  Yes.  (nods; looks down)  Yes he did.  But I love him, Dr. Phil.

Dr. Phil:  I don't care about anything else right now.  I want you to hear me on this, loud and clear.  You got that?  You don't ever let a man put his hands on you in anger.

Nance:  (in Dr. Phil voice)  Now, if he's frustrated, that's different.  That's a Frustration Issue.  That we can deal with.  Let him go ahead and put his hands on you then.  Or if he's just crabby.  He can put his hands on you then, too. But not. In. Anger!

Rick:  Yeah, I don't get that.  Isn't him beating her up a relationship issue, too?

Nance:  And is it ever okay for a man to put his hands on a woman, so to speak?  (again, a Dr. Phil voice)  Now, if he puts his hands on you when he's just feelin' silly, why that's okay!  Or when he's plumb nuts!  Tell him go ahead!

Rick:  (in a Dr. Phil voice) But never on the face.  That's just Not Okay.

End Scene.

On Thinking And Teaching And Retiring

When I was a little girl, my mother used to tell me that I think too much.  While I'm not sure what would prompt that admonition, I do know that it continued long into my teen years. 

These days, when the weather here in NEO has turned cooler, greyer, and wetter, I am prone to introspection.  My tendency is also to cocoon.  Piper and Marlowe don't do much to discourage this behaviour; they're drowsy and inclined to curl up on my lap or in their beds and only animate themselves if I am up and busy.  There is always a Project, or Light Domestic Goddessing, or Something To Do.  I have some writing jobs, paid and pro bono, the latter for charities and people I care about. When I do go out for errands, the cats are accusatory and reproachful upon my return.  Only when they see I am staying home for a while do they accept me back into their good graces.

I'm often asked if I have regrets about retiring.  The short answer is No.  My dear Aunt Shirley, herself a retired English teacher, counseled me way back in July to take a short trip the week school started.  "You'll need to be away," she said knowingly.  "Trust me. You don't think you'll miss it, but you will.  You need to be away when it starts back up so you won't feel strange."  Well, I didn't and I don't. I left at just the Right Time for me.

I am often asked if I miss Teaching--in my mind, a different question entirely.  The answer is very complicated, so I usually answer, "Oh, sometimes."  My teacher friends never ask me.  They already know. 

I do not miss the Not Teaching part:  incessant record keeping, phone calls home to parents of highschoolers, labyrinthine office procedures, unreliable copy machines, being informed that the internet is down via email, baffling administrative protocols, and the constant disrespect by government--and, oh hell, let's throw society in there, too--at every level. 

But every so often, I do miss the Teaching part.  I treasured being the Giver Of Literature to my students.  It was with true reverence that I gave them the work of Walt Whitman (America's first hippie); that I introduced them to the genius of Miss Emily (Dickinson).  Who else will enlist empathy and champions for poor, motherless (for all intents and purposes) Holden Caulfield? Who else will defend the honor of Edgar Allan Poe and beg the students to look, look deep into his eyes before they read his work, before they dismiss him as some drunk crazy who married his teenaged cousin?

And I miss working with Creative Writing students the most. Words and writing are my passion, and there was an electric satisfaction, a sort of inspirational symbiosis that occurred when I sat down in conference with my writers those many years.  I felt simultaneously rejuvenated and drained by them. It was a glorious paradox, and those decades were Golden Privilege.  This year, Creative Writing is not even offered, and it breaks my heart.

So much of Teaching--True Teaching--is a Gift. I have it, I gave it, and I got it in return.  Like many gifts, it wasn't always perfect, and there were times when I wondered if the recipients were deserving. But let's not belabor the metaphor.  Or...think too much about it.

Instead, I have a little jaunt to get ready for and some PR stuff to write.  And the head of cauliflower in the crisper won't clean, cut, season, and roast itself as part of tonight's dinner.  It might be a good idea to update our Cellar Inventory, too. Allow me a small indulgence:  to leave you with my good friend, Walt.

There Once Was A List From Nantucket...The Dept. Is NSFW

One idyllic afternoon on the Lake House deck, my sister Patti and I were entertaining our mother, St. Patsy, with bad language (mostly me) and philosophy (largely Patti).  It was the kind of discussion that started innocently enough and soon became wide-ranging and free-flowing and all sorts of other participial hyphenated predicate adjectives.  You know?

Anyway, there was alcohol involved, so....

We were three older chicks sitting around bitching when I made the boozy pronouncement that "Life is too short.  It's time to cut a lot of stress loose.  More than half of my life is over.  It's time to live." (Hey.  I didn't say it was profound.)  This is when my sister introduced her List.

Oh, not That List.  Although, Patti is plenty self-actualized and I'm sure she has one.  And not one of those groan-inducing Life Lists that have taken over the Interwebs wherein bloggers all join virtual hands and help each other realize dreams big and small, like "Be a clown for a day!" and "Knit my own hammock" or "Fly a hovercraft."  Life Lists are inspired by Bucket Lists but are so much more POSITIVE!!  Well, Patti's List is inspired symphonically by the Bucket List and is called...ahem...The Fuck It List.

A true Fuck It List is a lineup of stuff that we are legitimately still concerned about.  Now, however, we have laid it out and asked ourselves the sterling question:  WHY?
And the answer is--you guessed it--Fuck It.

For example:  I have, in our thirty years of marriage, beseeched, pleaded, exhorted, and admonished Rick to let me know when he was using a ladder to go on the roof or to clean the gutters.  I would stand at the bottom and hold said ladder, I explained early on, for safety's sake.  About fifteen years ago, I gave up that crusade and settled for "At least let me know when you are going up there so that I will look out now and then to make sure you're not lying on the ground for too long if you fall." Now, Fuck It. He still rarely, if ever, tells me he's going to use a ladder. If it's not important to him, why should I get so calisthenic over it and lose valuable Serenity Time? 

The idea of the Fuck It List is life-changing for me.  It's all about acceptance as well as rejection.  It works for people,  it works for relationships, it works for everything:  Why are you sweating that?  Why are you so invested in it?  Why are you the only one who cares? If you cannot provide cogent, grounded, valuable reasons for these questions (known as the Why Filter of the Fuck It List), then something needs to go on the FIL.

I cannot begin to tell you how many things I have run through the Why Filter of the Fuck It List since I have been retired from teaching.  It's as if that part of my brain had been dormant or atrophied.  Why didn't anyone tell me about this sooner?  Have you all been keeping this from me on purpose? 

Better yet, what's on your Fuck It List?

I Think I'd Still Keep Joe Biden

David Gregory:  Welcome, panel.  The Washington Post this morning noted a growing unrest among the Democratic Party faithful:  the president's poll numbers are dropping in almost all major categories.  His coup this spring in finding and killing Osama bin Laden didn't bounce him in national security, his jobs plan is, for all intents and purposes, dead on arrival, and even likeability numbers are in the basement.  (snickers)  It seems no one even wants to have a beer with the guy.  So now the inevitable rumors have begun.  We saw it a few weeks ago with even Dick Cheney suggesting Hillary Clinton should run in 2012.  What do you think, panel?  Is there room for a challenger from the left?

Chuck Todd:  Well, look, David.  We're seeing the same thing here as we're seeing with the republican field.  The American voters just aren't happy with who's out there.  There's a softness to the slate of candidates available overall.  No one's really speaking to them, personally.  That's why we're seeing someone like Governor Chris Christie--

David Gregory:  (interrupting)--But I'm talking about the Democrats here.  They have their candidate.  They have the incumbent president.  He's supposed to be their guy.  The party supports the one who's already in the White House.  That's the rules of the game.  Doris?

Doris Kearns Goodwin:  But we've seen this before.  Before the Civil War when the country was so fragmented, so roiled up with dissent.  There were any number of political groups, all clamoring for their pet causes, whether it was the Natives who wanted to do something about the influx of immigrants or the Know-Nothings who--

David Gregory:  (interrupting)--How about this woman who calls herself merely Nance?  She's recently burst onto the political scene and has all but threatened to challenge the president for the nomination.  We know very little about her, but it's clear that that's about to change.

Erin Burnett:  There's not much that we know about her, but pretty soon, we might.  Or we might not.  That much we do know.

David Gregory:  She's a blogger, and her blogs serve as a sort of manifesto of her politics.  She's liberal, pro-union, pro gay marriage, pro agriculture, pro animal rights but eats beef, and (laughing) would definitely object to most of my ties.

Chuck Todd:  Look, David, like it or not, this Nance candidate--or potential candidate--has something to say and has, already, for the most part, said it.  And said it to one of the largest audiences this country has, the Internet.  She's already reached, perhaps, her target demographic in a pointed and meaningful way. If she's who she says she is, all she has to do now is declare and raise her money.  But she'd better do it soon because just like with Chris Christie, it may already be too late.  This Nance, whoever she is, needs to--

David Gregory:  (interrupting)--And that's all we have time for.  See you next Sunday on Meet the Press.

Why Can't A 300 Pound Avocado Come Hurtling Down At Me From Outer Space? And Other Imponderables (Like How Mitt Is Middle Class)

Probably I should make this a terribly cerebral post.  After all, I have enormous amounts of time in which to think and become Deeply Informed.  My Plain Dealer is read thoughtfully and deliberately each morning, and I am following The Politics again, albeit somewhat haphazardly, lest they disrupt My Zen.

Oh, but let's not, as they say, Go There.

Instead, I think I'll just shake loose a few errant Thought Nerfuls and set them free.

~*~Back in 1979 when Skylab's doom was forecast and we all were warned of its imminent plunge to earth, I was a junior at Bowling Green State University.  This, as I am wont to constantly remind my children, was well before the Interwebs and Cellular Phones, but not before alcohol, so pretty much the entire university prepared for this event by hosting dorm parties.  We all designed and wore hats--ostensibly for protection ha ha--and made huge targets and Welcome Skylab! signs.  This week's recent overhyped Newsworthy Event regarding the entrance of space junk the size of a bus into our atmosphere held no cache or thrill for me. I didn't even wear a headband.  On a related note, here are some places that I wish the NASA Space Junk had hit:  1. WalMart HQ; 2. republican National Committee HQ; 3. Atlanta's airport (the only place to lose my luggage and delay me, twice) 4. Congress (but get Sherrod Brown out first).

~*~Avocados, The World's Most Perfect Fruit and my Culinary Crush, are a ridiculous $2.50 each at the local grocery store.  At a warehouse club, you can get five for about eight bucks. Still insane.  I was reading a food blog the other day and saw a farmer's market sign in California that said "Hass Avocados $1 EACH" and almost wept. I feel like part of the reason avos are so unreasonable is because of Beneful Dog Food.  This brand includes a variety called "Healthy Fiesta" which includes avocadoes.  How ridiculous. No dog, even if it is a Mexican hairless or a chihuahua, eats avocadoes or needs them. The Beneful people are buying up avocadoes, thus needlessly creating a demand which, in turn, is raising prices for me.  Hey, Beneful. Knock it the hell off!  Who the hell do you think you are?  Dogs eat meat and, in the case of the Golden Retriever who lived here for six weeks, the occasional door. Lay off my avos.

~*~Okay, I lied.  I am going to get A Little Political.  But just a teensy bit.  You know, Mitt Romney has been running for president professionally now for, what, eight years? Ten? Whatever.  He wants It really bad. He also has the John McCain Disease of being whomever and whatever the situation calls for at the time. He just cannot help it.  Even though Mitt said, "I think the American people recognize that we're at a point of crisis and they want to hear the truth. And they can tell when people are being phony and are pandering to an audience, and you'll see that in politics. You're not going to see that in my campaign"; he also turned right around and said this, calling for a tax policy that will help "the middle class. It's not those in the low end; it's certainly not those in the very high end. It's for the great middle class -- the 80 to 90 percent of us in this country."  There's just one problem:  Mitt really isn't one "of us" as he said.  His net worth is estimated at between $190 million and $250 million.  That one is right up there with his "I'm also unemployed" joke. Speaking of jokes, (fill in name of republican debater here).

~*~I read a blog yesterday in which someone used the following in the same post:  I could loose a lot of blood.  and  "Are you going rouge?" (said to someone doing something against the rules).  I almost screamed.  Seriously.

I'll let Nancy pun her head off with that last one.  

You Just Don't F*#k With Someone Who Served Thirty Years In Public Education. (Y'all Gotta Run More Game Than This)

One more Garage Sale Story, this one not nearly as endearing, and then I promise to put them on hiatus.

Saturday--the final day of the sale and traditionally Not A Big Day, either money-wise or crowd-wise--was making us a bit crabby.  The weather had been gloomy and threatening rain, and we spent the whole first hour without a single person (or car!) anywhere near the sales on our street.  My brother, a compulsive record-keeper, consulted The Notebook, which told us that last year's Saturday had sucked bigtime as well.

At that moment, a woman in her late sixties with a shellacked coif and a rather prissy air about her approached the cashier table.  In her arms she carried two scarf and hat sets, a hooded quilted faux down vest, and a black knit stocking cap.  She set them down and...

Nance:  Hi.  Let's see what you've got there.
Woman: (in a petulant, Sarah Palinesque voice) Well, before you start, this vest has a spot on it.
Nance:  Really?  Where?  It's brand new.  See?  The tag is still on it.
Bob:  Yeah. My daughter put that in this sale, and I know for a fact that she never even wore it.
Woman:  Right there.  See?  (points to a fading water spot)
Bob:  That looks like a water spot.  Anyway, that's a thirty-dollar vest, and you're getting it for three dollars. 
Woman:  Well, and this knit hat here.  It's all stretched out already.
Nance:  That is also brand new.  See how it's attached to the scarf by the plastic tab?  Besides, it's not a stocking cap.  (turns it inside out) See here? See the lining? It's not made to stretch like a regular knit hat.  That's the style.

Woman:  Well, we go to these sales and buy up all the warmer things to send them off to the poor Indian children on the reservation.  I'm sure they don't care about what's in style, poor little things. (pauses and puts bottom lip out; pouts)  They only want to be warm and not freeze.  Poor things.

Nance:  Well, ma'am, those brand new hat and scarf sets are only a dollar each.  The vest is brand new and it's only three dollars.  You got the stocking hat out of the Five Items For A Dollar bin.  There's a pair of hand-knitted leg warmers in there, by the way.

Bob:  We'll throw in the single hat for nothing.

Nance:  That's five dollars, then.

Woman:  The poor little cold Indian children don't care if things are brand new or not.  They just want to be warm, bless them.  Poor things.

Nance:  I understand.  And you're getting a great deal for five dollars.

Woman:  (sighs, frowns, shakes her head, pouts; takes out her wallet and a five.)  Well, you're not much of a bargainer.

Nance:  No, ma'am.  You're not.  That's five dollars even.  Thank you.

And I did not offer her a bag.

It's Never Too Late To Learn Something New (Or To Buy My Punch Bowl--Please!)

Over the weekend I was rusticating at my brother's lake house a couple counties downstate.  He has a lovely vacation home in Amish Country, and the community there has a twice-yearly garage sale.  He told me about it a little over a year ago and urged me to start gathering up things in my house to put in his sale.  I go gather up my mother (St. Patsy) as well, jam everything in my car, and spend the weekend at the lake peddling my crap, visiting with St. Patsy and Bob, watching people and making a little wine money.  Bonus:  a blogpost.

Bob and I love to watch what people will buy, how they will try to bargain you down on a fifty-cent item, and try to figure out why, after over a year and three sales now, my brand new punch bowl will not sell, even at the low low price of only five dollars.  (I've had it with that goddam thing--I mean it. Next sale, I'm marking that puppy up to ten bucks. Fuck 'em.)

We have a goodly amount of Amish customers--Mennonites, too, and here's what we've learned:  1.  They will bargain, gently, on items of beauty or luxury, such as my strawberry crockery or faux depression glass; 2.  They buy sporting equipment in the spring; 3.  They do not generally buy plastic kitchen items; 4.  They will buy dishes or silverware in vast quantities. 

This year, a young Mennonite girl bought a pink plaid skirt from me after looking interestedly at--and touching--my black lace peignoir set.  For a long time.  Shortly after that, the following occurred:

Amish buggy pulls up.  Inside are two twentysomething Amish women.  One alights and begins browsing.  She is either heavy or pregnant.  After a time, she chooses one 12"X12" mirrored tile marked $2.  She shows it to her companion in the buggy, who nods. 

Amish shopper:  (approaching our cashier table)  Would you take less for this?
Bob:  No.  In Home Depot, a store, you would pay at least five dollars for that.

Amish shopper:  All right. I will take it then.  (carefully hands over a one and some change)

Bob:  Can I wrap that for you?

Amish shopper:  No.  That's okay.

Bob:  Thank you.

Amish shopper leaves.  Goes to buggy. Conversation occurs with its occupant. Amish shopper turns back around, clutching mirror, looks unsure.  Looks back at us. More conversation.  Occupant points to us.  Shopper starts back slowly.

Patsy: Oh no. Maybe she's not allowed to have that.  Maybe she has to return it.

Nance: Here she comes.

Amish shopper:  (looking up at sign above our heads) I would like a...Pepsi.

Nance:  Oh.  Would you like regular or diet?

Amish shopper:  I...I...(hand to mouth; looks from one of us to the other)...don't know.  Which one is best?

Bob:  Well, the regular Pepsi has a lot of sugar.  The Diet has no sugar.

Amish Shopper:  Well then, the Diet sounds best.

Nance:  That will be fifty cents, please.

With that, she handed over the money and carried both the mirror and the can of Diet Pepsi back to the buggy and her companion as if both were precious treasures.  Once inside, she stowed the mirror and opened the can.  And as they urged their big brown horse to life, I had a glimpse of the Amish women tipping back that Diet Pepsi inside their buggy.

On The Road Again: Sexy Ice Cream, Sexy House, And Hillbilly Stonehenge. You're Welcome

On Saturday Rick indulged me and took me out for a Ride.  We didn't have any real destination in particular, which is my favourite kind of Ride.  It was 97 degrees outside--NEO's typical September Summer Blast--and I just wanted to get out of the house and Drive Around awhile and see what I could see.  Deep below my whimsy ran the insidious undercurrent of A Hidden Agenda:  Mitchell's Homemade Ice Cream.  We ended up there after a time, and I was richly rewarded with a scoop each of lemon blackberry sorbet and rhubarb chevre frozen yogurt.  Rick had two scoops of caramel sea salt ice cream.

Needless to say, it was all downhill after that.  Case in point:

Along the road (some road, who knows which or where, really) I saw what looked like a spare, dilapidated, faux colonial made of cardboard residing behind gargantuan hunks of sandstone, in picket-like formation.  It was astounding and absurd.  Immediately, I turned to Rick.

Me:  (assuming he had seen it) Wow.  They have some big rocks.
Rick:  (cringing and grinning) Um...what? Who?
Me:  No, really. Back there.  That horrifying house.  Didn't you see the big rocks in their yard?  It was like Stonehenge.
Rick:  No, I didn't. 
Me:  Well, they were huge. And really, it was completely ridiculous. Enormous pieces of sandstone, all along, in front of their house. Entirely out of proportion and character. They needed to be taller or the house needed to be shorter.  The house was a dump. A hillbilly haven. You really should turn around and go back and look at it. 
Rick:  I'm not going to do that.
Me:  It was hideous.  I cannot imagine what possessed them to put those in their yard.  It was unbelievable.  I'm...I'm...I'm just done talking about it.
Rick:  Thank God.

Second case, and this one was in our downtown area.  This mystifying sign caught my eye immediately, and I made Rick circle back and sit through two traffic lights so that I could get a picture.  If I had not already had my Orgasmic Ice Cream, I would have needed it for a reward after seeing this:

SEXY HOUSE 4 SALE ONLY     !
And then, inexplicably, in the lower right hand corner, is the picture of a...
German Shepherd.  (Oh, do click to enlarge.)

Which, for those of you scoring at home, is a DOG.  Which may or may not be sexy, for sale, only, or named "House."

We are two more bottles down in the wine cellar.

The Revolution Has Begun

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

I am, of course, talking about Cows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

teaparty Prodigy Of The Week: I'm Thinking Of The Word "Handbasket"

Oh, Texas.  You've already given us so very, very much.  But like Typhoid Mary, you keep giving and giving and giving.  Now you want to give us your governor...again. 

Been there, done that.

Rick "Secessionist" Perry has such a devoted following--see above--but he comes with a little baggage.  None of that matters to people like this, however, a woman whose MyTwitFace profile my sister Susan had occasion to "research" and thoughtfully copied, pasted, and sent me, and which I reproduce faithfully here:

 'I am 39, married to Jonathan, have 4 kids, Kaitlyn, Tucker Dean, Daniel, and Ben. I am a Registered Nurse. I am attempting to homeschool Daniel. My interests include family, "religion," politics, couponing and stockpiling, camping.'
 'Conservative/Tea Party/Constitution!' 

I just bet that's her sign.

The Joy Of Six

The Dept. of Nance is six!

I know.  I share your astonishment.  I, too, thought that by now The Authorities would have dismantled this site for its shameless refusal to Have A Central Theme And Purpose, or for its unmitigated temerity in acting so contrary to most Online Tendencies in not simply fading away and becoming a Twitter feed or a commercial repository in its host's desire to Brand Herself, thus hoping to score a mention on the Today Show or in TV Guide's Hot List.

Oh, wait. My other site already got both of those things.  Sigh.  And I'm still not famous?  WT--?

Anyway, the Dept. is six, and in six years, I've covered a lot of territory.

With SIX You Get Eggroll:  Rick, Sam, and Jared all provide me with a great deal of blog fodder.  Being the only woman in the family of three huge men, at least there is that tradeoff.  These days, the boys live out on their own.  When they do come over--and at the same time--it's exhausting.  I'm thrilled and grateful that they are each other's best friend, but the constant ribbing and riffing is like being part of an Abbot and Costello/Lenny Bruce routine.  They toss me around like a beanbag, defy my MomLogic, and exchange dubious glances with their father, who is largely no help at all. I have No Idea why I had all these children.  Here are a few of my favourite posts about all this Madness:  If You Are Ever Invited To Dinner;  And That's What's Known As Relativity; I Ain't A-Scared Of You!; and Premature EjacYULEation.

SIX Feet Under:  Here at the Dept., I've even dealt with the subject of death a few times, and that's one I'm not entirely comfortable with. I will be vastly annoyed by my own, I'm sure, especially if it inconveniences me, such as if it occurs when I am not suitably dressed, not wearing makeup, or if it causes me to do anything unseemly, like make an inappropriate noise or facial expression.  I prefer the old cinematic deaths wherein the woman can lie in her bed and look pathetic and wistful, then flutter her eyelids a few times and sigh while her Significant Handsome Male holds her pale, manicured hand.  Aside from all of that, though, here are a few posts wherein I did chat about The Grim Reaper, in a very Nanceian way:  If A Blogger Falls In The Forest;When Walt Whitman Said "To Die Is..."; and Reports Of My Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated. 

SIX A.M.:  For all six of the years I've been writing at this site, I've been teaching English and Creative Writing I and II at a "large urban public high school with a significant minority population."  I set alarms to get up, but my internal clock got me up by 6:15 every morning.  All this summer, I still get up before seven, even without Piper and Marlowe tugging at my hair and nudging me to fill their dish.  I wrote quite a few posts about my days at The Rock, as it was known before the New Place was built, and it's a bittersweet look back.  My Dept. Faithful will no doubt remember some of these:  It's A Perception Thing; Ahhh, Youth; Of Edgar And Literature And Abraham Lincoln; Somewhere In Here There's A Great Pun...; Hostage Crisis Ends Without Bloodshed; and Flamingoes: They Don't Teach You This In Teachers' College.  That last one...well, every teacher should read it when he or she is feeling like Society's Whipping Boy, which is all the time these days.  Kind of a good reminder.

Concession Road 6:  This phrase won't mean anything to you, but it brings a smile of recognition and satisfaction to me.  That stretch of asphalt lies in Ontario province, Canada, and is home to one of my favourite wineries, Cattail Creek. Rick and I discovered it when it first opened and we were hooked.  Thus began our love affair with Ontario's wines.  We laugh now when we think back to our initial foray into a winery:  we walked in, looked around, were immediately overwhelmed and intimidated, and walked out. Finally, we took a tour of a winery which included an instructional group tasting, and our obsession was born. Right now, we have a pretty well-stocked cellar, and you might want to do a little Time Travel and Tasting here:  A Taste Of My Vaca-hic-tion; Day 2, So Much Wine...; and I Don't Look At It As Wine....  There has been so much more wine, and so many new wineries have opened up since then; I just haven't described them.

The SIX O'Clock News:  I've been a news junkie for most of my life.  My father read the paper religiously, even reading it aloud to my mother as she cooked dinner. We watched the news at six and discussed it during and after meals. And I was a papergirl back in high school. I delivered the local paper to 43 customers seven days a week, reading one as I tossed its companions into front and side doors all along the route. Politics--well, that goes without saying. Our local Cleveland news at six is horrendous. I wait for Brian and his tie at six-thirty, but I wander among CNN, MSNBC, and HLN all day when I'm home. And if I'm not on a break from NPR, I grab that in my car.  What can I say?  It's an addiction, as you can tell from:  I Need The Cronkite 12-Step Program; If There's A Law Against This,Then...; Christmas Kickoff...Complete With Crocs And A Six-Pack; Extra! Extra! Read All About It!; In Which I Worry Whether I Am A Bad Person; In The End, It's All Politics; and It's Called Priorities, America.

SIX Degrees of Separation:  Often, I have lamented the distressing reality that is my life in Minutae, Ohio Northeast.  I have Zero Chance of ever seeing anyone of note in the local establishments.  This does not stop me from writing about them here. Here at the Dept., I can freely discuss my decades-long relationship with Daniel Day-Lewis, my on and off dalliance with Johnny Depp, my puzzlement over my attraction to Hugh Laurie, my devotion to the President (only a couple get the capital P), and my List.  Oh, the List.  It's been overhauled as of late, but the top spot is still...well, we can talk about that later.  (You've got one, right? Oh, everyone should!) To dish, start clicking up: DoN Takes A Look At Her Cabinet; DoN Weighs In On Infidelity; The List; Politics Make Strange...; O! Whatever Should We Do Without Men?; and Why Daniel Day-Lewis And Ohio Are Really Irritating Me, to name a few. 

And those are only SIX things that the number SIX made me think of.  We didn't even get into cows, bunnies, polar bears, stupid smackdowns, fashion, food, grammar, or oh, so very many things that I feel are under the purview of this, the Dept. of Nance. 

It has been my very great pleasure to host you here.  For those of you who have been here for all SIX years, you hold a Very Special Place In My Heart.  For those of you who have arrived because you found one of my comments elsewhere and became curious, or who read me and comment even though Blogger is tedious, or who are former students and colleagues and family and friends, you also hold a Very Special Place In My Heart.  Thank you.  Now, please, won't you all have some cake? You're certain to find one that you'll like.

A Box Of Books, A Case Of Wine, NPR, And Thou

Not sure if you got the memo or not, but

I'm Retired.

For real now, as of about 9:45 on July 22nd.  I completed my remaining 14 days of service that were required to Top Off My Tank and put me at a Full Thirty Years, and now I'm Officially Done.

It's...anticlimactic, thus far, really.  I'm on Summer Vacation, but it's starting to sink in, thanks to all the Back To School commercials and displays everywhere.  I'm still scatterbrained and fragmented, but I'm trying to pull it together so that Rick doesn't stick me in a Home.  To that end, I thought I'd dump a little of all my Cranium Crud on you.  Lucky, lucky.

~*~ For the 14 aforementioned days, which I referred to as My Fake Job, I unpacked 72 cartons of a Scholastic Guided Reading Program for an elementary school.  I diligently unpacked 60 books and 2-4 plastic tubs per carton, put a sticker on each book and 4 stickers on each tub.  Then I repacked each carton carefully so the books would not incur any folding or bending, then stacked the cartons back up.  I was in the room alone each day.  The best part was the book titles.  The ones for the littlest kids were so unintentionally funny.  One of my faves:  Chickens Aren't the Only Ones.  Some seemed sort of ominous, like I Know Karate and What Is It?  And lots of them had exclamation points, like Look! and We Like to Play!  I got extremely confused when I unpacked the Nonfiction Focus carton and found a Harry Potter book and an Ursula K. LeGuin book about flying cats. Hey, not my problem.  Retired!

~*~Rick bought me a GPS for a retirement present, and although it is not yet in my car, I am spending more time driving.  I am also trying to listen to the radio more, now that there is more quiet in my life.  True, I listen to NPR instead of music, but I'm starting slowly.  Which brings me to my next topic:  Oh, NPR, when I try to imagine for whom you are designing your programming, I become disoriented. Sitting in horrific traffic last week, cursing and making terribly dire assertions about the character of people I didn't even know, I suddenly became aware that the person on NPR was carrying on at length about the predation of bush pigs and how it was affected by the full moon. That is almost a quote, by the way.  Come on, NPR!  That is as bad as the last program that made me break up with you, which was the endless segment on Norwegian Folk Metal Music.

~*~Male readers--and former students who are easily embarrassed-- may want to skip this part.  It would seem, and I am typing one-handed whilst the other hand is rapping on the end-table--that my body has seen fit to shut down all of its Monthly Bullshit.  Finally.  Because let me tell you--and my children will attest to this--it has been no lawn party for anyone.  Alrighty then.  (It figures, I had just gotten the Massive Multipack that takes up the entire undersink cabinet, Boy Scout that I am.  Like undies, not the sort of thing you sell at a garage sale....)

~*~ We got some gorgeous wines on our jaunt to NotL, about 5 cases.  We were focused on reds, having drunk reds all during the fall and winter.  (We'll drink up all or most of our whites and roses this summer and restock those in October.)  I behaved myself and stuck to my vow to only taste reds, but Rick was all in--he tasted everything.  We found a really fun fruit wine this time, a plum wine at Caroline Cellars.  It's not real sweet, but very light and frisky, almost as if it were carbonated, but it's not.  With a good chill on it, it's the perfect summer patio drink. It would be lovely with spicy Asian food or tequila lime chicken wings.  Our uberscore was a case of '07 Merlot from one of our favorite Bench wineries, Vineland.  This wine was a special deal, and we couldn't resist.  Unlike Miles from Sideways, we do enjoy a Merlot, and this one is drinking so well right now.  Very nicely fruit forward with lots of dark cherry, cocoa, and a little mocha in the finish with smooth tannins.  We won't make this one wait.  And there are more, so many more!  And new wineries, too.

When people find out I am retired, the first thing they say is, "Congratulations!"  The next thing they say is, "What will you do now?"  Everyone expects more from me.  I don't know what to say.  Maybe I'll just make things up, like, "I'm going to medical school" or "I'm taking a wing-walking class" or "I'm selling Amway."  That last one would shut them the hell up.

Not sure if they got the memo or not.  I'm retired.

You Are Too Much For Me, Politics, You SOB! I Wish I Knew How To Quit You! My Look At The republican Field, Such As It Is.



The field of 2012 republican presidential candidates is still growing

 Oh, those republicans.  Look at them.  No, seriously:  LOOK AT THEM.  What a sad little herd they are.  All the Serious (R)epublicans are, right this minute, peeing themselves and saying, "Holy shit!  Get out your checkbooks and see if we can get Colin Powell to run!"  Because, really, have you LOOKED AT THEM?

I mean besides the picture provided at the top of the post.

I have, and it is, as my son Jared would say, a dumpster fire.

Nothing but unmitigated glee was in my heart the day Michele Bachmann formally announced her candidacy, for I knew that this was going to be a Sarah Palin/Christine O'Donnell Hybrid Run For The Flames.  That poor woman--she has no idea just how stupid she really, really is. I honestly believe that the media declared her the winner and lauded her performance at the "first big debate" in order to give her a false sense of security and encourage her to make more of her stunningly idiotic pronouncements.  It did not take long.  From declaring nine-year-old John Quincy Adams a Founding Father to saying that she wants to take the country back "from the people all across the nation," Mrs. Bachmann just keeps on proving that anyone can graduate from Oral Roberts with a degree in something.  Or that Minnesota voters just elect women who are somewhat attractive.  And, apparently, liars and hard of hearing or mulishly stubborn, as is showcased in this interview with the astute and patient gentleman, Bob Schieffer, in which she was confronted with her PolitiFact record and simply refused to answer his question multiple times. Need more Crazy?  Click here.  My prediction?  Pretty soon, she'll realize that she's in way over her airhead.  She'll do a CopOut Dropout and use this excuse:  "The constant negative media scrutiny and invasiveness was beginning to harm my family, including my TWENTY-THREE FOSTER CHILDREN.I cannot risk harming them or their privacy, which they deserve.  For their sake, I am reluctantly withdrawing my candidacy. Blah blah blah."  In the meantime, enjoy the show.

Poor Tim Pawlenty.  What on earth is he even about? ; No one, not even he, knows.  This Baloney On Wonderbread Factor is something that the media glommed on to right away, and poor Tim can't shake it.  He's just The Nondescript White Guy Without "It".  He's No Sizzle And No Steak.  And he can't get history right, either.  I saw that way back on 21 February of last year. That was when I took the governor to task about his lax interpretation of the Declaration of Independence and his bullshit parroting of republican doctrine. He basically said Nothing.  And now, when the media is magnifying that Vast Void, he is trying on a bunch of new personalities, like Peter Brady.  But he just sounds goofy and we all know it's just more Porkchops And Applesauce.  He won't last long; the media have already pronounced him DOA after Iowa, which is patently ridiculous, especially in light of the fact that Bachmann is leading there, but all the same, he's a goner, despite his cool, new, urban-chic nickname (yet it, too, has...unfortunate associations).  "T-Paw" is Toast.

"Don't Call Him A Washington Insider" Newt Gingrich is still hanging on, but even he isn't taking it seriously anymore.  This is the candidate who blamed Patriotism for his marital infidelity.  A man whose outstanding balance at Tiffany's is more than most people's net worth.  This guy goes on vacation and his whole staff just says, "Hey, everyone, now that he's gone, whaddya say we quit? Grab your coffee mug and I'll meet you outside in...say, five minutes?"  But let me tell you:  When Newt first announced he was In, I watched him on Meet the Press.  He got down and dirty and bashed Paul Ryan's Almighty Plan and told it how it was.  I was impressed.  Until a few days later.  That's when he caved to Limbaugh and his minions like all the other republicans and had to sob and placate and walk it back like a penitent supplicant.  What a load.  Newt won't go far, but he might be just enough of a sonuvabitch to stick around for a few primaries to be that sonuvabitch.

Oh, Rick Santorum.  He would amuse me if he weren't so scary, like a rogue clown at the circus that hangs around the tent flaps and pops out to scare children but says he didn't mean to.  There's just something awful and unseemly about him. And his Google Problem doesn't help, really.  Yet, he brought it on himself.  He is rampantly, frighteningly, misogynistically, homophobically, unrelentingly conservative with all the tonnage that brings.  He is Sarah Palin's twin, really, except for the Roman Catholic part.  For more of Rick's Ravings, click here.  What really frosts my cupcakes about Rick Santorum, though, is that he's just so maddeningly dumb. He thinks he's being triumphantly sharp and clever and erudite, like this defense against abortion:  "The question is -- and this is what Barack Obama didn't want to answer -- is that, is that human life a person under the Constitution? And Barack Obama says no. Well if that person, human life is not a person, then I find it almost remarkable for a black man to say, 'No, we're going to decide who are people and who are not people.'" Oh, Rick Santorum.  It's not even that you're being racist here. It's...well, wait.  This says it for me. How long for Rick Santorum?  We've already seen the end of this movie in the last presidential primaries.

Mitt Romney, bless him, at least has a brain.  When the WackJobs over at some Christian fundamentalist conservative exclusionary society hauled out their Naughty Things List, Mitt said no.  He said signing any oath or pledge or God Warrior Scouts For Jesus Promise was a non-starter, and that the document "contained references and provisions that were undignified and inappropriate for a presidential campaign."  That, the Brain Thing, and being a Mormon just lost Mitt all of the teabagger vote and there goes the republican base for the early primaries.  Add to that Massachusetts Mitt's Healthcare Albatross, and he just can't get a break. Mitt also made a lousy joke about feeling the pain of those without a job because he was also unemployed.  Wow.  Really?  This from a guy who most pundits agree lost the nomination in the last go-round because the perception of the (non-teabagger Christian fundamentalist God Warrior) republican electorate was that he tried to buy it. With his own money.  Entirely.  That, and he is a dead-ringer for the Muppet Guy Smiley, as I noted here in 2007.

I cannot even go on.  Herman Cain? The man's PAC is called "The Hermanator."  Ron Paul is getting to be like the old comedian Pat Paulsen or Lyndon LaRouche.  He keeps running for President of the United States, gets a few fans/supporters and a platform, and then what? ... Exactly. And of course the media are on High Alert S.Palin Watch.  Once she dropped the Paul Revere Quote and had to answer for that, she cut her summer vacation pretty short, didn't she?  Let's review that, though, because, well, it's just too wonderfully asinine not to wallow in its Snark Potential.  Remember, Sarah Failin' said that it was a typical "shout-out, gotcha-type question" that provoked this sad, gnarled, I-didn't-study-but-maybe-if-I-fill-up-the-space-the-teacher-will-just-give-me-credit-and-not-really-read-it, remedial second-grade response:

"He who warned, uh, the British that they weren't going to be taking away our arms uh by ringing those bells and making sure as he's riding his horse through town to send those warning shots and bells that we were going to be secure and we were going to be free and we were going to be armed."  Oh, and that "gotcha" question?  Ahem.   “What have you seen so far today and what are you going to take away from your visit?” Oh, bless me.  I would have Ever So Much Fun if she decided to run, but she's in the perfect situation right now.  She has all the power and no responsibility whatsoever.  She can peddle her Crazy to the Faithful with impunity and get paid for it.  If she falls out of favour with The Media Machine, she and her husband can go somewhere outdoorsy or significant and become amourous, have another child, and name it after the place wherein they did it.  That's how they named all the other ones, obviously.

The republicans would love to be able to pin their hopes on Jon Huntsman..if he had not already worked for President Obama.  He's sane, he's smart, and he's moderate.  But he's a Mormon.  Can he or Mitt pull a JFK ("it's not what church I believe in but what kind of America I believe in")--or should they, even--and confront the republican base with at least that One of their Many Prejudices?  Sigh.  Not worth it.  Huntsman can't be The One either.  He favours civil unions and, as I said before, he's Mormon and moderate.  He's already done.

And can someone please tell me who is the Doodah advising Gov. Rick Perry?  Although considering how long it took for most of the republicans to wake up and really see Sarah Palin, I should not be surprised that he is considering entering this Clown Wagon Of Candidates.  This is the Texan who appeared at a teabagger rally and offered secession if Washington didn't snap to and behave itself while he was an acting governor.  I have to agree with my DemCrush James Carville who says, regarding a Perry candidacy, "He talks a lot and he's not very bright. And that's a combination I like in republicans."  Besides, America--think!  Republican, Texas...been there, done that.  At the risk of quoting Lord Help Me, Dr. Phil, "How'd that work for ya?"

 Right now, I have to say I'm not Entirely Thrilled with the Current President.  But run him up against any of these yahoos, and he looks like a winner.

This Is My Brain...On A Bed Of Lettuce Leaves With A Side Of Summer Fragmentation. Would You Care To See The Wine List?

Remember how in seventh grade your health teacher would show you the Before and After pictures of lungs to demonstrate the Horrors And Evils Of Cigarette Smoking?

Good.

Now look at that nice, pinked-up brain on the left there.  There is No Way In Hell that my own personal brain looks like that. Mine is probably purply and twisty and sinister-looking.  Mine is not even a brain anymore; it is a Random Spasmodic Thought Fraughtenor. (And yes, I did just make up that last word because I do feel as if my brain and consciousness are besieged and fraught with thoughts most of the time.)  Does my brain not know that I AM RETIRED?!

Here is a random sampling of how I am beset by my RSTF (see above!):

**My eldest son, Jared, has a...rambunctious Twitter feed.  I read it online and frequently send him emails regarding its content.  Often, I harp about his lax spelling and grammar, primarily because I know that he knows better and secondarily because I know it stems solely from a vast ocean of laziness/unconcern.  He majored in English in college!  Back in June, I could not restrain myself or, rather, my RSTF could not, so I sent him this email: 
Sigh.  Really? An “affect/effect” error on your Twitter feed? Come ON. 
Immediately by return email came this brief missive: 
#thingsonlyyounotice.

**So, I dare any of you to try and escape hearing or seeing any mention of The Royals!!!! when they are on the move or marrying someone or having children or anything.  Rick and I were on a lovely holiday jaunt up to Niagara-on-the-Lake, and of course WilliamandKate!!! were in Canada at the same time.  (This lessened the impact of my presence considerably, I'm sure.)  NotL's historic/famous Prince of Wales Hotel had its red carpet rolled out--literally--every day, even though The Cambridges!!! weren't going to be anywhere near there.  But I digress.  (Oh boy, do I. Wait 'til you see where I end up.)  Anyway, all the Wimbledon coverage was showing the crowd shots of Those Two, and there behind them was Billie Jean King.  My RSTF started working Overtime.  "Holy crap!" I said to Rick.  "Billie Jean is looking really rough!  And with that dark helmet of hair and dark glasses, she's starting to look like Roy Orbison!"  So, I start Googling pictures of BJK and Roy, and then, as I start looking at pictures of Roy Orbison, I notice something even more startling, this:

I know, right?  Do you see it, too?  Charlie Sheen is absolutely Roy Orbison.  (Yet, we all had to wander through NotL, Wimbledon, BJK, and The Royal Family (!!!) to get there, didn't we? Sorry. Blame my RSTF.  So calisthenic.)

**For those of you scoring at home, I am, in fact, fully aware that the brain "brain" in the picture at the top of this post is a fake.  It's a gelatin mold of a brain.  The human brain is probably more beige and not so uniform-looking.  I always used to tell my students that every time they learned a new piece of information, it made a new groove in their brains and that the more wrinkled and convoluted their brains were, the more intelligent they were.  That their brains were like a roadmap of their thoughts and ideas and that the more roads they had, the more efficiently their brains worked because they had more on- and off-ramps to knowledge--more connections/intersections.  The science is complete bullshit, but it sounds wonderful and it worked for years, both to impress teenagers and to make them want to be smart.  Damn, I was good.  Sigh.

Rick says I'm always this scattered and fragmented right at the start of summer break, and our jaunt north did do us both a lot of good. More about that later.  And the wines...always the wines.