No resolutions

I believe, around this time every year, I write about how it is that I do not make New Years Resolutions... this year, I will continue my long standing tradition of not making New Years Resolutions.

When I answer people who ask what my resolutions are, they often look confused; baffled that I might buck a standard by which people are comfortable and have a common ground with other people. I suppose it might make it easier that if for one week of the year I answered with the typical--oh, I'm going to lose weight, try to be less critical, read more, blah blah blah... but the truth is that I don't like to "take stock" as it were at this time of year. I find this time of year depressing and dreary. I joke about it, but am rather serious, that Valentines Day is when I make my resolutions. Yes, it started as a kind of ha-ha moment between a friend and I when he gave me a copy of "Tales of the City" and the character that reminded me of him declared that Valentine's resolutions were the serious ones. There was more to it than that, but it got me thinking and for the last 10 years I've made my "resolutions" at mid-February.

I say "resolutions" because its the best word available that I can come up with, but they are more about attitudes and behaviors--they are not solutions or answers to problems like losing weight, exercising more.... it is far more abstract than that. It is about being in love with and enjoying my life. My friend also died the week before Valentines day, so in a way, it has become a tribute to him... I make the resoltions, I take some time from work to remind myself to stop, breath and enjoy life, I get a salon service, I go have a Tanguerey and tonic and flirt with the guys sitting at the bar... it's how he would have wanted it, and it is exactly what I need come February.

Mid-February is when the gym finally starts to get back to even keel with the New Years resolvers resolving that their excuses have won out. The sky has usually been a little too gray for a little too long and it is about midway between paid holidays off. It is also the time of Valentines day... the explosion of pink has already begun. And we all know how much I love pink, even my friends 5 year old identifies the color with me, but Valentines has robbed me of the zest of the color, among other things, for 6 weeks. In the meantime, I won't allow New Years and the zeal of resolvers to get me down... everyone is entitled to try to make improvements to their lives... I just don't think the haze of a hangover and week of overeating is the time to do that--but then again, perhaps it is.

Diagnosing Demonic Domination

I love it when I can use alliteration.

As a result of my viewing the History Channel's thorough skimming of the concept of Satan and Hell and its influence on culture, I feel I have been granted the proper education to begin diagnosing those who are clearly under the influence of demonic possession.

Apparently, the Catholic Church has maintained the corner on this market for quite some time. But as an ordained minister myself of the Universal Life Church for the last 7-8 years, and with the viewing of this entire show (which I'm certain no one else has done) under my belt, I think I can edge the Pope out on this one.

Clearly, I will have to start with my friends and family. Given the information I "learned" tonight, several of them may be in need of exocism services... though it is hard to tell for sure... super human strength is a sign not only of demonic possession, but of being a super hero. It is a fine line to draw. It also gets tricky when we look at "speaking in tongues." Technically, I wonder if speaking in tongues is any language I don't understand, which based on the information I have garnered, I would have to say it is. So, being as I really only slightly understand some Spanish and German outside of English... the French are fucked. But hell, based on what I have extracted from the program: we all be fucked.

I guess the only logical thing to do next is to curl up with a hot cocoa, a wooden stake and prayfor the Rapture.

On that note, I need more cold medicine.

Duck Tape--it's not just for taping ducks anymore!

The other day at lunch, I ran out to do a few errands; pick up cat litter and dishwasher soap—nothing terribly exciting really but I mention it because on the trip to perform this mundane life tasks, I came across the most delightful find: Pink Duck Tape. Yes, I know it is actually “duct tape” properly, but Duck Tape is a brand… and it comes in pink—as well as an assortment of other colors. Of course, I immediately felt the urge to purchase this product—this divine sign that I could do repairs on anything now that I have a roll of duct tape, and it is Pink!

And, the roll did not sit unopened for long on the table. You see, I pulled my vacuum cleaner out—obviously, to vacuum the rug—and the hose on the thingy that you use for the hand part has been crushed, the wire stretched somehow from a previous clog… a problem that has vexed me for a few weeks, but I get around it. But I looked at the problem, looked at the Duck Tape and a thought occurred to me. Yes, folks, I indeed fixed the vacuum hose. It is a sight to behold. Now, granted, I ruined a pair of scissors in the process. Oh, not from the duct tape, but that wire is pretty thick inside the hose and was difficult to cut. I managed though, so no worries. The point here is, it is a work of genius. I’m just wondering now, how on earth I might be able to utilize this incredible product to fix my vcr?

Friends of the Devil

So, tonight, I am sitting home, not feeling well, and having awoke from my nap, and not wanting to watch the sick episode of Law and Order SVU that were re-playing, I opted to watch the two-hour program on Hell: The Devil’s Domain on the History channel. The first hour and 40 minutes are nothing worth writing about, in fact, I believe these last 19 minutes will also be lackluster… but one moment has found me with a moment of entertainment. Whomever was making this documentary on Satan began the obligatory delve into how rock music has embraced Satan and the Devil for its rebellion stature, and then launched, without missing a beat, into how Ben Franklin and Mark Twain were also demonically influenced. Now, perhaps, in my drug and tea haze, I am making some leaps of logic between what was actually said and what was implied… but bottom line is, the idea of Franklin and Twain causing a raucous with scantily clad women (yes, the program actually used this term to describe the rock and roll demonic followers) and the likes of heavy metal hitters. That’d certainly be some orgy, now wouldn’t it?

And now, a scary thought has just occurred to me. Given the hits to my site after the gnome story – and by the way, I never thought "gnome sex" would be a search term that people somehow used to get here… no judgment if that is your thing, just WOW, talk about your obscure fetishism. But my point is that this post, will undoubtedly, create some interesting search terms that land people here.

The Great Gnomicide Caper of Cheboygan County

So, it happened a few years ago when J and I decided that these hideously cute gnomes at Joann’s would make perfect Father’s Day gifts for our dads. These are the not the cutesy gnomes you see now that look like a smaller version of Santa made popular by Travelocity—these were the hardcore, find them under a rock, gnome; they were made to kick ass and take names later.

Admittedly, we knew our mothers were not going to be very happy about the gnomes—but it was late in the day, we had to show up the next day with our gifts and well, they just seemed so wrong they were right.

The gnome gifted to J’s dad did not last all that long before it was mysteriously broken in a rather suspicious accident. My dad’s gnome—well its fate was far more suspect, brutal and quite frankly, photographed.

Dad loved his gnome. Mom hated it. The gnome sat around, as gnomes do. One day, the gnome was found headlong in the toilet. Mom claimed the gnome had been despondent of late, but dad cited another more treacherous motive. His suspicions were confirmed one day when he was whacked in the back of the head by a gnome flying from the blade of the bedroom ceiling fan by nylon yellow boating rope.

Days, weeks, months passed… photographs began to surface of the gnome hanging from various locations from around the yard with the same piece of nylon yellow boating rope. Dad would call me, yelling into the phone how my mother was out of her <> mind. “She’s sick,” he would whisper earnestly, “there is something wrong with her.”

And yet, dad never took the gnome down from its current perch.

The gnome, however, did not meet its final fate via the hands of someone with an eye for vengeance against it. One day, while my two cousins were outside playing ball, the gnome, which was sitting innocently on the patio, was struck with the ball and fell to the patio. Sadly, this was not the end for the gnome. Dad’s friend took the gnome to try and cement its legs back on, but it met its final desecration when his friends nephews sent it flying and into several pieces.

There has not been another gnome quite like this one. I’ve purchased little gnomes—in fact last winter I bought him a gnome which he seat belted into the front seat of his truck—to keep his little buddy safe. Since the first summer of attacks, all word has been quiet out of Cheboygan County and no more gnomicides have been reported.

Occasionally, after hearing the fate of the first gnome, dad will get a little gift of a gnome from concerned people. In fact, SK bought him a “Wee Little Gnome” for the holiday. He informed my mother that she wasn’t to touch his gnome. She is still his top suspect, though she has always maintained her innocence.

Happy Holidays!!

Please have a happy and safe holiday!!

The Gnome Story will be here soon, I promise...

VCR Repair

About a week and a half ago, you may recall, SK and I made cookies and I got my Charlie Brown tape stuck in the VCR. Well, SK was kind enough to snap a photo of me working on the VCR and I mentioned I might throw that up here for your amusement and enjoyment. So here it is.

And by the way, the VCR is still in much the same state of disarray and the tape is still in there... it flashes away at me, because, no, I still have not unplugged it!

Soltice Rainbow

The other day, I saw a rainbow at sunrise and was amazed by it. Tonight, there was one at sunset. Two rainbows in December, and one on the Solstice. I'm not questioning it; there is no need.

Targeting Che

Target is pulling a CD case with an image of Che Guevara. It is an interesting thing; and no one, from what I can tell, is protesting this except the stoner wannabes who think it is awesome to have Che blasted across their chest, or collection of Blink 182 CDs.

While I disagree with the reasons the group protesting wanted the item pulled, I've always contended that Che's image should not be used in commercial products. It is an insult to what he believed in and the very reason someone would want to display him as a symbol defeats the very point they think they may be trying to make.

I don't care if you think Che Guevara was a monster, you have to consider the accomplishments he made and the mastery of his thinking. He was a brilliant individual; just as through history there have been brilliant thinkers with whom I fundamentally disagree with and would not want to see idolized.

Personally, I have a respect for Che Guevara... I'm not entirely opposed to his political leanings and I find his writing to be fascinating. I'm not a proponent of guerilla warfare, but I understand it better as a result of reading Che. Yes, he assisted Castro in the overthrown of Cuba... I have never been convinced that Castro is any more an "evil" ruler than any of the presidents in the US who have served office since he took over. Perhaps Castro has just been more open and honest about his means than others. I don't really care to debate it... I know most would argue it with me; a lifelong feeding of U.S. propoganda has that reaction and I'm not interested.

But here is my thing... yes, I think the item should be removed, as do Che supporters, but I have to fundamentally object that Target has given in to this group. Not that I didn't shop Target tonight, but I still refuse to use their pharmacy since they have remegade pharmacists refusing to fulfil scripts for emergency birth control and certain forms of birth control... and the corporation has done little about it.

And that concludes this session of trirade on a Friday evening.

Teaser

Coming soon...

The Tales of "Super D and his Barnyard Friends"

and

"The Great Gnomicide Caper of Cheboygan County"

Tales of utter delight.

Is it Friday yet?

I've managed some sleep in the last few days... and now simply feel like I have a hangover. Mostly, I woke this morning thinking: Ahhh, Friday. Imagine my horror at the realization that not only was it Wednesday, I had managed to turn the alarm off and go back to sleep. Tonight, I will be in bed early.

Last night, SK and I headed to Brighton for some shopping. She bought xmas presents, I was looking for snowshoes. I ended up with a New Yorker and a book I'd been thinking about since undergrad, "Writing Down the Bones" by Natalie Goldberg. It was the first book on writing that ever made sense to me... eliminate the extraneous; get down to the bones. I'm looking forward to reaquainting myself... since my copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcyle Maintenance when walkabout, I need something to read that reminds me of balance, focus and the mere fact that some things are simply not within the scope of definition, but you do them anyway.

When I first started working where I currently do just over a year ago, I had just finished reading "Zen..." for I don't know how many times, and was amused by the irony that I was taking a position in Quality. For those uninitiated with Pirsig's novel, he asserts that quality is undefinable. Since I read the book in high school, I have struggled with the fact that there must be a definition. Now, I am somewhat comforted that some things cannot be put into words. Words can be limiting and cumbersome.

And for this reason, I'm happy to have a copy, finally, of Writing Down the Bones... because while words are cumbersome and without much meaning, we can weave them and construct them into a form that creates a meaning and brings to life, if we are lucky, the realms of our imaginations and fantasies. It's a beautiful thing.

Sleepless in December

A weekend of little sleep has left me groggy this morning, to say the least. I was shocked yesterday afternoon when I was in the Target bathroom washing my hands and looked up in the mirror to see how bloodshot my eyes were. I hadn't noticed at home, but home mirrors are always deceptive.

Not wanting to be alone last night, and not wanting to talk to any of my friends, I went to the Mall to walk around with the hopes of landing a brilliant idea for my brothers birthday present. Mom called mid-JCPenneys and suggested cologne or socks. It was at Macy's when I was going to spritz some Calvin Klein Euphoria for Men onto a ticket that one of the plethora of rude Saturday night shoppers walked into me (you know, because I'm obviously invisible) and I missed the ticket, but got my arm. Let's just say I really like CK Euphoria for Men, but after smelling it on me all night pretty much decided I'm over it. He got some Adidas cologne, which I liked and could not smell on my person.

I got home somewhere around 10... fell asleep for about an hour and a half around 11:45 then got up, could not get back to sleep, so I made cookies... still awake, I read some SparkPeople articles, still awake, but now with Jake alseep on my lap, I watched some video from On Demand. Sometime after that, I got a few more hours of sleep, but nothing solid.

It's a beautiful day today, despite the lack of sunshine, so I'm planning on getting out soon for a walk. I'm afraid to leave myself alone with my thoughts for any leangth of time, as I'm already struggling with dealing with so many of my relationships right now and it is easier to avoid thinking about how lousy I'm feeling about so many of them when I'm not outside walking. I also need to toss the cookies from last night and clean this place up. It's also time to get rid of the tree. The cats have wreaked their havoc on it and it is pitiful and in the way of most things right now. It's hard to be in the "xmas spirit" when so many around me aren't, and as a result I feel punished for trying to find positivity and happiness in my life. So the tree goes. I'm tired of it anyway.

Awake

At 5 a.m. this morning, I bolted upright in my bed, my mind in full active thought as to what was needed for a college admissions essay I was asked to review. That, and that alone, should give come insight as to how my day then proceeded to go; but if not, it was 6 a.m. with the next thought jolted me out of bed and to my laptop in search of my beloved, yet seemingly lost, copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. It wasn't necessarily a bad day, but just the culmination of a week that seemed longer than what is generally considered customary.

Have you ever seen someone and immediately disliked them because they reminded you of someone you did not want to be reminded of? Such is the case of a comic on TV right now, which is completely distracting me from my thought I started here.

Admittedly, I am easily distracted. I've already had quite a little nap this evening and now I'm feeling quite droopy, but I'm afiraid if I go to bed, I will lie there, awake and staring at the ceiling fan. And that would be the same ceiling fan that Vinnie watches with suspicion. He growled at the one in the living room earlier this week... poor kitty has been battling these ceiling fans since we moved in here. But, hey, everyone has their windmills. Right now, mine is droning on in the TV. Time to find the remote.

Oh, and we made cookies.

As it turns out, I'm no VCR tech repairwoman. And, as a result of this realization, I now have a VCR in a few pieces and am no closer to retrieving the stuck Charlie Brown Christmas tape in there, which, it turns out even if it were retrieved--how would I play it? After several grinding noises and a refusal to acknowledge my command to eject, eject! I discovered three little tabby things that obviously meant I should open the device. So after much, seemingly inappropriate, yanking and pulling on the VCR, the front panel popped off. This proved exceedingly useless and SK, who seemed to be watching with some amusement (and horror after I continued to note that unplugging the device might be best, but never did so) offered to get me a butter knife. Instead, I opted to pull the top off the VCR--NOT that this clearned upt the nature of the problem... It was only after much more yanking and pulling and turning on and off of the device that I requested the butterknife to continue my repairs.

Suffice to say, the knife served no other purpose than to cause some cracking noises of the actual cassette, and some possible other incidental damage to be assessed (or not) at a later time. In the meantime, we have opted to watch Charlie Brown when we are at my mom's house over Christmas weekend.

There were a few photos taken... perhaps I will post them later. In the meantime, I'm rather tired and am going to bed.

Mahalo.

Random Rainbows

I remember one time I told a friend that “Sometimes, you just should not question a random rainbow.” Now, trying to live by my own words today is proving difficult. The rainbow this morning was spectacular. There is not another time that I can remember seeing a rainbow in December, nor have I ever seen one blazing across a sunrise—it was a magnificent image and its genuinely iridescent and rich colors are so engrained in me after just a few moments I wonder if I will ever see something like that again. And I caught myself thinking: I wonder what it means? Does it represent something bigger? Is it an omen?

And I stopped to breath.

Many times, we just take for granted the simplicity and beauty that are around us. And sometimes in the cloud of haze and rushedness, we lose track that the things that exist—the random rainbow in December isn’t meant to do anything other than just be. And, if we are lucky, we allow it and admire it and take it with us throughout the day as a reminder that sometimes, in a life where we question everything and look for the meaning of all the symbols and puzzle pieces, a rainbow is just a rainbow, and we just need to breath.

Monday

Well, the Christmas shopping has just about commenced. I thought I was done, but after taking stock, I am missing a couple things. I will also require a birthday present for my brother. The holiday cards are sent... so, if you are on my mailing list, look for a little pink visual treat coming your way via USPS mail in the next few days. :)

Jake got his present a little early today. I opened the new package of pipecleaners and he went crazy with a pink one. Then, in my moment of cruelty to animals, I opened the balcony door. Jake ran from the pipecleaner to the door and back and forth about three times before he grabbed the pipecleaner and just took it outside with him. He also has a new green one and brown one, but like the one he resides with, pink was the preference today.

Pie in the Sky

Update: The Pie People, in response to my second, less crass email, agreed to take the issue of the sandwich named "manitou" to their next board meeting.

Really.

Whoa, the last thing you want to see on your birthday is a message from BOTOX in your email advising you to treat yourself to something "special." Bastards.

The Pie Responded

Well, my letter generated an interesting response from the Pie Company, and I shall disclose the full text of it here.... drumroll, please:

Hello Nikki I am sorry that you are offended by our choice of name for this sandwich. We are simply naming the sandwich for a well known destination here in Northern Michigan. We intend no disrespect to anyone.

Have a wonderful day, **Signed by PIE Representative**

Keep in mind, this response came from the same person who responded to SK advising that they were naming the sandwich in honor of the Native People. Hmmm? Well, you know, our people are so drunk all the time, we can't possibly check each other's notes.

I have news for the PIE... I'm from Northern Michigan and until SK reminded me, I had forgotten there were the Manitou Islands! It isn't that popular a destination. Of course, being an ignorant red skin with a penchant for scalping, gambling and drinking, it is quite possible that I never left my teepee long enough to venture out to the more well known destinations.

SK believes it is time for a letter to the editor campaign of sorts. I have a feeling she doesn't necessarily want my assistance in this letter writing effort. Though, I have to admit, mom and I have come up with a variety of other sandwich names we can offer up to the Pie People...

The Agnostic Mystery: A bologna sandwich.
Or:
The Atheist Choice: Two pieces of plain bread.

When offending people, it is best to offend all of them... not just a few groups.

Someone once told me it pissed him off that his culture was being popularized and rolled into the whole pop culture machine. I understood, but was used to seeing it. But you know what really sent me off the edge? It wasn't the Pie Company--it was dream catcher earrings. The Pie Company is likely taking the brunt of my frustration with dream catcher earrings, but they really should be more cognizant of the words they use and what they mean. It could be well intended, but in the end, it obviously further dimishes a culture in a way that they may not have intended.

I guess it is time for a serious response to the PIE. But he should really beware--I DO have his email addy now. I'm kind here in not publishing it, let's just see what happens...

Lesson: never piss off a girl who's bored, has an IQ and the means to utlize both.

God, Grilled Up the Way It Was Intended?

So, SK pointed me in the direction and asked me to write a letter to the Grand Traverse Pie Company and Bakery Cafe, which recently opened a location in Ann Arbor. Seems on their signature menu, they have a sandwich called a "Grilled Manitou." Now, they can offer up any fat and calorie laden mess they want, but the word "Manitou" is a Native American word meaning the equivalent of ::god::

Well, I procrasatinated slightly in writing my letter. And then they responded to SK's finely and kindly worded letter in that they were only using the term Manitou as a way to honor Native culture. The typical PR machine response. And I was thinking about that response when I caught a re-run of the Colbert Report on Comendy Central, in which "The Word" was "Honest Injun" And, I became inspired. So, I ended up writing my own little letter; I encourage anyone else so inclined to visit http://www.gtpie.com/contactus/contactus.php and contribute to the dialogue.

This, is the sandwich in question:

Grilled Manitou(turkey, ham, bacon, tomato, swiss cheese with pesto sauce)

And here is my finely worded letter of protest:

Recently, I learned of your menu item referred to as the "Grilled Manitou." It is my understanding that you are using the Native word Manitou (meaning the English equivalent of God) as a means of honoring the Native peoples of this country. Surely, the Grilled God sandwich is an honor if only our people would try to see it that way. While I sincerely appreciate that you are wanting to honor the Native language by naming your artery-clogging sandwich in the name of the Great Spirit of the Native Peoples, perhaps you should share some of the wealth. In keeping with your company policy of honoring peoples of this land, might I suggest a few menu items for consideration?

The Allah Sub; A delightful trinity of swiss, turkey and roast beef huddled between a whole grain bun. (**Obviously, this would not be served during Ramadan--you know, out of respect).

A Yahweh Deelite; Simply Hillel with a blend of smoked turkey topped with lettuce, tomato and zesty mustard sauce.

Jehovah Tuna Salad; A creamy blend of dolphin-safe tuna mixed with a special blend of Miracle Whip, carrots, celery, dill pickles and a hint of lemon zest. Served on a manger of lettuce with an offering of tomatoes and cucumbers.

Please feel free to used them at your discrepancy and take all the credit for the naming conventions--our people are used to it.

Idol Play

Thank goddess, American Idol is slated to start back up again in January... there has just been too much boredom and monotony in my life. This, this is the spark that I've been awaiting for months... scores of bad performances and the disgusting knowledge millions will call and vote for for a flash in the pan, but not turn up for the presidential elections. Of course, we aren't subjected to the President every morning and evening on the commute. BUT, you know, I'm thinking, we have a Presidential election coming up in 2008, how about we get all the candidates together and perform... we have an asshole with an agenda, an idiot who only wants to make everyone feel good and a complete cynic assess their performances (but don't ever really vote) and then people can call in and vote for their favorites. I mean, really, it's already kinda how it works, except, you get to vote over the period of weeks leading up to the big night with the final two when we crown a winner among video of sappy stories that brought each to that night.

The big buzz

Apparently, the big news today, all the big hulabaloo is Jennifer Aniston and Vince Vaughn officially announcing their Break Up... does anyone else find it HIGHLY suspect that this news comes on the release of Pirate of the Carribean II, which will undoubtedly sink the rentals of the movie that launched the relationship, The Break Up?

But what I think we really need to be talking about is the real break up news... Eddie Murphy's split with preggers former Spice Girl--Scary. Admittedly, I was not even aware the Murphy was doing a Spice Girl, that she was preggers, nor did I really care... but now that it has been thrust in my face , I'm forced to have an opinion--and here it is. Why is it old, has-been actors/comedians/musicians(LOL) feel the need to procreate with someone half their age? Ok, so he isn't "sure" that the Spiceling is his, but whatever!

This just in

So, it seems that I not only hold stress in my shoulder muscles, but in my ass muscles as well... which, clearly means, when I say you are a pain in the ass, it is literal.

I'm not really watching the TV, so much as it is on and I just heard the following line: "Jesus is coming to town, and we are going to welcome him with a big, fat sale." I'm guessing it was for a Xmas show, but hey, I could be wrong.

Now, the dream I had last night could have been the strange culmination of my day whereby one of my aunts tried to talk me into a fix up with this guy she kinda knows, a phone call from a friend and a Law and Order: CI marathon on USA. It seems I dreamt that I was set up on a blind date with a guy who turned out to be a serial killer and in order to save my life, we had to tape him up with pink duct tape. That's right, my super power of choice in my subconscious (where I could have any super power I wanted) is pink dcut tape.

On that note, I'm sleepy. I'm going to bed.

Mr. Smith Goes to Washington

This movie was on last night, and since I've only ever seen a few parts of it, and since I borrowed the name of its main character in a series of writing that I did... I figured there was no time like the present to watch this in its entirety. EXCEPT, I fell asleep in the last critical minutes of the film. I finally got someone to tell me how it ended, but now I have to see it, still. **Sigh** Must be something with Frank Capra. As much as I like his films, I never seem to see them in their entirety the first few times through.

Toe Socks

EEEEEWWWWWW!!

Toe socks have always freaked me out. Nothing reminds me more of that than holiday season shopping--it is the season of the toe socks running amok in the hosiery aisles of every store with a hosiery aisle. Much to my dismay, there were even toe socks peeking out at me in Macy's. MACY'S!! I thought they should have had higher standards than to have toe socks pop out at me while innocently purusing their sales. And just when you see something cute from a distance--you look down and EEEEKKK toe socks!