In the spirit of Christmas

Having heard a lot of stories about lawsuits threatened and ambiguous marketing campaigns to mark the Christmas holiday, I want to post a little something about the 25th of December. For me, it has never been a religious holiday. I have never done any research into the history of the day, nor have I read the Bible. However, scholars vastly more intelligent than I am have done the legwork, and here is what one of them has to say:

"The Lord of Misrule" Is Coming to Town
The Ongoing "War against Christmas" Was Launched Centuries Ago--by Christians Who Despised Its Pagan Roots
By David Frum
Posted on AEI: Tuesday, December 26, 2006

Talk about your "war against Christmas": Until 1869, Boston schoolchildren could be expelled for the offence of skipping school on Christmas Day.

Premature political correctness? Not exactly. The Puritan founders of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts had long disliked and distrusted the Dec. 25 holiday--not because it was too Christian, but because they regarded it as not nearly Christian enough.

The carol, The 12 Days of Christmas, reminds us that in medieval times, Christmas in northern Europe extended for almost two weeks of drunken revelry: eating, boozing, gift-giving all presided over by a "father Christmas"--usually one of the poorest villagers elevated suddenly to a kind of master of ceremonies. Yule logs were burnt, holly and mistletoe hung, evergreen trees decorated.

The founders of Massachusetts recognized all these customs for what they were: survivals of the pagan religions of pre-Christian Europe. "Yule" was the name of the winter solstice holiday of the ancient Germans. Mistletoe and holly were symbols of the immortality of the Norse gods. And "Father Christmas" was the "lord of misrule" who presided over the Roman midwinter holiday, Saturnalia.

Back in Europe, the godly Protestants who won the English Civil War had attempted to suppress these disorderly heathen festivities. In 1647, Parliament forbade Christmas feasts outright and ordered the Lord Mayor of London to compel shops and markets to open on Dec. 25.

The parliamentary ban on Christmas did not succeed, obviously. And yet it left behind an impact: Over the next two centuries, the more devout British Protestants downplayed the Christmas holiday. (Or Christ-tide, as they often named it, to eschew the Catholic word, "mass.")

In New England, however, the Puritan disapproval of Christmas exerted much more lingering influence. Well into the 19th century, Dec. 25 remained just another day on the calendar of the Congregationalist churches of Massachusetts and Connecticut.
In the 1840s and 1850s, the British revived some of their quaint medieval customs in sanitized forms. You can see the revival underway in Charles Dickens' famous story, A Christmas Carol, first published in 1843. Notice that when Ebenezer Scrooge wakes up reformed on Christmas morning, it is possible for him to buy a fat goose to give to the Cratchit family: The poultry shops are open. Apparently, the Lord Mayor's ordinances of the 1640s were still having their effect.

Americans took longer to change their minds about Christmas. In the 1840s and 1850s, the United States received a surge of Irish and German immigration. These newcomers, many of them Catholic, often behaved in ways that shocked and threatened their older-stock neighbors--and in reaction, those neighbors clung more firmly than ever to their Puritan beliefs and customs.

But Americans read their Dickens too, and the new Christmas customs were soon being adopted on this side of the Atlantic. The German-American (but staunchly Protestant!) cartoonist Thomas Nast drew his first Santa Claus for Harper's Weekly in 1863.
By the 1860s, New York was overtaking Boston as the cultural centre of America. New York had never had much use for Puritanism. Its Dutch founders had brought with them their own version of "Father Christmas." He was no more Christian than his English counterpart, but he had been retrofitted with the name of a fourth-century saint: Nicholas. An Episcopal clergyman in New York, Clement Moore, had invented the apparatus of sleigh, reindeer, red suit, pipe and fat stomach in his poem, The Night Before Christmas.
Combined with another post-Civil War development--the department store--the modern American Christmas was launched.

Along the way, though, history took an ironic bounce. Christmas, once targeted by the most devout Christians, has instead become the special hate object of militant secularists. In reaction, the spiritual descendents of the devout Protestants who once tried to ban Christmas are now rallying to its defence.

And most ironically of all, the most fiercely contested of all Christmas symbols are precisely those about which Christians have historically been most dubious: the trees, boughs and Father Christmas.

These ironic facts point the way to a historic compromise.

We should recognize: There is nothing inherently Christian about the visual ornaments of the Christmas season. Quite the contrary: They are explicitly non-Christian objects that have been imbued with Christian symbolism hundreds and thousands of years afterward. A Christian can look at the Christmas evergreen and see a symbol of the eternal life promised by Jesus to his followers. But a non-Christian remains free to look at that same tree and see . . . just a tree.

Well, maybe not "just" a tree. These are trees that emerge from the ancient culture of northern Europe and the British Isles--a culture inherited by every English-speaking person, regardless of his or her particular creed or ethnicity. It is from that culture that we have derived our free society, our separation of church and state, and our rights to protest and complain.

So maybe those trees deserve a little veneration from everyone, Christian or not. And maybe, for just a few weeks of the year, those rights to protest and complain should go unexercised.

*****
I hope that next year we experience a little more tolerance around the holidays, and a lot more love and laughter.

All hail the end of the semester!

Ever notice that your enthusiasm for a 4.0 wanes by the end of the semester and your attitude shifts to one of, “I just want to pass this sh$% in and be done with it”? Well, that explains me TO A “T.” (all caps mean, “HELL’S YEAH!”)

Today I pass in my last final. I would use the past tense except for the fact that I have to spend all day at work and then drive out to Fairfax to submit my essay. My professor is technology-adverse so we actually have to hand-deliver our papers. That’s an hour-drive, each way, people. It is a huge pain in the tushie, but the relief I will experience upon giving up this one last piece of my first semester – it will be so beautiful.

Since I spent the whole of last night tweaking my final essay, Anthony and I didn’t get to start on our Twelve Days of Christmas Movies tradition (yes, I’m a sick, sad little person who spends twelve evenings of the Christmas season watching Christmas movies. And if you think that’s bad, you should see what I do to the furry children on Christmas Day!). That means that tonight, it’s on like Donkey Kong. We’re starting with the classic George C. Scott version of A Christmas Carol.

And then we’re going to party our tushies off in Cleveland Park to celebrate Eric’s 27th birthday. Well, I’m pretending it’s all for the gloriousness that is the end of my first grad school semester, but I’ll bring a birthday card for cover.

Brief recap of things you missed out on while Ryan was not writing on her blog:

• Anthony’s mom passed and we had a big party to celebrate her life in Charlotte, NC.
• My little sister turned another year older.
• My office celebrated Halloween by hosting a decorating contest. Us slimy contractors clearly won (I think it was the three-foot carnivorous spider eating the child in a fairy costume on a ten-foot spider web that put us over the top – or maybe the werewolf crawling out of my boss’s cubicle…), but the head of our office now cannot declare a winner because someone on the government side complained that contractors should not be allowed to win. We are now officially keeping up the decorations until Thanksgiving, we’ll give a week’s reprieve, and then we’ll start on our “Nightmare Before Christmas” themed holiday decorations. And they’ll like it, goddammit.
• I wrote three papers and delivered a presentation for grad school. 4.0 here I come!
• Anthony left for Vietnam and Estonia on November 4th – He returns on December 2nd, thereby missing both my birthday and Thanksgiving.
• I immediately got bored and drafted the "12 Days of Christmas Movies" list, which has me beginning to ring in the holiday on my mom's birthday, December 14th. You are SO invited.
• I told one of my professors to stop sucking up to me. You know, one of those times I said something I didn't really mean and will now be living the moment down forever (kind of like the "is steak beef, mom?" incident that my family LOVES to bring up).
• I went out with my fellow grad students and got a number (not to mention a bunch of free drinks). How do you like dem apples?! (Disclaimer: I was in no way attempting to get that number. It was given to me at the end of the night, as we were shutting down the bar. Scribbled on a napkin were this guy’s digits and a little note that said, “You are SO HOT!” Damn, I’m so good I don’t even have to try. (insert snickering here)).
• I lost my mind and made my mom cry while looking for a petsitter for the Thanksgiving holiday (am I the only person who didn’t know that USAirways does NOT allow pets in cargo anymore? – no matter what their website says (look under “Pets in Cargo Compartment”)).
• Ben and his family came to my rescue and volunteered to bring Grace home to Bethesda to share in their happy Thanksgiving gluttony.
• Morgan volunteered to feed and shower Pookie with affection over Thanksgiving (Ben's allergic to cats).
• I did the majority of my Christmas shopping and present wrapping.
• Jeff decided that I was hosting my own birthday potluck dinner this weekend, so if you’re in DC for whatever reason on Sunday, it’s my place at 6:30PM – be there or be square.

Quaker Three-Way Recap

Quaker Three-Way
Originally uploaded by Pookah.

As promised, a picture from the birthday extravaganza. I tried editing the previous post by adding pictures, but I am too impatient to figure out why it didn't work the first time. Therefore, this is all you get. Try not to overdo it with your unbridled excitement.

Update on the fire code violation

I called the DC Fire Marshall yesterday and lodged a formal complaint.

The good news is that they will be by the building sometime this week to investigate.

The bad news is that Anthony got locked in the vestibule again today. He was able to rouse our second-floor neighbor, Jackie, and get out of the building so no frantic 9-1-1 calls today. Good karma all around for Jackie! YAY!

Now if we could only get our slumlord to fix the door...

How my weekend totally rocked my socks off

What a long, long, LONG weekend.

To make it easier on me and my fried little brain, I’ll do the walnut summary:

Friday. Mel arrived after Andrew invaded and ate all my dinner.

Saturday. It dawned rainy and cool, but Mel and I drove out to butt-f@#k nowhere in Maryland to get apples and pumpkins. I drove through TWO red lights in a magically ri-donk-ulous rotary on the way there. Mel declared us “city hicks.” We bought apples, pumpkins, honey, and potpourri – and then enjoyed our dirt path back to the highway (yay Bubba Blue!). Lunch was cheesesteaks and I got to watch Mel suck the potato filling out of her entire order of French fries (I would tell you why she was doing that, but I don’t need a slap upside the head, thank you very much).
Martha’s plane was late due to a leaky bathroom, so Eric, Mel and Andrew went to meet the crew at Buca di Beppo without us. Martha, Anthony and I were only an hour late, but hardly missed anything. There was wine chugging, a bachelorette party that invited Eric to ogle their breasts (“to guess their bra size,” he says), Kevin’s threat of sticking his woo-wah in Anthony’s wah-hoo, and a hearty sing-along including such classics as “Pour Some Sugar on Me,” “You give love a bad name,” and “Shut your fucking face, page-fucker!”
The Quaker Three-Way was officially held at Buffalo Billiards, where we crowned the birthday three (Mel with a tiara, Jeff with a goofy bat, and Andrew with a pimp hat). We met Andrew’s business school friends (although I didn’t get to meet the twins!) who introduced me to the WORST IDEA on the planet: drinking Patron. This inspired me to rekindle my old flame with Eric – the bartender who served me to the point of puking last year. Although this year I was that much more of a treat (and you didn’t think it was possible!), forcing the boys to kiss my cheek and convincing utter strangers to buy me drinks. In the end, Eric and I did a swell job of holding the bar firmly against the floor.

Sunday. A massive hangover. I puked three times (damn you, Patron!) and swore off alcohol for life – AGAIN. It was absolutely miserable. But, as Mel says, I rallied and Martha Stewart-ed my way through an evening of entertaining. Dinner for the girls, dessert of edible pumpkin and baked apples for all. Martha, Andrew, Jeff, Eric, Mel and I did some serious couching while reminiscing about our good old days at Penn.

Monday. I think I saw the sun rise. I made apple pancakes and homemade whipped cream for Martha and Mel, and drove Mel to Union Station to catch her train. Martha visited other friends while I did my homework. Andrew, Jeff, (Jeff’s roommate) Andrew, Anthony, Martha, Eric, Marilyn and I met up at Fado for Quizzo. I believe we (and by “we,” I mean “Page Fuckers” – gotta love the continuity) came in fifth out of 36 or 37, but I think we would have done better if there were any more John Holmes questions. Anthony is still kicking himself for the Pink Floyd question he had right and then made us change to the wrong answer. Andrew provided the Swedish fish so we all went home happy.

Tuesday. We leave Martha alone in the house to finish packing and when she goes to leave, she gets locked in the vestibule. She can’t reach me so she dials 911. Eventually, the firemen come to let her out and ring doorbells until my groggy neighbor Tim comes down in his pajamas to free her. This inspires me to finally call the DC Fire Marshall’s office and lodge an official complaint. I’ll tell you if anything comes out of this.

Wednesday (I'm forecasting here). Pictures forthcoming.

More Darwin, more of the time

For those of you who just can't get enough of our tender-hearted friend from the U.K., more pictures from his wedding can be found here. For your utter amusement , there you will also find less-than-fabulous pictures of yours truly.

Random thoughts

1. I pay what I consider a large sum of money to attend graduate school. Since the financial burden is totally mine, I am invested in every minute of classroom instruction. Therefore, it really irks my craw when my fellow students start packing up their books a few minutes before the class ends, thereby disturbing the professor's concentration and cutting class short. What is the pressing need, folks?

2. There is something strange about DC drivers. I’m an avid jaywalker and I learned much of my technique on the wild streets of Manhattan. This means that I am quite adept at judging the traffic flows so I can cross safely. So why is it that when a long line of cars is passing and I start walking out in the street, timing my cross to hit the lane of traffic just when the last car finishes passing by, that the LAST IDIOT in the line of cars decides to slow down or stop because I am in the road? (Maybe more to the point, why is it that I am so friggin’ neurotic that this incidence actually causes my blood pressure to raise significantly?)

3. And while we’re talking about DC people, I need to comment on the subway travelers. These people really need to take note: do NOT cut me off and then slow down. Do NOT wander aimlessly on the platform and effectively cut off all foot traffic – some of us need to actually GET SOME PLACE. Do NOT stand to the left on the escalator – it makes you look like a tourist, and EVERYone hates tourists (I’m also trying to catch my train) – the right hand side is for your unmotivated arse. Do NOT bum-rush the train as soon as the doors open – people are trying to get out. And last but not least, do NOT block the doorway and then get your panties all in a wad because I take my New York-acquired attitude and slam it right into your body so I can get on/off the train.

4. This is beginning to remind me of Ben’s freshman year “Bitch List.” Oh, how I miss Ben’s “Bitch List.”

5. This is also reminding me that I really need to learn how to take it easy. I can physically feel an ulcer forming when some stranger does something really small and trivial that pisses me off. Anthony just laughs at me and all my frustrated, but successfully restrained, bouts of anger (which of course, makes me even angrier). He thinks I’m ridiculous and I rather agree. Unfortunately, that doesn’t do a damn thing for this ulcer I’m workin’ on…

6. Gilmore Girls. This is my new saving grace during the semester. I will work a solid 6 hours on homework if I promise myself I can watch an episode when I’m done. It’s THAT good, folks.

7. I went to an information session for the Masters International Program at GMU last night. One of my professors is the President of the National Peace Corps Association so the school took advantage of that and asked him to talk to students interested in the program. In any case, it was a great reminder about why I signed on to this program in the first place. I am really excited about traveling and living abroad, working on issues of some significance. I am sure that other people have said it better, but I am really looking forward to carving out a career that enables me to directly help other people. It is my hope that this degree and my (potential) experience with Peace Corps will help me focus on a particular issue, but for now I am really enjoying learning more about the world around me and absorbing all the lessons I am taught in class. And although I am tired, cranky, and suffering from insomnia, I know that this will all be worth it in the end.

8. You know, I really miss my girls. All my life, I was convinced that I really got along better with guys, but now that I live in DC and none of my closest girl friends are near, I realize that the girls that I have known have been the best friends of my life. I miss tea breaks, sleepovers, small dinners, late night drinks and conversation, “runs” to Baskin Robbins, roadtrips…all the pieces of my life that color my happiest memories. So ladies, I am taking the time out to express my appreciation for the rewarding moments you’ve given to me. Thank you: Michelle, Christy, Katie (yo Petes!), Pookah, Mel, Martha, Joanna, Yael, Estee, Jenn, Apeface…you are the rockingest chicas on earth.

9. Andrew is loving this right now. All these lovely, itemized thoughts… How’s your OCD enjoying my ode to its limitless stores of neuroses, Masshole?

10. Ever have those moments when the amount of knowledge you DON’T have really starts to overwhelm you? When you feel like you need to keep reading in order to make a dent in it all? Some days I feel like I am so far behind my peers in terms of knowledge of worldly affairs, and that this will somehow correlate to me not getting into a career that I will love – as if I can’t attain job satisfaction because no one will hire me because I don’t know the exact year the last war in Rwanda broke out. I know, it’s absolutely crazy, and probably makes less sense on paper than it does in my head, but I keep searching for more articles, more journals, more think tanks – as if somehow all that knowledge, if I could only memorize the facts and figures and spout it all out at the right moments, would bring me to the right place, at the right time, with the right people, and determine the rest of my professional life.
I know, I know. I’m totally weird. (And Andrew is right now telepathically sending me this message: “RELAX. Jeez!”) But I can’t help thinking that I should be much farther along in my career of choice than I am, that I should have more of the answers, that this isn’t the end of the road for me – there’s something more, if only I could grasp at the right straws…
I don’t know. Life is all sorts of insane like that.

10 reasons why I dislike my slumlord profusely

These are in no particular order:
10. In the middle of the summer, he finally determined that our window air conditioners don't work but he put off buying a new one until next year because he didn't like the available selection at the store.
9. He refused to fix the heat so it works, but suggested I "just" run down to the hardware store and pick up a 'key' to bleed our radiators.
8. Did I mention that the heating unit and control for the whole building is located in another tenant's apartment?
7. He changed our apartment door locks without telling us, then didn't even have the key when I called to tell him I was locked out. Apparently, the contractor never gave him one.
6. I had TO PAY a locksmith $100 to get back into my apartment.
5. The one, lonely, solitary window in the bedroom is screwed shut. No air, no air, can't...breathe...
4. All the windows in the living room and a corner of the roof are leaking. His solution was to spackle the walls so that it didn't show anymore. Niiice.
3. I spent most of the past year trying to convince him that the building needed a new security door. When our building was broken into last month, he decided to replace the locks.
2. Those locks now require a key to get out of the building (um, can we say fire code violation?). Since the vestibule has two doors, one which is always locked on the inside, and the one with the new locks on the outside, you can actually get LOCKED IN THE VESTIBULE. Which is exactly what happened to Anthony last week when he took the dog for a walk but forgot his house keys. I had to leave work early to go let him out.
1. He's raising my rent. And he sucks.

Taking a quick break after a four hour meeting

I just endured one of the longest meetings ever, so I'm taking a break to post a meme from Rob's Blog.

[1] What is your middle name?McLean – from my grandmother’s last in a string of husbands, no less. Also known as “Grampie.” There is still no explanation forthcoming from my mother.
[2] What color is your mailbox?I don’t have one. There is a 1 ½ inch slot in my building’s front door. And if you really must know, it’s brass.
[3] Are you available?Um, not at the moment. I’m at work.
[4] Have you ever hit a deer?No, but I always wanted to… (SIKE!)
[5] Do you have to drive over a bridge to get home?I don’t drive home. I walk. Unless you’re talking about home squared, in which case I usually fly. In the case that I do drive to home squared, then yes, there are quite a few bridges to cross between DC and Massachusetts.
[6] Do you get the paper delivered to your house in the morning?I pick up The Express on my way into work every morning so I can read it while I’m hitting the stationary bike. I don’t have time for the longer papers (I haven’t learned how to skim), but if I did, I would subscribe to the New York Times. They’re the best.
[7] Who checks the mail in your house?Usually it’s me, but sometimes the other tenants in my building actually beat me home.
[8] Do you have a small driveway?No, I live in the city. I dream of a owning a driveway someday.
[9] Do you know anyone with the same ringtone as you?No. Most people want a ring tone that says something about who they are; I just use the loudest pre-programmed ring I can find that is actually so obnoxious that I’m embarrassed into answering the damn thing.
[10] What do you do first in the morning?1. Jackknife out of bed while simultaneously slamming the alarm into “off.” 2. Piddle. 3. Try not to trip over the cat, who is trying to simultaneously tell me to feed him and getting in my way. 4. Throw on gym clothes, attach a collar to my dog, and go out for a doggy piddle session. 5. Feed the damn cat to get him to shut up. 6. Grab my lunch, my gym bag, and hit the pavement to get to work.
[11] What brand is your printer?HP laserjet somethin’ somethin’ somethin’. I also have a photo printer, HP too I think.
[12] Do you enjoy fighting with people?I like to argue. Fight, not so much (you know I hate to overpower the little guy).
[13] Is your hair naturally straight or curly?Wavy. If it were curly, I wouldn’t wake up with half an afro every morning.
[14] Who was your kindergarten teacher?Mrs. Smail. At least, I think that’s how she spelled it.
[15] Was there a teacher you wanted to see naked?Absolutely not. Where do they hide all the hot teachers anyway?!!!
[16] Are you taller than your mother?Now I am. But that’s only because as she ages, she shrinks. She used to be 5’ 11”, but I’m about 5’ 10” and I’ve got a couple inches on her these days.
[17] Do you have a favorite word?Today’s word of the day is “smarmy.” Now go use it in a sentence.
[18] Are you God?It depends if you believe in Neale Donald Walsh’s concept of religion. I like the idea, but I’m not sure I believe it.
[19] What do you do to get over a broken heart?I am much too practical to let a broken heart get in the way of my life. You just keep living, and in time you heal, you grow, you move on.
[20] Do you have a deep dark secret?I’m sure I have several.
[21] What's the farthest away from home you've ever traveled?Egypt. I was in Cairo and Sharm el Sheikh in 2003 for the Middle East Peace Talks.
[22] Do you enjoy writing in colored pens?Not really.
[23] Does anything hurt on your body right now?I herniated a disk in my back a couple months ago and I am still experiencing sciatica.
[24] Do you often cry during a movie?ALL THE TIME. It’s pathetic, actually.
[25] Do you hate your life?I love it.
[26] Do you get mad easily?I have excellent self-control. It is the sole reason why there are so many surviving members of the human race.
[27] Where’s 27?What on earth does this mean?
[28] What is your biggest pet peeve?I am way too OCD and anal retentive to have just one. Basically, it is best just to stay out of my way.
[29] What is your away message?I don’t have one.
[30] Do any of your friends have kids?Yes, I have a fairy godchild through Christy whose name is Sarol, and I am Auntie Ryan to a lovely young boy named Jaden (son of Ty-Ty and Saleah). And someday, when she is old enough to talk, I will be Auntie Ryan to Hadar too! (Hi Mommy Yael!)
[31] How many pairs of shoes do you own?Probably about a dozen, two pairs of which I wear on a normal basis. I have a definite soft spot for “so ugly they’re pretty” shoes – the kind you find in L.L. Bean, totally comfy, totally woodsy, totally, wretchedly, clown-footedly ugly. LOVE ‘em.
[32] Who should pay on the first date?As progressive as I think I am, I love for the guy to pay. But I usually feel too guilty for that, and go dutch.
[33] How many years older than you are you willing to date?My last two boyfriends were a good 10 years older than me – I think that’s about my max.
[34] Do you have any friends?The best damn friends around!
[35] Do you have any mean friends?No. Why would you want to socialize with mean people?
[36] What is the ugliest color in your opinion?Black. Or maybe lilac – that pastel, purply, gooshy color.
[37] Have you ever liked someone who all your friends couldn't stand?I like all kinds of people – I’m sure there’s a few of them that may not get along.
[38] Have you ever felt like driving off a cliff, seriously?No.
[39] Ever had an enema?Yes. I feel like I need to explain myself here so you get this: my doctor made me do it before I went into surgery in December 2001. Apparently, when you have surgery (in this case, kidney surgery), they want to work with a clean system.
[40] Do you itch your ears?Only when they’re scratchy.
[41] Where were you on 9/11?University of Pennsylvania Archives. We had no t.v., so I didn’t know anything was happening until my boyfriend called. And then I really thought he was kidding.
[42] What brand are the pant/jeans you're wearing right now?Banana Republic – I work for the government, I have to be conservative!
[43] How tall are you?About 5’ 10”.
[44] What is the closest green object?The label on the bottle of Cetaphil lotion on my desk.
[45] What is on your feet?Knee-high nylons, and some conservative brown leather heels.
[46] Do you like watermelon?Absolutely.
[47] What do you want more than anything else in the world?Financial freedom coupled with eternal bliss. This easily translates into owning a comfortable home in the country, traveling and taking on new adventures on occasion, a marriage based on friendship, a fulfilling job….
Just a random comment on the home thought: I just started watching Gilmore Girls on DVD, and my idea of the perfect place to live is Stars Hollow, CT. That’s the kind of one-horse town a girl could really fall in love with…
[48] Do you want to have kids?I think Grace, Pookie and Anthony are enough, but we’ll see. Having children is important to Anthony and if this whole relationship heads where I think it’s heading, introducing a new little monster into this world is a distinct possibility.
[49] What is the brightest color you're wearing?An earthy green – my t-shirt.
[50] Who is the friend you have that you would never have expected to have gotten to know?I never would have “expected” any of my friends. I’m just lucky, I guess.
[51] What flavor was your last birthday cake?Birthdays were never a big deal in my house, so I honestly can’t remember what kind of cake I might have had. There was one year, however, that da’ Momma went all out and had someone bake me a Garfield cake – I believe it was chocolate. But the most important thing to remember is that I really love ICE CREAM. If you want to treat me on my birthday, the nearest Ben & Jerry’s will do. The candles are totally optional.
[52] What’s your mother’s middle name?Ardelle, which incidentally is my grandmother’s first name.
[53] Stupidest movie you ever saw?I feel dumber for having seen a lot of movies. These are hours I’ll never get back, people. And I owe all my thanks to: Super Troopers, Delta Force, Freddy Got Fingered, Tomb Raider II, Anchorman, Along Came Polly…
[54] What cartoon character would you sleep with?Was this survey made up by a man?
[55] Do you like your dad?I love him.
[56] Do you have any TV shows on DVD?No.
[57] Are you wearing makeup?Yes, I’m at work and feel the need to look less like the zombie that I feel. Damn you, grad school, damn you for under-eye circles!
[58] Do you have a tattoo?A whopping 0.
[59] When was the last time you skinny-dipped?Summer of 1997, after graduating high school. There were about a dozen women and it was some stranger’s private beach in Cape Cod. The lone man was forced to stay up the stairs by the road (no peeking!). It was totally worthwhile.
[60] Who do you want to kiss right now?Anthony.
[61] Do you know how to draw?Stick figures are my forte.
[62] Did you ever receive a trophy?Nah, I was more of a ribbons kind of girl – science prizes, math prizes, you know the geek drill.
[63.] Who is your hero?I admire a lot of people but there is no one I really want to emulate.
[64.] Who did you last IM?I don’t remember. I haven’t had IM since undergrad.
[65.] Do you work a lot?Compared to whom? I work my solid 40 at the office, and then another 25+ for grad school (homework/class/etc.), and I try to fit in some volunteering about 3-4 hours a week. Of course, it sounds like a lot but I fit slacking off in there too, and I know plenty of people that work a lot harder and a lot longer than I do (you know who you are - DAVID, JEFF, ESTEE).
[66] What do you do when you are stressed out?I’ll tell you one thing – it’s not called “sleeping.” I get cranky, make a lot of lists, have a lot less patience, and turn into an insomniac. Kind of like I am right now (can we get another “yay!” for grad school?).
[67] Who was the last person that called you?Anthony called me last night around 9:30PM to say goodnight – he was going to bed; I finally got to sleep around 1-1:30AM.
[68] Is there anything you regret?Of course.
[69] Do you know where your family name originated from?Janda, as far back as they can trace it before there were any written records, comes from Austria and literally means “son of Jan” (which when Americanized means “son of John”).
[70] Is there an animal that creeps you out?Just certain humans.
[71] What was the last thing you did for fun?I watched the pilot episode of Gilmore Girls last night – does that count?
[72] Last time you cried?Probably last night watching Gilmore Girls. If not, then it was definitely the other day when I was watching Funny Girl with Barbara Streisand. It’s really, really good – worth the cry.

Shocking

From "Women Go 'Missing' by the Millions" by Ayaan Hirsi Ali:

One United Nations estimate says from 113 million to 200 million women around the world are demographically "missing." Every year, from 1.5 million to 3 million women and girls lose their lives as a result of gender-based violence or neglect.

How could this possibly be true? Here are some of the factors:

In countries where the birth of a boy is considered a gift and the birth of a girl a curse from the gods, selective abortion and infanticide eliminate female babies.

Young girls die disproportionately from neglect because food and medical attention is given first to brothers, fathers, husbands and sons.

In countries where women are considered the property of men, their fathers and brothers can murder them for choosing their own sexual partners. These are called "honor" killings, though honor has nothing to do with it.

Young brides are killed if their fathers do not pay sufficient money to the men who have married them. These are called "dowry deaths," although they are not just deaths, they are murders.

The brutal international sex trade in young girls kills uncounted numbers of them.

Domestic violence is a major cause of death of women in every country.

So little value is placed on women's health that every year roughly 600,000 women die giving birth.

Six thousand girls undergo genital mutilation every day, according to the World Health Organization. Many die; others live the rest of their lives in crippling pain.

According to the WHO, one woman out of every five worldwide is likely to be a victim of rape or attempted rape in her lifetime.

What I did at work today...

Now that I no longer have time to write anything substantial, I've become an advertising haven for think tanks and authors...

Last night I attended a book signing and lecture by Zainab Salbi, the founder and President of Women for Women International - the NGO for which I volunteer. The stories of her life, and that of the lives of the photographers who helped complete this book, are absolutely stunning. What is even more, the stories of the women featured in their book are captivating - both depressing and hopeful in ways I can barely imagine, as I sit here in my well-appointed office, surrounded by the comforts of middle-class living. I highly suggest you both buy and read the book to support the cause and to educate yourself on The Other Side of War.

I may be MIA, but I still read

For those of you who are interested in what is going on with the Middle East, specifically their relations to the U.S., The AEI is a great place to read some of the latest and greatest. This article appeared today, and though it is an essay, there are plenty of facts to be weeded out that can give you a bit of a scare over the state of our diplomatic relations with Iran. I will paste the article for ease of reading at the end of my post.

One last suggestion before I go: I highly recommend you read Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi. It may help you develop a more human understanding of the recent history of Iran and the role of women in their society. I am reading it now and it is amazing. Nafisi's writing is very accessible and combined with my recent involvement with charities that focus on supporting women internationally, this book really helps me go beyond the statistics I hear quoted in the news or read in textbooks. The whole situation becomes that much more real, and complicated, and internalized, and...well, you get the picture. Go read the book!

*****
The U.S. vs. Iran
By Michael Rubin
Posted: Wednesday, September 20, 2006

The Iranian government continues to enrich uranium despite Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice's generous package of incentives--and in defiance of the U.N.'s Aug. 31 deadline. Still, European officials hold out hope for the success of diplomacy. On Sept. 15, Javier Solana, the European Union's foreign policy chief, said, "We are really making progress. Never before have we had a level of engagement . . . as we have now." Diplomats will look for any hopeful sign from Iranian President's Mahmoud Ahmadinejad's forthcoming U.N. speech. But can talk work? Successful diplomacy requires that both sides negotiate in good faith and honor commitments. That Tehran's track record undercuts confidence should not surprise. From its very inception, the Islamic Republic has eschewed diplomatic norms.

On Nov. 4, 1979, Iranian students seized the U.S. embassy in Tehran, holding 52 hostages for 444 days. Warren Christopher, deputy secretary of state during the crisis, called the Iranian move a "flagrant violation" of the 1961 Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations and the 1963 Vienna Convention on Consular Relations. But Iranian officials endorsed the seizure. Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini praised the students. His successor as supreme leader, Ali Khamenei, showed support with a visit to the embassy soon after its seizure. Ironically, while the Iranian leadership often demands apologies for transgressions both real and imagined, it continues to uphold the righteousness of hostage seizure, underscoring official contempt for diplomatic convention.

Still, the embassy seizure might be long forgotten had Tehran's disdain for diplomatic norms been the exception rather than the rule. In 1986, former U.S. national security advisor Robert McFarlane's traveled to Tehran. While the Iran-Contra Affair is remembered today for the Reagan administration's attempts to circumvent Congressional prohibition of funding of the Nicaraguan resistance, it also illustrates the inadvisability of trusting Tehran. President Reagan sought to win the release of American hostages in Lebanon but, as soon as Washington compensated Tehran for its bad behavior, its militias accelerated hostage seizure. Diplomatic enticement--bribery by another name--backfired. But diplomacy is not just about incentives; it is also about trust. What could have been just a failed initiative turned to scandal when, on the seventh anniversary of the embassy seizure, Ali Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani, today the chairman of the Expediency Council, broke a pledge of secrecy and revealed the meetings to the international press.

Iranian authorities showed diplomatic duplicity once again after Khomeini issued a declaration calling for author Salman Rushdie's death. Four months before Khomeini's death, then-president Khamenei demanded that Mr. Rushdie apologize in exchange for cancellation of a religious edict ordering his murder. Mr. Rushdie apologized, but the Iranian government nevertheless kept the bounty in place. President Khamenei was insincere, his diplomacy was a tactic. By winning an apology, he confirmed Mr. Rushdie's guilt.

Iranian lying should not surprise; what should is how often Western governments fall prey to it. The British government demanded that Tehran lift the bounty on Mr. Rushdie's head as a precondition to re-establish relations. On Sept. 24, 1998, the Iranian government said it would do nothing to harm Mr. Rushdie. No sooner had London and Tehran exchanged ambassadors, than Iranian authorities once again reversed themselves.
For U.S. forces in Afghanistan and Iraq, the cost of Iranian lying is high. While Iranian diplomats pledged not to destabilize Afghanistan and, indeed, cooperate in its reconstruction, the Islamic Revolutionary Guards Corps sent in operatives disguised as school teachers to further instability. As Afghan President Hamid Karzai struggled to wrest control away from warlords, Afghan commanders intercepted a dozen Iranian agents and proxies organizing armed resistance.

In Iraq, too, Iranian diplomacy has been duplicitous. Prior to the Iraq war, Iranian Foreign Minister Kamal Kharrazi and U.N. Ambassador Mohammad Javad Zarif, pledged Iranian noninterference to British Foreign Secretary Robin Cook and Zalmay Khalilzad, then President George W. Bush's envoy to the free Iraqis. But, Iranian journalists now describe how, days after Saddam's fall, the Iranian leadership dispatched 2,000 Revolutionary Guards replete with radio transmitters, money, and supplies. On Nov. 18, 2003, Mr. Kharrazi again pledged good behavior. He lied outright; his promise coincided with a new deployment of Iranian intelligence across Iraq. The Revolutionary Guard stepped up its training of Muqtada al-Sadr's militia. Hasan Kazemi Qomi, previously Iran's liaison to Hezbollah in southern Lebanon, became Tehran's top diplomat in Baghdad. Mr. Qomi assured diplomats that "Iran will not accept anything that destabilizes Iraq." Four months later, Iraqi forces captured 30 Iranians fighting alongside Sadr's militia.

* * *

Earlier this month, I traveled to the Middle East to meet Shiite tribal leaders and urban notables from southern Iraq. They described how Iran has transformed its consulates in Karbala and Basra into distribution points for everything from money to shaped charges. That Tehran uses diplomatic pouches and protocols to safeguard its network reflects their insincerity. While the West approaches diplomacy with sincerity, the Islamic Republic mocks diplomatic convention to shield subversion.

Iran's nuclear program raises the stakes of its deceit to U.S. national security. There is little doubt that Tehran's nuclear program is not peaceful. On Feb. 14, 2005, Ayatollah Mohammad Baqer Kharrazi, secretary-general of Iranian Hezbollah, promised, "We are able to produce atomic bombs and we will do that." In February 2006, Mohsen Gharavian, a Qom theologian well-connected to the Islamic Republic's staunchest ideologues, called Iran's possession of nuclear weapons "natural."

Iran's nuclear program has advanced through the trust of diplomats and their willingness to provide hard currency in the name of dialogue and engagement. Between 2000 and 2005, European Union trade with Iran almost tripled. Tehran invested much of this money in arms and nuclear infrastructure. For more than a decade, through both the Rafsanjani and Khatami administrations, Iranian authorities hid the existence of a uranium enrichment plant at Natanz and a heavy water plant at Khondab. That Western diplomats label Mr. Rafsanjani a pragmatist and Mr. Khatami a reformer underscores the danger of judging Iranian officials by style rather than action.

In February 2003, the Iranian authorities opened the secret plants to International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) inspectors. Their subsequent report was damning: Not only had the Iranian government designed the Natanz facility to house at least 50,000 centrifuges, but Tehran had the import of almost a ton of uranium from China, and could not account for missing processed uranium. During subsequent inspections, Iranian authorities repeatedly changed their stories when asked about the origin of weapons-grade uranium traces. Subsequent inspections exposed other lies. Finally, on Sept. 24, 2004, the IAEA Board of Governors, after recalling a litany of Iranian mistruths, found Iran in breach of its Non-Proliferation Treaty Safeguards Agreement. While Iranian officials have made many subsequent pledges to cooperate, their actions belie their words. They have yet to abide by the Additional Protocol's inspection standards and, earlier this year, turned away IAEA inspectors from Natanz in violation of the NPT.

While diplomacy necessarily involves talking to adversaries, Washington should not assume that the ayatollahs operate from the same set of ground rules. During his long exile in Najaf, Khomeini endorsed taqiya, religiously sanctioned dissembling. From his perspective and that of his followers, the ends justify the means. Hence, Khomeini saw nothing wrong when he told the Guardian newspaper, just months before his return to Iran, "I don't want to have the power of government in my hand; I am not interested in personal power." Tehran may still conduct diplomacy to fish for incentive and reward but, at its core, Iranian diplomacy is insincere. The Iranian leadership will say anything and do anything to buy the time necessary to acquire nuclear capability. That Foggy Bottom still advises against any strategy that might undercut the possibility of some illusionary breakthrough signals triumph not of realism but of negligence. Diplomacy cannot succeed if one side is playing for real and the other only for time.

Almost a homeowner, but not quite

Last night Anthony and I went out with our realtor to look for a new place to call home. Anthony set the stage by minute one with, “Tom, I’m ready to buy a house tonight.”

We found a wonderful condo in Columbia Heights, not far from the Metro and oddly enough, the site of the future Target and Best Buy (maybe even Whole Foods!). The condo is in a beautiful Spanish-style building, is on the top floor, gets a ton of sunlight, has a small balcony, and has some really unique touches like Italian ceramic countertops. The building itself has grilling areas, a fenced-in pet area, and bike storage. Basically, you can see why the unit holds a lot of attraction for us.

Unfortunately, Anthony leaves for UNGA tomorrow and there was no way in hell we could have all the paperwork done in time to make an offer. We’ve put that all off until he gets back in about ten days, and we’re crossing our fingers that the condo isn’t sold by then. Wish us luck.

And in case any of you are wondering what my blog title today is referring back to, we have Shel Silverstein to thank for shaping my early years:

"Almost perfect... but not quite." Those were the words of Mary Hume At her seventh birthday party, Looking 'round the ribboned room. "This tablecloth is pink not white-- Almost perfect... but not quite."

"Almost perfect... but not quite." Those were the words of grown-up Mary Talking about her handsome beau, The one she wasn't gonna marry. "Squeezes me a bit too tight-- Almost perfect... but not quite."

"Almost perfect... but not quite." Those were the words of ol' Miss Hume Teaching in the seventh grade, Grading papers in the gloom Late at night up in her room. "They never cross their t's just right-- Almost perfect... but not quite."

Ninety-eight the day she died Complainin' 'bout the spotless floor. People shook their heads and sighed, "Guess that she'll like heaven more." Up went her soul on feathered wings, Out the door, up out of sight. Another voice from heaven came-- "Almost perfect... but not quite."

Too pooped to party, but too in love with a paycheck to go home

I got to bed late last night, as will become the usual now that I'm back in school, and I'm starting the caffeine intake so I can make it through class til 10PM. So if I sound less than coherent, I blame the coffee.

Without going into too much detail, I am less than pleased with my landlord these days. I sent him an updated list of outstanding work that still needs to be done in our apartment - things like making the heat and air conditioning work, updating the apartment by increasing security measures, etc. - and he called me at work to tell me that if I want all these amenities, "Then maybe this isn't the right building for you." In other words, move out.

This is exactly the kind of thing that makes me hate him more. If he isn't complaining about how he can't afford to fix things in the apartment, or asking me to "just run to the hardware store" and pick something up, he's telling me to move or get marriage counseling (yes, he actually suggested that too). Uh, I don't care about your problems - you're the landlord, THAT'S YOUR JOB.

If I actually had the money and time, I sincerely would go ahead and move out, but the DC rental market is on the rise as far as cost is concerned, and apartments are now $100-300 more expensive than they were just last year. The equivalent of my apartment, in a halfway decent location, seems to be running at about $1600.

So I guess that my landlord is stuck with me, bitching, moaning, and all. I'm sure he's excited about that - just about as excited as I am. In fact, if nothing happens to improve the situation here, I'm about a millimeter away from calling the DC Housing Regulation Authority.

Other than that, I'm still working with my realtor to buy a new place. We still haven't decided if we want to live in DC or move out to the suburbs. It all comes down to price, and location vs. amenities. In the city, what we can afford will likely be small, poorly assembled, and in a transitional neighborhood. And although we haven't looked in MD or VA yet, it appears that we would be trading convenience for space, a yard, better construction, longer commutes, and a decent neighborhood. Oooh, pick me for the two-hour commute! Pick ME!

Attention world: Ryan is on sabbatical

Since starting grad school and re-realizing that I am a slow reader – not to mention a procrastinator – I just thought it would be nice to warn you that I cannot be counted on for any kind of consistency. Not in emails, not in blogging, not even in scooping the kitty litter.

So if you are looking for that responsible Ryan of yours, she is on hiatus. At least until mid-December, when she is allowed out of her gilded graduate cage for a few weeks to celebrate the holidays.

I can't believe...

...that Steve Irwin is dead. Although I never knew him personally, I feel a connection to the people I invite into my living room on a regular basis - whether these people are in fact in my living room, or whether they are just flickering images on my television set. Had it been possible, Steve was the kind of guy I would have wanted to befriend and I am saddened by his family's loss.

Yay school!

Last night I finished my first week of classes for the MPA program at George Mason University. This semester, I registered for three classes: Intro to Public/Nonprofit Administration, Organization Theory and Management Behavior, and Managing in the International Arena. However, later today I will be dropping Intro to Public/yadda yadda yadda from my schedule as I only want to take 2 classes per semester and not overwhelm my little brain.

I began classes on Monday night. To prepare, I drank a cup of French Roast from Caribou on my drive from DC to the Fairfax campus. BAD MOVE. I was jittery throughout all of Org Theory and nauseous through Intro Yadda Yadda. It didn’t help that I didn’t have any time to eat the sandwich I bought at Potbelly’s earlier, or that the second professor was so fidgety that he was giving me motion sickness. The highlight of my Monday night was the fact that my second professor of the evening was dorky funny AND had a four-inch rip down the seam of his pants so you could see his boxer shorts.

I am entertained by the little things in life, what can I say?

My third class was last night and it’s being taught by an adjunct. What that means in GMU terminology is that my professor has a day job. His just happens to be President of the Peace Corps Association – which is exactly why I registered for the class in the first place. As a Masters International student, I really want to take advantage of these kinds of classes where I will gain more insight into international development and global issues.

In between classes, I have already signed up for every email listserv I could find, am investigating professional associations to join, met with my program’s dedicated Career Services counselor, and scheduled some one-on-one time with a PIA professor. Oh, and I’ve also house-hunted with my realtor this week.

Needless to say, I’m a little pooped, but I’m excited to be back in school.

Some fun factoids from Ryan’s return to college:

• At grad school orientation, I met the Dean of my program – who promptly fell asleep next to a small group of us during the program held in the Arts Center;
• I spent about $100 between the car rental and parking to get my butt to orientation, only to return home with a GMU mug;
• The orientation speakers commented on the make-up of the incoming graduate students – 80% of us are supposed to be full-time workers, and over 60% are over the age of 30. That being said, I am one of the oldest members in each of my classes, and most of my classmates just graduated from undergrad so they don’t have jobs yet;
• It appears that none of the professors I’ve contacted thus far have any idea what the Masters International program is – apparently, I’m on my own on that score;
• Out of the three classes I attended this week, I met two other suckers… I mean, Masters International students;
• Managing in the International Arena is the smallest class I have taken since high school (the smallest class I ever took was AP Calculus, with only five of us taking class via satellite with a professor from Ohio State University or somewhere) – the class totals eight people, but only six showed up last night;
• The most thrilling news for me is that I was able to purchase four books for one of my classes and it only cost me $115. At Penn, it cost me $115 just to LOOK at the bookstore, let alone leave with some course books;
• I have barely scratched the surface of my homework, but I’m already exhausted.

Let the good times begin…

Anthony's input

After the conversation that was launched by my last post regarding airport security, Anthony requested that I post this Newsweek editorial. As the good boyfriend he is, and as a security expert, he wanted me to re-publish an article that makes my readers consider the inadequacy of the security measures already in place in our airports today. So, without further ado, here is the Newsweek article:

Flying Blind
Airline security needs to be based on common sense, not policies that will turn citizens into inmates of their own countries

By Christopher Dickey
Newsweek
Updated: 10:44 a.m. ET Aug 29, 2006

Aug. 29, 2006 - Flying used to be about freedom. No matter where you intended to land, there was something magical about escaping to the heavens. Now, as we know, flying is more like going to prison, if not, indeed, to hell.

As it happens, I once spent a week interviewing inmates and staff at what was then the main “super-max” federal penitentiary in Marion, Illinois. It was the successor to Alcatraz, and the predecessor of the facility that opened in Florence, Colorado, in 1994. “Security” was its aim, its ethos, its excuse for everything. Life in Marion had so many grim limitations and restrictions that the worst of the worst criminals convicted in federal courts—spies, drug lords, racist murderers, gang leaders—actually would try to behave themselves in hopes they might someday get out of its peculiar purgatory, even though the greatest escape they could achieve was transfer to another federal pen.

The operative principle for prison security was that anything one inmate managed to make into a weapon would be taken away from everyone. Saran Wrap was a case in point. Sandwiches had come in it. But one of the inmates discovered a way to burn an aspirin tablet, generating enough heat to melt the wrap, harden it, and make a dagger, so no more cellophane on the sandwiches. Ditto bed springs. They could be cut, twisted and sharpened into weapons, so the beds were concrete slabs.

The cardboard backing on every legal pad at Marion was torn off because one prisoner managed to fashion it into a crude bomb filled with match heads, using bits of metal zipper as shrapnel. The most benign objects were, in the imagination of the inmates and the guards, potential deadly weapons. One by one, they were taken away until each convict’s life was made as barren as it could possibly be made.

"Big Brother is always watching," the warden at Marion told me. The basic goal was to keep prisoners safe from each other and alive: “pure security,” he called it. "Every day that goes by and no inmate or staff member is seriously hurt, we've accomplished our mission."

Doubtless those responsible for airline safety have a similarly fatalist, minimalist view, and not without cause. It’s been five years since September 11, 2001, when 19 men using box cutters on commercial flights changed the world forever. No one would ever want to see that again. But the draconian security measures taken after an alleged airline terror plot was revealed in Britain earlier this month have exposed the reductio ad absurdum of current thinking about what makes us safe, or not.

The last few days have seen a stunning series of exaggerated reactions to minor incidents. On Friday alone, half a dozen little security breaches or anonymous threats suddenly escalated into significant aircraft diversions or delays around the United States. Earlier last week, a United Airlines flight from London to Washington D.C. landed in Boston—accompanied by fighter jets—when a 59-year-old American woman named Catherine Mayo acted like a nut. She reportedly urinated outside the plane’s galley and allegedly mumbled something about Al Qaeda.

(Afterwards, it turned out Mayo has spent a lot of time traveling in Pakistan, ostensibly as a journalist. She wrote an article in 2003 for the English-language Daily Times there that blamed American psychiatrists for what she called the “manic depression” of the United States after 9/11. “This is a woman with very serious mental health issues,” Mayo’s public defender told the court in Boston during her initial hearing on Friday.)

And then there was Northwest Flight 042. When a dozen young Indian businessmen returning from a wedding boarded it in Amsterdam for the last leg of their flight home to Mumbai last week, they were in a decidedly rambunctious mood. (Although all were Muslim, it’s not clear how observant or abstemious they were.) They were trading seats, playing with their cell phones, allegedly refusing to turn them off, and some reportedly taunted the cabin crew by tossing the phones to each other.

American sky marshals on board got involved. About 10 minutes out from Amsterdam, the pilot wheeled around, escorted back to the ground by fighter jets (which seems to be standard operating procedure). The alleged troublemakers were hauled off, but Dutch officials then cleared them to fly home the next day.

The Indian press quickly declared the real “crime” of the businessmen was the color of their skin. "If brown equals terrorist, doesn't white equal racist?" suggested an editorial in the Hindustan Times. And knee-jerk prejudice might have played a role, but the essence of the problem lies in the fact that so much has come to seem sinister that overwhelmed security staff and paranoid passengers see threats everywhere they look: in a beard or a prayer, a cell phone or a soft drink.

By coincidence, a Newsweek reporter was on the previous leg of Northwest Flight 042, which went from Minneapolis to Amsterdam that same day. Barbie Nadeau was returning home to Rome from vacation in the States with her husband and two little boys, ages 6 and 4. In Minnesota, the security obsession was less with skin tones and Motorolas than with run-of-the-mill liquids. Parents of little kids were watched especially closely, it seemed, because the screeners suspected they might be smuggling boxes of juice on board.

As Nadeau points out in an e-mail, her family’s two carry-on bags had enough electronics in them to wire a missile: “a laptop, a portable DVD player, a sound-blaster adapter and headphones, two cell phones, four MP3 players with headphones, a BlackBerry, a brick of AA batteries and two hand-held video games.” The security woman paid them no attention. “She dug around the electronics, searching for juice. About three other moms nearby were going through the same harassment…”

Nadeau concedes that the screeners and airline staff were just doing their job, “but it struck me that the security was so focused on finding and confiscating any liquid item, they were actually not focusing on any other potentially suspicious things anyone might be carrying. Case in point: nail clippers. I didn't realize they were in my bag, but they got by in Minneapolis, only to be confiscated in Amsterdam.”

Ah, yes, nail clippers. I have searched in vain for the example of nail clippers being used to hijack an airplane—on the face of it a pretty ludicrous proposition—but I guess someone could imagine they might be. Just as Saran Wrap can become a dagger. Or the cardboard back of a legal pad can be made into a bomb with zipper shrapnel.

We are walking in our socks through security checks, you realize, not because anybody ever succeeded in blowing up a plane with explosive shoes, but because one man tried and failed. Moms are surreptitiously smuggling juice boxes for their kids because the alleged plotters in Britain reportedly wanted to mix up explosives on board planes using different liquid components. But recent reporting on that case suggests they may not have known what they were doing, or how to do it.

Should we be concerned and careful? Yes. And we shouldn’t think there are easy answers. The much-vaunted Israeli model for airline security works at one single airport, Tel Aviv’s Ben Gurion, and with one small airline overseas, El Al, using highly educated screeners, many of whom are performing their national military service. Can the U.S. use the same psychological profiling techniques at hundreds of airports with screeners paid a little over the minimum wage and, perhaps, a high school diploma? Doubtful. Is better physical screening the answer? Bernard E. Harcourt, a professor at the University of Chicago who has written extensively on these issues suggested in an International Herald Tribune op-ed last week that the best approach would be “to eliminate most carry-ons and emulate high-security prisons…”

In fact, security systems will continue evolving, as will terrorist efforts to get around them. But the policies that develop in that process have to be based on a cool, common sense assessment of the real threats, not sensationalism and cover-your-ass bureaucracy. The failed dreams of would-be terrorists cannot be the measure of the threat against us. To achieve “pure security,” in the end, Americans would have to become inmates of their own country.

For a good time, go here...

Seriously. There are some really smart people contributing essays to the American Enterprise Institute. In fact, I found this article on counterfeit news to be most illumnating. It makes you think about what kind of news gets reported and how accurate our media's reports actually are.

In a related thought, if you want to get some excellent reporting from out in the field, I suggest you review this site. The Pulitzer Center on Crisis Reporting is a relatively new organization that "funds independent international reporting." My friend Nathalie works here and they are making headway to turn journalism on its head, and return reporting to its truth-seeking roots.

On order: a vacation from my vacation

As readers of this pitiful blog already know, earlier this month I was away on vacation. Some of you are probably still waiting for me to expound on my adventures while traveling, but I am honestly too pooped to party. The best I am going to be able to do at this point has already been done – I spent four evenings last week organizing the five or six hundred photos I took and posted them online. They are even replete with photo captions and history lessons. If for any reason I have failed (read: forgotten) to send the link to my photos to you and you desperately want to live vicariously through my vacation, please feel free to email me your complaints, concerns, and diatribes. I will do my best to make it up to you.

And if vacation exhaustion wasn’t enough to suffer through, Anthony and I were home for less than 24 hours when someone broke into our apartment building. We have long been lobbying our landlord for new doors and better security for the building, but to no avail. The would-be thief was ballsy enough to break into the building in the middle of the day and would have gotten away with a lot more had Anthony not been home. Or, rather, been returning home with groceries. He actually saw the would-be thief exit the building and exchange pleasantries.

Unfortunately for the girls who live in the first-floor apartment, there were virtually no signs of forced entry in the two outer doors of the building. It wasn’t until Anthony fully entered the building and saw the girls’ apartment door beaten in that he realized what had just happened. By then, 30 seconds or so had passed and the would-be thief had disappeared. Anthony ran around the block in search of the man, but it was already too late. Instead he called the police and our landlord.

In all likelihood, the police will never catch this guy – despite the excellent description from super-hunky Anthony. And the situation is also unlikely to motivate my landlord to update our doors or vamp up security measures. What a shame.

The good news is that nothing was stolen from the girls’ apartment. It appeared that Anthony came home just in time to interrupt the would-be thief, and he got away with nothing. The only outcome that could have topped that would have been if the would-be thief attempted to break into OUR apartment and our little Grace took a big chunk out of his ass.

Where in the world is...?

Happy wedding people
Originally uploaded by Pookah.

A little over a week ago, I was celebrating the marriage of my close friend, Darwin, to Emma at the Carryduff Baptist Church in Belfast, N. Ireland. It was one of the busiest and most tiresome vacations I ever endured, but Darwin is well worth it.

Response to a response to a response…

Erin posted this missive last week:

Aug. 11th, 2006 12:43 pm Flying the not-so-friendly skies
O.K., whether or not the threat was legitimate yesterday, it raises good questions. Obviously there are many ways that people can manipulate substances onboard an aircraft. And personally, I enjoy waiting in line about as much as I enjoyed that dentist appointment the other day. So here's the Ed Schultz plan, which I totally support, along with a few of my own modifications:

How about no carry ons except for wallets and books? I know it sucks waiting for luggage, but it also sucks going through gate security. You can wait a little bit longer for your clothes and toiletries in order to make America safer.

Don't let any substances onboard, unless it's medically necessary. There can be a "long line" for people who need to have medicine checked. But the rest of us, seriously, do we really need lotion and makeup? Are we that vain? The one thing is airlines will have to serve more water. I think that change is marginal enough that we can all adjust. And I can even take my Xanax or Klonopin before I get in line.

I'm inclined to just say fuck all electronics too. I have trouble imagining a flight without a laptop, or cell phone to call when I land. However, since I'm going to have to check my luggage anyway now, I guess there is no rush to make that phone call. And I would check the laptop too in order make America safer. I don't have an Ipod, but I imagine we could live without those onboard too. Come on now.

The only things we REALLY need onboard, aside from medically necessary items, are books and newspapers. We all know how shitty the movies are on planes, and how otherwise lame the entertainment selection is. And books, to my knowledge, cannot be made into bombs.

So go through the damn security check with your book, and wallet in your pocket - and that's it! This will actually make our lives easier, and mitigate the potentially devastating effects this fiasco could have on the airline industry.

I'm bi-coastal, I can't afford not to fly. But I don't see why I should have to wait for 5 hours, and see my prices increase tenfold, when it would be far more efficient to just cut out carry on items altogether. America, we can make these small sacrifices to save the airlines and most importantly, save ourselves.

In the meantime, we need to worry about cargo security. How diligently do they examine the bags we check? I say get rid of the carry on lines, and use those resources to make sure nothing volatile is on the check on luggage. That's my 2 cents.

I'm open to debate, discussion, etc.

P.S. I also love Ed Schultz's "Naked Travel" idea.

Since I just did a crapload of traveling right after the thwarted terrorist attack in the UK, I have a few things to say about the heightened security at the airport.

For the record, last week I traveled from Newark to Belfast (in the UK, folks), Belfast to Prague, Prague to Belfast, and Belfast back to Newark. That will give you some idea of the security measures I endured.

While I travel light (for a 10-day vacation, I traveled with nothing but a 24” gym bag) so I can carry-on whatever I’ve packed, I really despise all those people who can’t live through a flight without all five pieces of their oversize luggage in the overhead bins. (These are usually the same people who can’t wait the two minutes it takes the plane to taxi to the gate after landing to turn on their cell phone and tell whoever will listen that they landed). Yet despite this, I strongly disagree with the “one book, wallet, and prescription medication” idea.

For example, I will tell you the story of the bodrhan. The bodrhan is a traditional Irish drum. On our last full day in Belfast, Anthony’s mom requested that we pick one up for her. Now, if your mom is sick with cancer and requests something as simple as that, what would you do? That’s right, we woke up at the buttcrack of dawn to drive into town and track down a music store. We paid about $100-$150 for this 18” bodrhan and got the padded carrying case to go with it. We were told that the 18” drum was more sonorous than the 16” so we couldn’t possibly gift an inferior product, could we?

Sunday arrived and we all jammed our souvenirs into our bags as best we could and went to the airport. My mom carried the bodrhan into the airport and got selected for a random security check before reaching the ticketing counter. The security officers there told her that she would be able to carry the instrument on the plane.

We checked in for our flight and all our bags disappeared up the conveyor belt. Since we arrived at the airport a little later than we should have (I believe we were the last ticketed passengers to check-in), we went immediately to the terminal and joined the security queue. The officers outside the security queue told us we would be able to bring the bodrhan on the plane. Then the security officers in the middle of the security queue told us we would be able to bring the bodrhan on the plane.

In fact, Anthony got as far as dropping the bodrhan off at the x-ray conveyor belt and was told by the security officers there that he could take it on the plane.

BUT. Yes, there is a “but” to this story. But the security supervisor honed in on the drum and immediately turned into a flaming witch. She said no. Anthony said he had already made it through security. She didn’t care. She dragged one of those wooden “if your bag fits in this container, you may carry it on the plane” boxes over to the x-ray machine and made Anthony attempt to shove the bodrhan in there. The box is 17 ½” at its widest point. Clearly, the drum wouldn’t fit. It could slide down into the space about halfway, but no further.

The supervisor actually dragged Anthony out of line and back to the ticketing desks. She wanted him to check the drum into oversize luggage. Mind you, all our bags had already been checked so there was nothing we could do to pad the drum further.

The oversize baggage agents almost wouldn’t let Anthony check the bag because he didn’t have a separate tag for the bodrhan (you know, the sticker they wrap around your luggage handle that has all your flight information on it). Anthony asked supervisor lady if she could extend some professional courtesy towards him because he’s in the foreign service. She asked him if he was trying to bribe her. Anthony played the good little diplomat and didn’t strangle the ever-lovin’ life out of her.

Really, it was a beautiful moment.

Eventually Anthony was able to check the bodrhan. And he had to go all the way back through security because the supervisor with a stick lodged in her colon wouldn’t express him back through the security queue.

Meanwhile, I’m at the gate and everyone has already boarded the plane. I’m looking back through the terminal for a glimpse of Anthony and the airline staff is announcing the final boarding call. The ghetto fabulous in me is about to take over and unleash its fury on the airline staff collecting tickets. In fact, I’m just starting my rant about what a piece of dung their airport staff is when Anthony flies around the corner into the terminal at a breakneck speed. He had magically made it through security and sprinted all the way through the airport while they were announcing the final boarding call. It was a (pardon the language here, folks) FUCKING MIRACLE.

Needless to say, we deplaned in Newark to a broken bodrhan. Despite all the “fragile” and “handle with care” stickers the airline staff stuck all over the bag, the luggage handlers chose to throw heavy baggage on it anyway. The really fabulous ending to this story is that the airline staff told us it was our fault for not packing the drum more carefully. We should have, and I quote, “known that the luggage handlers would throw baggage on the drum.” (I won’t even entertain you with the details of me throwing a hissy fit right there in the Newark airport, at the baggage claim desk behind baggage claim area 6.)

All this to say that there was no sane reason we should have been denied carrying on the bodrhan. Honestly, there is no way the airlines and security staff can ever 100% guarantee your safety on the plane. Today it’s hair gels and chapstick, but tomorrow it’s going to lead to a full body cavity search for explosives that are hidden the way drug mules hide cocaine and transport it over the border with Mexico. (As an aside, do you know that it is possible to make a shank out of a motherboard, disguise it as a false CD ROM drive of a laptop computer, and the computer will still turn on and function at the security desk? And laptops are still allowed on planes.) All we are doing is masking the real issue here and harassing good, well-meaning travelers.

Instead we should be focusing on other modes of security that aren’t as focused on harassing customers and mustering up fear. It takes all of five minutes to run a basic background check on an individual and determine their criminal past. The airlines currently have a system in place that differentiates passengers associated with a particular airline’s frequent flyer program and those who are not, thereby enabling the security officers to conduct random security checks on those who haven’t signed up with that program. Just modify that system to differentiate a passenger with a criminal record and then the security officers can perform heightened security measures on them.

I am sure this is not the only alternate solution, and I know that it isn’t fool-proof, but NO ONE SOLUTION IS FOOL-PROOF. Thinking that restricting carry-ons to just a book and a wallet will save us all is ridiculous. As a former police officer (kind of), I know that you can disguise many a weapon as a book, or even a cast, and potentially even something as innocuous as a wallet. There is no limit to the creativity of the criminal mind.

So let’s begin to think outside of the box here and stop harassing the many to save us from the few. The airport shouldn’t feel like you’ve entered a totalitarian regime.

More importantly, when I buy a souvenir at a dying woman’s request, I don’t want to be told that it is 1/2” too large to be admitted on the plane.

Vacation so perilous

"My dearest Darwin:

I could not make it to your wedding next weekend because some close-minded, half-assed criminals from your country thought it would be a lark to try to bomb airplanes flying from the UK to the US.

And I wanted so much to see you..."

This may be the note I have to send to my dear boy if my plane can't launch from Newark tomorrow evening.

In case you've been hiding under a rock, Scotland Yard just arrested a bunch of people in association with a plot to bomb some planes. Now the TSA has issued a code red alert and a huge number of flights in the UK were canceled. It appears that we will be cavity-searched before stepping on the plane as well.

IF we step on a plane. There are now some incredibly insane security steps for flying, even domestically. Continental informed me that I may not even be able to take a purse onto my flight, and that hair gel is by all means outlawed.

On the one hand, I know that this is all for our own benefit, for protection of "the people" as the powers that be might say, but at the same time I feel like turning the TSA into security Nazis just isn't the answer. Clearly, the terrorists are achieving their goals - getting the word out through massive amounts of press and mongering fear. That's right, these people are fear-mongerers. But is cowering in the corner and clamping down on the American people really our government's best answer?

This is clearly insane and I will just as clearly never understand the terrorist mind. Sometimes I wonder how achievable a working diplomatic relationship is, when the people with whom you are trying to converse are clearly so dogmatic as to become utterly immovable on any issue unless their goals are being met 100%. This is very much like dealing with an unruly two-year-old. I think it's time to put the Middle East in a very big time-out. Let's cut the umbilical cord here, folks. No more aid and assistance, we'll drop all our oil contracts, and Americans will just have to tighten their belts, carpool, and research viable fuel alternatives and/or public transportation initiatives. (Seriously, there can be no other reason for our presence in the Middle East. There is a humanitarian crisis in every country in Africa, and our presence is barely felt there - why? Because politically and economically, we have nothing to gain from them.) Let's just pull out and leave them to their own devices. They claim they want to be left alone, so let's do just that. Let's see how well they survive without Big Brother (that would be us in this case) watching over them and trying to keep everyone civil and safe.

Anyway, you can read more about how a bunch of crazies are trying to ruin my vacation. Or you can just skim the article I posted (from the BBC News website) below:

Police probe flights terror plot
Homes and businesses across England are being searched and 21 people questioned after a terror plot to blow up planes from the UK to US was disrupted.

Police are convinced they have the key players in custody, but a much wider investigation is only just beginning.

Peter Clarke, the head of Scotland Yard's anti-terrorist branch, said the network involved was large and global.

And US Homeland Security Secretary Michael Chertoff said the plot was "in some respects suggestive of al-Qaeda".

Security chiefs, who had had the group under surveillance for some time, said they were close to putting their plan - which police said would have caused "mass murder on an unimaginable scale" - into action.

Sources in the UK have confirmed that they believe an attack may have been imminent - possibly in the next few days.

"They had accumulated and assembled the capabilities that they needed and they were in the final stages of planning for execution," Mr Chertoff said.

They planned to detonate liquid explosives on up to 10 planes.

They would have smuggled it on board hidden in drinks, electronic devices and other "common objects".

At UK airports on Thursday - with the country on its highest terror alert of "critical" - bottles of water were taken from passengers and mothers asked to taste their babies' milk before it could be taken onto flights.

Mr Clarke said the surveillance involved in disrupting the plot had been "unprecedented" and had involved police forces in the UK and internationally.

It had only become apparent in the "last two weeks" that the target of the flights was the US, said Mr Chertoff.

Sources told the BBC the "principal characters" suspected of being involved in the plot were British-born. There are also understood to be linked to Pakistan.

The suspects were rounded up in raids in London, High Wycombe, Buckinghamshire, and Birmingham. All are being held in London.

Searches continue at several addresses and people were evacuated from some homes in High Wycombe in Thursday.

Meanwhile, chaos continues at UK airports with Heathrow the worse affected.
Thousands of flights have been cancelled and many more delayed.

Passengers who do make it onto flights, are not allowed to take any hand luggage with them.

Stephen Nelson, chief executive of airport operator BAA, said it was the first time that airports had "faced a security mandate of this scale and severity".

And Heathrow chief executive Tony Douglas said there would "inevitably" be delays at the airport on Friday and passengers should arrive prepared.

Home Secretary John Reid said the government was "confident" the ring leaders were in custody but it was not complacent.

Prime Minister Tony Blair, on holiday in the Caribbean, paid tribute to the police and the security services.

US President George W Bush said the alleged plot was a "stark reminder that this nation is at war with Islamic fascists who will use any means to destroy those of us who love freedom."

You want to talk to God? Let's go see him together, I've got nothing better to do.

You scored as Indiana Jones. Indiana Jones is an archaeologist/adventurer with an unquenchable love for danger and excitement. He travels the globe in search of historical relics. He loves travel, excitement, and a good archaeological discovery. He hates Nazis and snakes, perhaps to the same degree. He always brings along his trusty whip and fedora. He's tough, cool, and dedicated. He relies on both brains and brawn to get him out of trouble and into it.

Indiana Jones 58%
Lara Croft 54%
Batman, the Dark Knight 50%
Maximus 50%
James Bond, Agent 007 46%
The Amazing Spider-Man 46%
William Wallace 46%
Captain Jack Sparrow 42%
The Terminator 42%
El Zorro 33%
Neo, the One 25%

Which Action Hero Would You Be? v. 2.0
created with QuizFarm.com

Too excited about my trip to be productive

Stolen from one Ms. Erin Kelly Murphy...

1. Name: Ryan, but I'll answer to just about everything.
2. Age/Birthday: You needn't know my birthday - I'll accept gifts at any time.
3. Single or Taken: Totally taken. I mean, my god, we have a dog.
4. Favorite Movie: I'm with Rob here - there are movies I love enough to watch over and over and over and over... Dead Poets Society, Office Space, Clerks, Full Metal Jacket, Pride and Prejudice, Gattaca, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, The Muppet Christmas Carol...
5. Favorite Song: My goodness, only one? Not humanly possible.
6. Favorite Band/Rapper/Artist: I absolutely love painful, tragic, passionate lyrics in the singer-songwriter tradition, so I listen a lot to people like Norah Jones, Damien Rice, Beth Hart Band, Live, Johnny Cash, Billie Holiday, Beth Orton, Frank Sinatra, Bonnie Prince Billy, Jude, Cat Stevens, Martin Sexton, yadda, yadda, yadda. But I also really like heavier rock, such as Korn or Godsmack. And to keep yapping on about nothing, I also like happier tunes, such as those created by Social Distortion, Bouncing Souls, Buena Vista Social Club, Bob Marley, The Refreshments, Dropkick Murphys, Flogging Molly... And really, I will stop there before I really start boring you to tears...
7. Favorite Book/Comic Book: Probably To Kill a Mockingbird. But I read so many damn books, it's sincerely hard to remember them all.
8. Tattoos and/or Piercings: 0. No seriously, 0. No pierced ears, no tats, nada.
9. Favorite TV Show: America's Next Top Model (how many different times can I say, "I love those skinny bitches?"), Rockstar, The Simpsons, World BBC News. Except for that last bit, I watch tv for the pure vegetation of it.
10. Favorite Video Game/Board Game: Scrabble. But nobody will play with me. :(
11. Do we know each other outside of Livejournal? Woman, has it really been 9 years? Good god.
12. Would you give me a kidney? You know I love you, but no. (I had one surgically removed in 2001 so I can't really survive without the second.)
13. Tell me one odd/interesting fact about you: Not really odd or interesting, but it seems to fascinate the coworkers... I know how to operate an Uzi.
14. If you could change anything about your current life, would you? If I could change it, don't you think I would?
15. Will you post this so I can fill it out for you? This doesn't even make any sense. You already did fill this out...

Why Grace will soon hate me

I have been working my butt off and not getting any sleep for the last week or so now, all in preparation to go on vacation next week. Grace and Pookie will be left in the capable hands of my dear friends Morgan and Nathalie (who now are officially warned that I will not hesitate to seek revenge a thousand-fold if anything happens to my babies) for the duration.

I already know that Pookie will be fine, so long as he gets his two squares a day, with minimal fuss from the human (a.k.a. servant) dishing it out. It is our dear little Grace that worries me.

The last time we left her alone, other than for the usual work day, her ears whipped back, her eyes grew to the size of softballs, and these all-over body trembles commenced. It was, by far, the saddest display I have ever witnessed. My dog is seriously pathetic.

And the entire time we were out, Anthony kept saying, "We need to get back to our little girl. I feel SO bad."

What are we going to do now that we will be away for 10 whole days? Anthony will go into spasms from all the guilt. And I will constantly be worrying - is she getting fed? Is she being crated too much? Was there some emergency nobody told me about? Did the landlord lock Morgan and/or Nathalie out?

By the time we get back, Grace will probably hate us. These are the thoughts that go through our heads as we prepare for vacation. If only it were easier to travel with ALL of our loved ones. Someone should sincerely look into opening an airline that caters to animal lovers, where owners and their pets can travel together in the seated area of the plane.

But anyway, Grace will be livid, and The Kid (Pookie) will continue in his apathy. In the meantime, Anthony and I will be delighting in the wonders of N. Ireland and the Czech Republic. More importantly, however, we will be there with Da' Momma to celebrate Darwin's wedding! It is almost more excitement than I can stand.

S is for "slacking," it's good enough for me

I spent the weekend in Huntsville. And by that I mean that I spent half of it in Tennessee and half of it in Alabama.

Martha, Mel, Michelle and I were attempting a college roommate reunion, inspired by our five-year college reunion this past May. We managed a 75% turnout, despite the massive thunderstorms in the northeast that were causing some majorly icky airline delays. Michelle just wussed out and wouldn't pay the million dollars for a flight from the west coast.

In any case, my weekend was full of food and conversation - the perfect kind of vacation for me! The only thing it was missing was sleep. But we were really able to reconnect and remind ourselves why we're friends in the first place. It was absolutely fabulous.

And now that I'm back, I'm still trying to pretend I have enough energy to get through the week. I've been training myself on some new metrics software program at work all day, but I don't think it's sinking in all too well. Try, try again...

In the meantime, I pulled this off of Erin's website, which I believe I already did another version of, but that may have only been on my MySpace account (before I deleted it):

A is for - Age: 26. 27 in November.
B is for - Bust Size: Small.
C is for - Career in future: International Humanitarian Aid Worker / Foreign Service Officer
D is for - Dad's name: David
E is for - Essential item to bring to a party: A camera, for bribe-worthy photos!
F is for - Favorite song at the moment: The A-Team theme song
G is for - Guys you've kissed: Um, I went to college and Mardi Gras - there is no way I remember all that information!
H is for - Hometown: Clinton, MA.
I is for - Instruments you play: Not a gosh-darn one.
J is for - Job title: Process Analyst. Sounds spiffy, don't it?
K is for - Kids: Eh.
L is for - Living arrangement: I get the last two inches of the bed, Grace gets the rest. Oh, and occasionally Anthony stops by.
M is for - Mom's name: MaryLee. (If she sees this, she will kill me.)
N is for - Number of people you've slept with: Why is this important to post on the internet again?
O is for - Overnight hospital stays: Only one - after having a kidney removed. And the nurses were EVIL.
P is for - Phobia[s]: None.
Q is for - Quote: "Damn the man! Save the Empire!" Marc, from Empire Records.
R is for - Relationship that lasted the longest: Vince, 3 1/2 years (I think).
S is for - Sexual position: Uhhhh...
T is for - Time you wake up: 5:30AM. The cat won't allow me to sleep in.
U is for - Unique trait: I sing and dance when eating something particularly tasty - and I don't even notice I'm doing it. It's a trait that runs in the family.
V is for - Vegetable you love: Spinach.
W is for - Worst habit: Talking over people.
X is for - X-rays you've had: Mouth, chest, intestinal/kidney area...I'm an X-ray MACHINE.
Y is for - Yummy food you make: Meatloaf, lamb chops, steak... you name it, I can probably find a recipe for it.
Z is for - Zodiac sign: Scorpio.

Like the ultimate slacker Kevin Smith will never be

I could write more often. I could babble about how the world has gone mad - or at least the Middle East - or how I spend every day after work just walking my dog and doing laundry. But, what it really comes down to is the fact that I'm lazy. I am not as motivated as some of these over-achievers (who I firmly believe are all on crack or speed or whatever their salary affords them) so I don't get everything into each 24-hour day. These days, I like to sit on my tush, curl up with my puppy, and just veg the heck out.

So I haven't really done anything since watching The Delta Force. I've gone to work every Monday through Friday. I've walked the dog about 50 times. I even spent a few hours with Eric watching Super Troopers. (Please, don't follow my lead on this one.) But there is no earth-shattering news on the home front.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Through humor, you can soften some of the worst blows that life delivers

(source of quote: Bill Cosby)

Laughter is all that got me through this weekend's screening of The Delta Force, with Chuck Norris. That and a bottle of wine.

Seriously though, folks, don't rent this one, unless you're running your own version of Mystery Science Theatre. Eric was kind enough to bring the one-liners, which he probably got from the Top Ten Facts about Chuck Norris:

1. Guns don't kill people. Chuck Norris kills People.
2. There is no theory of evolution. Just a list of animals Chuck Norris allows to live.
3. Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits.
4. The chief export of Chuck Norris is Pain.
5. There is no chin under Chuck Norris' Beard. There is only another fist.
6. Chuck Norris has two speeds. Walk, and Kill.
7. The leading causes of death in the United States are: 1. Heart Disease 2. Chuck Norris 3. Cancer.
8. Chuck Norris drives an ice cream truck covered in human skulls.
9. Chuck Norris is my Homeboy.
10. Chuck Norris doesn't go hunting.... CHUCK NORRIS GOES KILLING

These are the facts that you need to know before watching such classics as The Delta Force, which somehow Anthony was astounded to find that none of us had seen (other than him, of course).

I sincerely CAN'T WAIT for Bad Movie Night: The Return.

And yes, that is typed with sarcasm. Full, unbridled sarcasm.