Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Define Stupid. With kids to college, the TV is up for grabs now and for the first time since May, I had an opportunity to reacquaint myself with the Land of Cable TV. It took a couple of attempts before I remembered how the remote works but finally found myself channel flipping between CNN and Fox News in search of the best live aerial shots of the New Orleans devastation. There is only so much of stranded people sitting on roofs one can take and so I flipped further to come across terrain in some respects even more disorienting than a city flooded by water: the 2005 NPC USA Women's Heavyweight Championships. Heather Policky was just flexing her cocktailed muscles pumped full of anabolic Steroids, growth hormones, insulin, IGF-1, PGF-2, Synthol, and god knows what else. I sat spellbound as one impossibly chiseled muscle after another popped and rippled beneath the oil-rubbed bodies flexing themselves on stage. Interestingly, a majority of these (wo)men are in their 40's and rarely taller than 5'5". What does that mean? While most of us would agree that ingesting body enhancement drugs and pumping iron six hours a day a stupidly dangerous thing to do, I must say that it is really no more dangerous than the encouragement of construction in a city that sits below sea level....
Monday, August 29, 2005
Forty-something year-old Anna Bloviations wearing son's T-shirt over Ann Taylor camisole whilst helping clean bathroom of son's off-campus apartment. Note that the bathroom is looking quite good compared to the August 28th blog description below; we have unearthed that the cabinets and commode are peach-colored. The son [not viewable] is swearing and scrubbing the unmentionably scummy tub to Anna Bloviation's right. The horrid condition of the apartment is due to it having been sub-let for 3 months over the summer to college cretins. Once done trashing and abusing the place, they simply walked out. Now it is the turn of the next college cretins (son and roomies) to abuse....
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Crying Back to Massachusetts. Not because we miss the two college students we left down in D.C. Rather crying over the hemorrhaging of cash in the last 72-hour period. Move-in weekend is a money sucking fest of dinners, hotel, car rental, Costco runs, Bed-Bath-and-Beyond runs, and grocery runs. It is so draining that hubby was hard-pressed to even tip the airport shuttle guy a dollar for unloading our suitcases onto the sidewalk.
Industrial cleaning products and rubber gloves were needed to clean the bathroom of the son's new 'apartment' -- an apartment that costs $1000 a month but is slightly cheaper than a college dormitory room. The place had been sub-let over the summer to tenants whose aspiring goal seems to have been, "To what degree can we trash this place in three months?" Fortunately a construction site across the street offered an over-sized dumpster into which the boys dumped EVERYTHING including the bed sheets and tube of petroleum jelly the previous renters had left on what looked like was a stolen dorm bed. Some things that landed in the dumpster weren't half bad and might have fetched some money on eBay or Craigslist.com. But this crew of twenty-year-old's would have nothing to do with that -- too much trouble... not new....out it goes.
I helped the son clean that damn bathroom before we headed back to the airport. Underneath the black scum, pubic hair, and dried vomit of whatever cretin(s) had ravaged it over the summer (or perhaps it hadn't been cleaned in years), was an aging peach-colored affair. "If there is one thing a girl can't stand it's a dirty toilet. Keep it clean!" With that we left, but not before the son asked for $20 to tide him over until his cashier's check cleared at the bank and we had supplied the daughter with specialty spices, green tea, and organic non-fat yogurt... We drove our rental, a red Ford Expedition that got less than 10 miles per gallon and which we had to fill up before returning it (don't ask), back to Enterprise and gave one another a pep rally along the way -- "They will be self-sufficient responsible adults one day; they will be self-sufficient responsible adults one day, they will...."
Industrial cleaning products and rubber gloves were needed to clean the bathroom of the son's new 'apartment' -- an apartment that costs $1000 a month but is slightly cheaper than a college dormitory room. The place had been sub-let over the summer to tenants whose aspiring goal seems to have been, "To what degree can we trash this place in three months?" Fortunately a construction site across the street offered an over-sized dumpster into which the boys dumped EVERYTHING including the bed sheets and tube of petroleum jelly the previous renters had left on what looked like was a stolen dorm bed. Some things that landed in the dumpster weren't half bad and might have fetched some money on eBay or Craigslist.com. But this crew of twenty-year-old's would have nothing to do with that -- too much trouble... not new....out it goes.
I helped the son clean that damn bathroom before we headed back to the airport. Underneath the black scum, pubic hair, and dried vomit of whatever cretin(s) had ravaged it over the summer (or perhaps it hadn't been cleaned in years), was an aging peach-colored affair. "If there is one thing a girl can't stand it's a dirty toilet. Keep it clean!" With that we left, but not before the son asked for $20 to tide him over until his cashier's check cleared at the bank and we had supplied the daughter with specialty spices, green tea, and organic non-fat yogurt... We drove our rental, a red Ford Expedition that got less than 10 miles per gallon and which we had to fill up before returning it (don't ask), back to Enterprise and gave one another a pep rally along the way -- "They will be self-sufficient responsible adults one day; they will be self-sufficient responsible adults one day, they will...."
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Contrailing it to College. The entire Bloviation's family if flying down to D.C. Two will stay and two will empty-nest it back home. We could have rented a Minivan, stuffed it up with suitcases, boxes, and us but I really think flying is the way to go. It's a $400 (renting a van and driving) proposal vs. $1000 (shipping boxes, flying down, and renting a van there) proposal. Would seem like a no-brainer except for the 18 hours the parents who opt to drive spend getting from Massachusetts to D.C. and back vs. two hours round trip in a plane. On top of that, we return with backs intact and 16 extra hours to drink Chardonnay in our flower-filled garden. Now THAT is worth something. Of course I am sure there are many parents who would view the 9 hours in one direction as yet another wonderful opportunity to spend quality time with their kids but I think this family has spent all the quality time we needed together this summer. It was lovely. Really.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
A Casket For Everybody. Back in 2004 I reported on Goliath Caskets -- a thriving business based in Illinois that caters to the growing trend (no pun intended) of obese corpses. Rather than the standard 28" wide casket, Goliath offers 49-inch caskets wide enough to accommodate the formaldehyde-filled blubber of even the fattest of Uncle Ernie's (sniffle, sniffle, "Oh that's just how I remember Uncle Ernie! Didn't they do a wonderful job on him?" Ashes to ashes, dust to dust and down go at least three gallons of toxic formaldehyde along with the $5000 casket). But enter Laterlife.com, one of many new companies to offer their services to the politically correct corpse. For a couple of hundred dollars, you can get yourself a simple pine box and be lowered down to the worms. You'll be a stone's throw from a trickling creek and lie beneath a beautiful field of sunflowers. The Calvin Klein minimalist burial if you will. That said, 96% of the population (even the very young), has any number of non-biodegradable toxic substances coursing through his/her system. So unless we are willing to be lowered into a less-than-pristine burial ground (a landfill perhaps?), should we not reconsider this notion of the "Eco-Burial?" We wouldn't want to be the leading cause of cancer amongst worms nor be responsible for manically dwarfed sunflowers would we? My suggestion would be that we re-invigorate the flagging and de-moralized NASA program by employing the Discovery to transport our noxious remains to outerspace. I'm sure the inanimate asteroids wouldn't mind our company.
Monday, August 22, 2005
'Hello, this is Representative X's office, can I help you?' (said I). As I say this, I have just clicked the SEND icon with my resume and cover letter to a company on the North Shore in my ongoing quest to find a job within a 0.5-mile radius of my house (or better yet a job I can do out of my house).. 'Anna Bloviations! It's ME!!!! How's everything going?' comes a static voice. It is the Representative calling long distance from the country of fires and drought where he has spent nearly two months unbeknownst to the taxpayers who have surely not elected him to take such extended vacations (even more extended than mine). 'Oh it's you Representative. How are you?'
I tell him that Tom and I have been holding down the fort. Making sure he looks good while he is away. We've put out a few press releases with some good quotes (well what did I say?' he asks). Sent out some sympathy cards to folks who have passed away (Who died? he asks). Signed him on to some good legislation (like what?). Helped some constituents so thankful for our services that they will be donating to the Rep's golf tournament (oh EXCELLENT he says). And I mention that we have been doing a good job babysitting the interns... One in particular I feel I need to escort whenever she goes anywhere in the building.' He wants to know more about how we've made him look good and then finally asks, 'Where's Tom?' 'Oh he's out today,' I say. My poor, poor colleague. The one day of not many that I'm in the office should be the day the boss would call... I am about to tell the Rep all that Tom has been doing while he has been away but the line goes dead. I head out to lunch. I wish that I had suggested to him that he just stay in the land of fires and drought. Tom and I are perfectly capable of running the office by ourselves. But we would want dibs on the Rep's paycheck. This on top of my recent $2000 non-merit-based raise would finally put me in the realm of self-sustainability as opposed to highly-subsidized woman....
I tell him that Tom and I have been holding down the fort. Making sure he looks good while he is away. We've put out a few press releases with some good quotes (well what did I say?' he asks). Sent out some sympathy cards to folks who have passed away (Who died? he asks). Signed him on to some good legislation (like what?). Helped some constituents so thankful for our services that they will be donating to the Rep's golf tournament (oh EXCELLENT he says). And I mention that we have been doing a good job babysitting the interns... One in particular I feel I need to escort whenever she goes anywhere in the building.' He wants to know more about how we've made him look good and then finally asks, 'Where's Tom?' 'Oh he's out today,' I say. My poor, poor colleague. The one day of not many that I'm in the office should be the day the boss would call... I am about to tell the Rep all that Tom has been doing while he has been away but the line goes dead. I head out to lunch. I wish that I had suggested to him that he just stay in the land of fires and drought. Tom and I are perfectly capable of running the office by ourselves. But we would want dibs on the Rep's paycheck. This on top of my recent $2000 non-merit-based raise would finally put me in the realm of self-sustainability as opposed to highly-subsidized woman....
HARPER'S INDEX -- PECKING CHICKENS PICKING CHICKS: Number of chickens trained by European scientists to choose between photos of human faces by pecking: 6. Chances that college students select as "most desirable" the same face chosen by the chickens: 49 in 50.
Friday, August 19, 2005
A letter FROM THE WESTERN WHITE HOUSE
Thursday, August 18, 2005
What Guilt is This? I am feeling guilty about a trip to Mexico I have been invited to. A trip with my mother and aunt. No hubby. There is a gracious offer of 'chipping in' by the mother given that no State House salary of mine is going to get anyone to Puerto Valarta without a sugar daddy or a gun and she too knows that asking hubby to front the bill would be pushing it given all that he does for us already. But I just can't do it. This life-long hedonist is getting old I guess and my, "well I'm just lucky and you're not" attitude is being up-ended by "gee, the poor guy just never gets a break. And I do..." Definition: hubby sweats, scrambles, and plods for every inch of his life and successes. I, unfairly and inexplicably, live a life of, "oh gee, look what just dropped out of the sky into my lap!" No I'm not rich, but I have the luck of acquiring ultimate flexibility which in my mind is equivalent to at least a $100K salary.
It's the same pheomena that affects the gambling world -- some have it and some don't... Over the course of twenty-five years my sister-in-law has beat me hands-down at a dice game that is purportedly based entirely on chance. I can't win dice but I seem (knock-on-wood) to have a knack at winning life (well, yes, of course I'm going to die but you know what I mean). The son got it from me too. The daughter, as talented as she is, will have to fight for every inch.
This summer, for example, I have had more or less the entire glorious summer off given the circumstances of my pathetic job and will also have September off as well due to my 'lucky-star' whatever. That said, I simply cannot, in good conscience, (is this I, Anna Bloviations, speaking?) take ten days off the beginning of December to cavort with my mother and aunt in Mexico. I simply couldn't step off the plane December 10th all sun-tanned and say, "Hi honey I'm home, how was your week!" I wish my hubby more luck. So that I can utilize mine more...
It's the same pheomena that affects the gambling world -- some have it and some don't... Over the course of twenty-five years my sister-in-law has beat me hands-down at a dice game that is purportedly based entirely on chance. I can't win dice but I seem (knock-on-wood) to have a knack at winning life (well, yes, of course I'm going to die but you know what I mean). The son got it from me too. The daughter, as talented as she is, will have to fight for every inch.
This summer, for example, I have had more or less the entire glorious summer off given the circumstances of my pathetic job and will also have September off as well due to my 'lucky-star' whatever. That said, I simply cannot, in good conscience, (is this I, Anna Bloviations, speaking?) take ten days off the beginning of December to cavort with my mother and aunt in Mexico. I simply couldn't step off the plane December 10th all sun-tanned and say, "Hi honey I'm home, how was your week!" I wish my hubby more luck. So that I can utilize mine more...
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Sighs from Milan and Moms. The randomly-featured top shown here is the latest fashion trend to hit the fashion-conscious circuit and I have no doubt that the good-guy fashion designers (the one's who actually want you to look good as opposed to ridiculous) are rejoicing i.e. if women the world-over, particularly in America, insist on carrying fifteen-to-fifty-plus pounds of non-essential weight around their mid-sections, let's then MOVE AWAY from the hip-hugging-butt-crack-revealing jeans and short, skin-tight tank tops that tend to accentuate belly rolls and hug back flab most unflatteringly. Not even the skinny girls were able to carry off the look given the fact that 99% of us slouch when not standing in front of a dressing room mirror and so even the skinny, while they didn't look fat of course, looked, well, slouchy. In other words, if you can't beat them, join them.... Usher in the new camisole tops that hide the fat and let the guy checking out the babe able to fantasize whatever he wants to believe is underneath her gauzy quills. I personally would be wondering if the girl wasn't four-months pregnant but that's just me. That's ok though. It's a lot better than commuting into the city amidst quivering, jiggling blubber visible to the naked eye.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
A Year Off of My Life? The fingerprints diligently removed from our high-maintenance Jenn-Air stainless steel refrigerator, the one I really didn't want (because I knew it would be high-maintenance), but had to get because it was the only one that was slim enough to fit in the new galley kitchen, I decided to take it to the next maintenance level i.e. replacing the water filter. Alas, NO ONE HAD PUT A WATER FILTER IN TO BEGIN WITH and so all the while I was smugly drinking my bacteria-icky-stuff-removed water, I was just actually drinking all of the afore-mentioned, albeit icy cold (expending all the while energy to open the refrigerator door to get my icy-cold non-filtered icky tap water). You win a year, you lose a year...
Roast Beef Turf. The fight of the summer with the daughter was over two slices of roast beef. Yes really. She is fiercely territorial about her food; whole sections of the refrigerator are barbed wired and booby trapped to prevent others infringing on her dietary needs of the day. And with all due respect, we are all VERY CAREFUL not to trespass on her FAGE 0% Greek yogurt and mashed cauliflower. But heh shit happens. One gets hungry. One doesn't necessarily know that the lean roast beef sitting lonesome in a ziplock bag for over a week WAS JUST WHAT SHE WANTED that afternoon or that even if it wasn't, NOW SHE WOULD HAVE TO GO OUT (and sigh), BUY SOME MORE. I would have liked to have thought that the fight we got into was really about something deeper. But it wasn't. It was about two pieces of roast beef. I even sent the son out to get more f***ing roast beef but that didn't count because I DIDN'T GO OUT TO GET THE ROAST BEEF. I told her she was an absolute absurd bitch. And she called me names too. All is well now and we are good friends again. But roast beef? Now had it been chocolate.... Meanwhile Congress has passed the most absurd and lamest energy bill ever. Even worse than the daughter going ballistic over roast beef.
Roast Beef Turf. The fight of the summer with the daughter was over two slices of roast beef. Yes really. She is fiercely territorial about her food; whole sections of the refrigerator are barbed wired and booby trapped to prevent others infringing on her dietary needs of the day. And with all due respect, we are all VERY CAREFUL not to trespass on her FAGE 0% Greek yogurt and mashed cauliflower. But heh shit happens. One gets hungry. One doesn't necessarily know that the lean roast beef sitting lonesome in a ziplock bag for over a week WAS JUST WHAT SHE WANTED that afternoon or that even if it wasn't, NOW SHE WOULD HAVE TO GO OUT (and sigh), BUY SOME MORE. I would have liked to have thought that the fight we got into was really about something deeper. But it wasn't. It was about two pieces of roast beef. I even sent the son out to get more f***ing roast beef but that didn't count because I DIDN'T GO OUT TO GET THE ROAST BEEF. I told her she was an absolute absurd bitch. And she called me names too. All is well now and we are good friends again. But roast beef? Now had it been chocolate.... Meanwhile Congress has passed the most absurd and lamest energy bill ever. Even worse than the daughter going ballistic over roast beef.
Monday, August 15, 2005
Veggies from Americans-to-Be. We've known this Austrian pair since our days in California. Hubby and he worked together at a soon-to-be-doomed computer company but before the pink slips arrived, they did manage enough time together to discover that their families not only came from the same town in Austria but that their families also had plots in the town cemetery RIGHT NEXT TO EACH OTHER. Small world what.. I remember our Austrian friends had a civil wedding in California to which we were invited and I remember being extremely annoyed that no one had bothered to erase the chalk board showing sketches of a recent automobile accident that was backdrop to the Justice of the Peace's recitations. The fluorescent lights didn't do much for the ambiance either... However, the two have been happily married ever since which is more than can be said of some of the more lavish Hollywood-esque, $70K weddings I know of.
Our paths diverged for many years; the Austrians lived in Colorado a spell while we followed the next software industry rainbow to what we hoped would be a pot of gold big enough to land us our own island somewhere (in reality, that particular adventure would give us just enough money to replace our deteriorating rain gutters). Our Austrian friends ended up in Massachusetts as well, and recently, in celebration of our new home, they arrived laden with a large wicker basket full of organic produce grown on the farm she works part-time now. I had to laugh when she felt compelled to tell me that the vegetables were organic. "Well of course they are organic. I can't quite picture you working on a farm whose hallmark is pesticides." They have both decided to become American citizens after receiving assurances that they may also keep their Austrian citizenship (in these uncertain times there can't be enough said for dual citizenship -- you just never know). It's all good except for the part about pledging to 'one nation under God' but I guess they'll get over it.
A Random Albeit Delightful Truisim from my Friend Bandit: 'Dull people are boring...' Lovely lunch btw.
Our paths diverged for many years; the Austrians lived in Colorado a spell while we followed the next software industry rainbow to what we hoped would be a pot of gold big enough to land us our own island somewhere (in reality, that particular adventure would give us just enough money to replace our deteriorating rain gutters). Our Austrian friends ended up in Massachusetts as well, and recently, in celebration of our new home, they arrived laden with a large wicker basket full of organic produce grown on the farm she works part-time now. I had to laugh when she felt compelled to tell me that the vegetables were organic. "Well of course they are organic. I can't quite picture you working on a farm whose hallmark is pesticides." They have both decided to become American citizens after receiving assurances that they may also keep their Austrian citizenship (in these uncertain times there can't be enough said for dual citizenship -- you just never know). It's all good except for the part about pledging to 'one nation under God' but I guess they'll get over it.
A Random Albeit Delightful Truisim from my Friend Bandit: 'Dull people are boring...' Lovely lunch btw.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Neighborhood Networking. We hosted the summer block party in order to get to know the new neighbors better. Fortunately the State House gives me access to the 'snoop log' a.k.a. the last 2001 census that lists names, addresses, occupations, and AGE (my favorite part). In this way I was able to pretend to remember everyone's names from earlier introductions. The quasi outdated census book was only about four families off (including us) which would be by Californian standards a miracle! Like, who stays anywhere three years? The neighbors across the way have lived in the same house for forty-five years. He invented marshmallow fluff. She is listed as AT HOME. A lovely couple. Republican but lovely. The rest of the neighborhood is registered Democrat and runs the gambit -- well, in a consistent New England insular-town-kind-of-way. There is an invisible page that we all seem to be on given our choice of living in this neighborhood. There is a lot of talk of quiet, trees, and sanctuary. This can only mean one thing. Good god.
It's Already Started. I gave a tour of our property to a friend of mine and before I could stop the blurt, commented what a perfect 'play house' my tool shed on the hill would make if I ever had grandchildren. Jesus I'm only 45... It's a good thing this friend will keep me busy pinching baby cheeks for a while. But I can already picture a skylight looking up to the trees, hammock-like bunkbeds with a wondrous play area below, flashlights and giggling...
I also found myself giving some very nice jewelry away to the daughter the other day following a shopped-till-we-dropped day of finding her college apparel for 2005/2006. She looks fabulous in autumn colors and bought a taupe-colored dress that would wash most people out to pale blahness but on her looks stunning. So I gave her a chunky topaz ring that had belonged to my aunt. A gorgeous piece. Taupe. It always elicited oohs and ahhs whenever I wore it. And I gave it away... 'It's your turn to look gorgeous for the world,' I said. 'I'll be out in the garden weeding.' Oh don't worry guys. I still have a vivid imagination. Who needs a topaz?
It's Already Started. I gave a tour of our property to a friend of mine and before I could stop the blurt, commented what a perfect 'play house' my tool shed on the hill would make if I ever had grandchildren. Jesus I'm only 45... It's a good thing this friend will keep me busy pinching baby cheeks for a while. But I can already picture a skylight looking up to the trees, hammock-like bunkbeds with a wondrous play area below, flashlights and giggling...
I also found myself giving some very nice jewelry away to the daughter the other day following a shopped-till-we-dropped day of finding her college apparel for 2005/2006. She looks fabulous in autumn colors and bought a taupe-colored dress that would wash most people out to pale blahness but on her looks stunning. So I gave her a chunky topaz ring that had belonged to my aunt. A gorgeous piece. Taupe. It always elicited oohs and ahhs whenever I wore it. And I gave it away... 'It's your turn to look gorgeous for the world,' I said. 'I'll be out in the garden weeding.' Oh don't worry guys. I still have a vivid imagination. Who needs a topaz?
Monday, August 08, 2005
Just a Mensch. Peter Jennings was for many years my favorite newscaster -- at least back in the days when I watched TV on a semi-regular basis (as opposed to almost not at all now). He was good-looking, classy, and presented the news in such a way that didn't smother you with ego. At the end maybe he wasn't so much my favorite and that probably had to do with the fact, superficial as it was, that all the make-up in the world couldn't hide that he was just a mensch like everybody else getting older. His whatever-it was-that-made-Peter-Jennings Peter Jennings was fading. And little did we know that he was so sick. But damn he came through during 9/11: 60 hours of non-stop grueling coverage he did. The daughter didn't even know who I was talking about when I mentioned his death this morning. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Cellphones in the Bathroom. Having just finished tinkling in the State House public bathroom, I emerged to wash my hands. My 30-second tinkle yielded vitamin-yellow pee and privity to a woman's cellphone conversation. The substance of her gab is hardly worth embellishing upon here; it's what she said to me as I headed to the sink that blew my socks off. Said she, "You know you must have heard that I was talking on the phone. Did you have to flush the toilet?!" I laughed out loud. "Yes I did... and you're lucky your cellphone didn't go with it."
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Multi-Vitamins for the Mature vs. the Immature. I have no idea what has prompted each of Anna Bloviation's family members to launch personally tailored health regimes this summer but suffice to say that each is based on entirely disparate philosophies and that cooking for the family has become an absolute bitch... I find myself coming into work just so that I can go out for lunch to get a decent meal.
The son recently decided he needed to buy some multi-vitamins to go along with his new-found regime -- one which involves a lot of jump roping, bicycling, and egg whites. He came back from the store with 'Mature Adults' multi-vitamins. He may or may not have read the label in any detail but if he did register the word 'mature', I'm sure his thinking was that because he is almost twenty-one he indeed falls into this category... Do you think I should break it to him what they mean when they write 'mature' on the label?
The son recently decided he needed to buy some multi-vitamins to go along with his new-found regime -- one which involves a lot of jump roping, bicycling, and egg whites. He came back from the store with 'Mature Adults' multi-vitamins. He may or may not have read the label in any detail but if he did register the word 'mature', I'm sure his thinking was that because he is almost twenty-one he indeed falls into this category... Do you think I should break it to him what they mean when they write 'mature' on the label?
Monday, August 01, 2005
The Strategy Dog. Talk about all of your bases covered. Heidi's backside is being cooled by the slate stone beneath her; she is a bark away from the letter box should the mailman come; her water dish is just behind her should she get thirsty; and notice how she has positioned herself on the stairs in the event a passerby might want to take her for a walk or play ball. Who could say no to that face?
