Airlines often seat me next to someone interesting when I fly. By "interesting," I mean annoying.
For instance, on our flight to Illinois over Christmas, I was just drifting off to sleep when I felt several urgent pokes on my shoulder. I looked at the owner of the poking finger, who was seated next to me.
"Look!" he said excitedly, pointing to the SkyMall magazine so thoughtfully provided for passengers who are bored enough to look at useless, overpriced items but not bored enough to go to sleep. "This hanger system holds up to 10 pairs of pants, all fanned out! Isn't that great?!"
I nodded politely and made little sounds of assent that could also have been taken for grunts, if the man had been paying close attention. But his gaze was riveted on the picture of the 10-pant hanger system.
I settled back to sleep and was lost in a dream about soft, fluffy clouds when I again felt the urgent poking. I opened one eye.
"Look at this!" the man said again. "This hanger system holds 20 pairs of pants!"
This time I merely nodded and tried, not very successfully, to move a little farther away.
But the pokes came for the third time. I attempted to ignore them, thinking maybe the man would get the idea that I was trying to sleep. Then I felt I was being uncharitable. I wondered if this were one of those situations where the Lord would want me to turn the other shoulder. But I thought that might be awkward given the tiny space we were in, so instead I dutifully opened my eyes.
"This Chair Valet is kinda neat," the man said, although he sounded less enthusiastic than he had about the pant systems. "See, you can hang your suit on the back, and it's got a little drawer underneath."
Giving up my attempts to sleep, I reached for a book of my own. I was halfway through Ch. 1 when the man put away the SkyMall magazine and announced that he was going to try to get some sleep.
I waited until he was looking very settled and peaceful, no doubt dreaming about sitting in his Chair Valet and having 20 pairs of pants at his fingertips, and then I poked him. Several times, on the shoulder.
"What?" he said, annoyed.
"Oh, I'm sorry, honey," I said contritely to my husband. "I just wanted to read you this one paragraph...."
Monday, December 31, 2007
Friday, December 28, 2007
Dreams do come true!
The Internet is pretty amazing. It spawns all kinds of useful sites, such as the one established for the sole purpose of reuniting lost gloves with their owners. I understand that to date, four human/glove pairs have been happily reunited through this effort. This is something to be celebrated, although if someone really wants to be helpful, they could provide a site that will reunite me with my socks that have gotten lost in the dryer.
This blog hasn't figured out how to do that yet (although I did put forth a theory about where those socks go), but it HAS achieved the amazing feat of helping people's dreams come true. I refer specifically to my writing about the Action Figure Librarian with Amazing Shushing Action. As a direct result of this blog, a number of people (specifically, two, including me) have received the very toys they reminisced about! Not only did I get the Action Librarian for Christmas, I got the deluxe set, complete with a rolling cart of books (with tantalizing titles like "30 Days in Red Pants" and "Pablobian Visions"), a reference desk, a computer with a screen that swivels, a background that simulates a real library (minus gum-chewing adolescents), and a librarian of distinct masculine appearance, although it is supposed to represent a female. (Has anyone ever seen a male librarian? Maybe raising librarians to Action Figure status will encourage today's young men to pursue this worthwhile calling.)
As an aside, it is somewhat scary to compare the Action Figure Librarian with a photo of the real-life librarian who inspired it. If that is what one's likeness in plastic inevitably looks like, I can only hope that no one ever takes it upon themselves to make an action figure of me (Blog Writer with Amazing Ability to Write About Inconsequential Subjects).
But back to our story about fulfilled dreams. You'll recall that after I described the Action Figure Librarian that had so captured my interest, I invited readers to reminisce about a childhood toy they had fond memories of. You might also recall that only one reader took me up on this, and she was rewarded by receiving (though not from me) the Poor Pitiful Pearl doll for her birthday. I have seen Poor Pitiful Pearl (or PPP), and she is a very lovely doll, although she does not come with any accessories like the librarian (which is obviously why she is called poor and pitiful).
I know that the rest of you out there are kicking yourselves for not sharing with us the toy you adored as a child. If you had taken that opportunity, just think...for Christmas you could have gotten that sweet little Baby Diaper Rash or The Chicken Limbo Party Game you secretly coveted. But it's too late now. And don't start whining, or the Amazing Librarian will shush you.
This blog hasn't figured out how to do that yet (although I did put forth a theory about where those socks go), but it HAS achieved the amazing feat of helping people's dreams come true. I refer specifically to my writing about the Action Figure Librarian with Amazing Shushing Action. As a direct result of this blog, a number of people (specifically, two, including me) have received the very toys they reminisced about! Not only did I get the Action Librarian for Christmas, I got the deluxe set, complete with a rolling cart of books (with tantalizing titles like "30 Days in Red Pants" and "Pablobian Visions"), a reference desk, a computer with a screen that swivels, a background that simulates a real library (minus gum-chewing adolescents), and a librarian of distinct masculine appearance, although it is supposed to represent a female. (Has anyone ever seen a male librarian? Maybe raising librarians to Action Figure status will encourage today's young men to pursue this worthwhile calling.)
As an aside, it is somewhat scary to compare the Action Figure Librarian with a photo of the real-life librarian who inspired it. If that is what one's likeness in plastic inevitably looks like, I can only hope that no one ever takes it upon themselves to make an action figure of me (Blog Writer with Amazing Ability to Write About Inconsequential Subjects).
But back to our story about fulfilled dreams. You'll recall that after I described the Action Figure Librarian that had so captured my interest, I invited readers to reminisce about a childhood toy they had fond memories of. You might also recall that only one reader took me up on this, and she was rewarded by receiving (though not from me) the Poor Pitiful Pearl doll for her birthday. I have seen Poor Pitiful Pearl (or PPP), and she is a very lovely doll, although she does not come with any accessories like the librarian (which is obviously why she is called poor and pitiful).
I know that the rest of you out there are kicking yourselves for not sharing with us the toy you adored as a child. If you had taken that opportunity, just think...for Christmas you could have gotten that sweet little Baby Diaper Rash or The Chicken Limbo Party Game you secretly coveted. But it's too late now. And don't start whining, or the Amazing Librarian will shush you.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Guide to holiday parties
For most of my life I have worked for nonprofit organizations, where the typical Christmas or "holiday" party consists of having the staff bring in various food items from home (Aunt Millie's fruitcake, burnt Christmas cookies that didn't make the cut, etc.) to celebrate. The entertainment is also home-grown, with some staff member who fancies himself or herself a poet reading an original creation to mark the occasion, while those listening start to sing "Jingle Bells" to drown out the misery of the poetry reading, and somebody from accounting dresses up in a pathetic Santa suit.
But corporate parties are another matter altogether. There, employees do not have to do anything for the party, except spend a couple of paychecks on articles of clothing that they will never wear again.
If you are a woman, you will need to purchase (or find a friend or relative your size who is willing to share) a dress that looks like it was made for Barbie. This dress must cover only 1/4 of the woman's actual skin, allowing her to turn into an icicle even before she reaches the party. This is standard dress no matter if you live in Hawaii or are doing scientific research at the South Pole.
Now, there is some consolation: The woman IS allowed to wear something called a "wrap," which is about the size of a handkerchief and is worn around her shoulders. Ostensibly, the wrap offers some warmth, but its chief occupation during the party will be to slowly work itself down her shoulders and onto her lap during dinner, when her partner will mistake it for his napkin. The remainder of the woman's evening will be spent trying to arrange the wrap in such a manner as to hide the smears from barbecue chicken fingers.
The woman's ensemble is not complete without "party shoes," which are traditionally black but may also be gold or silver and are covered with enough sequins to doubles as lights on the dance floor. But the most important requirement for party shoes is that they must not, under any circumstances, be comfortable. If the woman can put them on and stand up without falling over, they are not proper foot attire for such a gala affair.
But for once, the women are not the only ones who suffer. If you go to a very fancy affair, as we did this year, it will be known as "black tie." This indicates that a man can wear anything he wants, even pajamas, as long as he also has a black tie around his neck. No, actually it means that he must rent, or buy, a tuxedo, which is a suit with approximately 549 pieces of accompaniments.
Here is where the women's revenge comes in. Throughout the rest of the year, whenever a couple is getting ready to go somewhere, the man will jibe the woman about how long it is taking her to get ready. "Look at me!" he gloats. "I got ready in 3.9 minutes!"
But the woman merely smiles, because she knows that at "black tie" events the man will be in agony trying to get all those different pieces of the tux together. And if he puts them on in the wrong order, he has to start all over. If the party begins at 7, he should start dressing at noon.
Another staple of corporate holiday parties is the band. Everyone will love the band in the beginning, because the members are playing very softly while everyone has hors d'oeuvres and drinks and the president makes the requisite announcements about how far the company has come ("This great company was founded in 1763, with myself as president, secretary, and mail boy. The following year...."). Many times you would LIKE the band to start playing more loudly here, but it never does. That does not come until the dinner is served and you attempt to make some conversation with the person next to you. (There is no point in trying to talk to anyone across the table.) A typical conversation over the band's noise goes like this:
"Are you having a good time?"
"WHAT?"
"I SAID, ARE YOU HAVING A GOOD TIME?"
"YES, THE WINE IS GOOD!"
Or this:
"Has little Annie's throat healed?"
"OF COURSE MY FANNY IS REAL!"
So all in all, it's hard to say which type of holiday party is superior, the nonprofit or the corporate. I'll have a better idea once my teeth stop chattering and my hearing returns to normal.
But corporate parties are another matter altogether. There, employees do not have to do anything for the party, except spend a couple of paychecks on articles of clothing that they will never wear again.
If you are a woman, you will need to purchase (or find a friend or relative your size who is willing to share) a dress that looks like it was made for Barbie. This dress must cover only 1/4 of the woman's actual skin, allowing her to turn into an icicle even before she reaches the party. This is standard dress no matter if you live in Hawaii or are doing scientific research at the South Pole.
Now, there is some consolation: The woman IS allowed to wear something called a "wrap," which is about the size of a handkerchief and is worn around her shoulders. Ostensibly, the wrap offers some warmth, but its chief occupation during the party will be to slowly work itself down her shoulders and onto her lap during dinner, when her partner will mistake it for his napkin. The remainder of the woman's evening will be spent trying to arrange the wrap in such a manner as to hide the smears from barbecue chicken fingers.
The woman's ensemble is not complete without "party shoes," which are traditionally black but may also be gold or silver and are covered with enough sequins to doubles as lights on the dance floor. But the most important requirement for party shoes is that they must not, under any circumstances, be comfortable. If the woman can put them on and stand up without falling over, they are not proper foot attire for such a gala affair.
But for once, the women are not the only ones who suffer. If you go to a very fancy affair, as we did this year, it will be known as "black tie." This indicates that a man can wear anything he wants, even pajamas, as long as he also has a black tie around his neck. No, actually it means that he must rent, or buy, a tuxedo, which is a suit with approximately 549 pieces of accompaniments.
Here is where the women's revenge comes in. Throughout the rest of the year, whenever a couple is getting ready to go somewhere, the man will jibe the woman about how long it is taking her to get ready. "Look at me!" he gloats. "I got ready in 3.9 minutes!"
But the woman merely smiles, because she knows that at "black tie" events the man will be in agony trying to get all those different pieces of the tux together. And if he puts them on in the wrong order, he has to start all over. If the party begins at 7, he should start dressing at noon.
Another staple of corporate holiday parties is the band. Everyone will love the band in the beginning, because the members are playing very softly while everyone has hors d'oeuvres and drinks and the president makes the requisite announcements about how far the company has come ("This great company was founded in 1763, with myself as president, secretary, and mail boy. The following year...."). Many times you would LIKE the band to start playing more loudly here, but it never does. That does not come until the dinner is served and you attempt to make some conversation with the person next to you. (There is no point in trying to talk to anyone across the table.) A typical conversation over the band's noise goes like this:
"Are you having a good time?"
"WHAT?"
"I SAID, ARE YOU HAVING A GOOD TIME?"
"YES, THE WINE IS GOOD!"
Or this:
"Has little Annie's throat healed?"
"OF COURSE MY FANNY IS REAL!"
So all in all, it's hard to say which type of holiday party is superior, the nonprofit or the corporate. I'll have a better idea once my teeth stop chattering and my hearing returns to normal.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Where the Prissy Princess is
The Prissy Princess's funny bone is worn out from writing this year's Christmas newsletter, and she is exhausted from coaxing her printer to make many, many copies and then sending it to many, many people who may read it or may use it for kindling. She is also tired out from her and the Gallant Hero's trip to Illinois for the holidays, undertaken yesterday, a trip in which they took two planes, a car, a bus, a moped, a unicycle, etc. But there is a lot of new material out here in the Midwest for blogs, so she will return to writing just as soon as she has finished sampling all the family's Christmas cookies.
In the meantime, have you finished your Christmas shopping?? (If so, can you do some for me??)
In the meantime, have you finished your Christmas shopping?? (If so, can you do some for me??)
Monday, December 17, 2007
"I don't need anything"
Those are the worst words you can hear at this time of year, when you are trying to find that perfect Christmas gift for someone on your list: "Oh, I don't need anything."
My mother has been saying these words for as long as I have been on this earth (after I came along, what more did she need? Ahem...just kidding). It is almost automatic now, like saying "Have a good day" to a stranger at the store: Whenever a gift occasion is discussed, my mom says this line.
You can't win when people tell you not to get them a gift, because you can never be quite sure whether they really mean it or whether they are just being polite. And if you don't get them something -- even if they were actually sincere about it -- you risk looking bad in front of everyone else. Once, for instance, I chose to believe that my mom really didn't want anything, and so I didn't get her anything for Mother's Day other than a card. Maybe it was just my imagination, or guilt, but I got some disapproving looks from her friends and relatives for a while after that. I got the feeling that it was no secret I hadn't given her a present.
I was talking with my parents on the phone a few weeks ago when my mother said, predictably, "Don't buy us anything for Christmas."
But my father, picking up on the "us" in her statement, interjected, "Welllll, let's wait a minute here."
Maybe she didn't want anything for Christmas, but clearly she wasn't speaking for him. If the kids want to get him presents, who is he to spoil their joy? They can get him as many gifts as they want.
"Well," I said, "We're not coming for Christmas this year, remember? So I won't be getting you anything."
"Oh, that's right," my mom said. "Well, we don't need anything anyway."
But as we hung up, I think I heard my dad sigh.
My mother has been saying these words for as long as I have been on this earth (after I came along, what more did she need? Ahem...just kidding). It is almost automatic now, like saying "Have a good day" to a stranger at the store: Whenever a gift occasion is discussed, my mom says this line.
You can't win when people tell you not to get them a gift, because you can never be quite sure whether they really mean it or whether they are just being polite. And if you don't get them something -- even if they were actually sincere about it -- you risk looking bad in front of everyone else. Once, for instance, I chose to believe that my mom really didn't want anything, and so I didn't get her anything for Mother's Day other than a card. Maybe it was just my imagination, or guilt, but I got some disapproving looks from her friends and relatives for a while after that. I got the feeling that it was no secret I hadn't given her a present.
I was talking with my parents on the phone a few weeks ago when my mother said, predictably, "Don't buy us anything for Christmas."
But my father, picking up on the "us" in her statement, interjected, "Welllll, let's wait a minute here."
Maybe she didn't want anything for Christmas, but clearly she wasn't speaking for him. If the kids want to get him presents, who is he to spoil their joy? They can get him as many gifts as they want.
"Well," I said, "We're not coming for Christmas this year, remember? So I won't be getting you anything."
"Oh, that's right," my mom said. "Well, we don't need anything anyway."
But as we hung up, I think I heard my dad sigh.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Dumb Christmas ideas
From today's heading, you night think that decking your tree out in ribbon with your spouse, as I chronicled earlier, is the topic again today. Believe it or not, there are even dumber ideas for Christmas decorations and celebrations. I cannot in good conscience take credit for these ideas, but I thought I'd pass them along nonetheless.
First, if you are determined to outdo your neighbor in tacky lawn ornaments, you can do no better than to erect the Blow-up Ferris Wheel. This charming ornament features various characters -- Frosty, Santa, Rudolph, Guiliani, Romney, Clinton, etc. -- encased in a plastic bubble ferris wheel. The expressions on their faces are pretty accurate, judging by my own memories of riding a ferris wheel, but they resemble creatures in formaldehyde jars in a freak show. So if you want shock factor -- which is what Christmas is all about, right? -- this is the way to go!
You won't want to miss the Children's Holiday Party in my neighborhood this weekend. This show will feature not only Frosty and Santa but also those other staples of Christmas events everywhere, Barney and King Kong. Yes! I am not joking! If your kids aren't already confused about holiday celebrations at this time of year, they will be after this party. (As a side note, this event is being held across the street from -- again, I am not kidding -- the house with the Blow-Up Ferris Wheel. Maybe King Kong can go rescue the poor victims on the ferris wheel, while Barney persuades him not to eat them by singing "I love you, you love me...." This will instead induce King Kong to eat Barney.)
If you have seen any dumb Christmas decor or ideas, please let us know! A good shake of the head is almost as fun as a good laugh.
First, if you are determined to outdo your neighbor in tacky lawn ornaments, you can do no better than to erect the Blow-up Ferris Wheel. This charming ornament features various characters -- Frosty, Santa, Rudolph, Guiliani, Romney, Clinton, etc. -- encased in a plastic bubble ferris wheel. The expressions on their faces are pretty accurate, judging by my own memories of riding a ferris wheel, but they resemble creatures in formaldehyde jars in a freak show. So if you want shock factor -- which is what Christmas is all about, right? -- this is the way to go!
You won't want to miss the Children's Holiday Party in my neighborhood this weekend. This show will feature not only Frosty and Santa but also those other staples of Christmas events everywhere, Barney and King Kong. Yes! I am not joking! If your kids aren't already confused about holiday celebrations at this time of year, they will be after this party. (As a side note, this event is being held across the street from -- again, I am not kidding -- the house with the Blow-Up Ferris Wheel. Maybe King Kong can go rescue the poor victims on the ferris wheel, while Barney persuades him not to eat them by singing "I love you, you love me...." This will instead induce King Kong to eat Barney.)
If you have seen any dumb Christmas decor or ideas, please let us know! A good shake of the head is almost as fun as a good laugh.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Anti-Speed
Coming home from the grocery store the other day, I felt like I was in a movie that was the opposite of Speed. If you saw that movie, you know that the driver of the bus could not exceed some particular speed or it would trigger a bomb to explode the bus. Well, the driver of the car in front of me on this day must have been convinced that something terrible would happen if he drove too fast. Anytime he approached 20 mph -- I am not exaggerating -- the brake lights would go on and the car would slow down. In turn, all 15 of us following him would slow down. I was about 5th in this line, but one by one the other drivers in front of me bailed out until I was directly behind the Extremely Slow Driver.
At first I thought maybe the driver was looking for a street, and I was willing to cut him a little slack. But when he kept braking with no side streets in sight, the slack I was willing to cut him tightened until it disappeared. He did everything in slow motion. He turned in slow motion. Went around curves in slow motion. Went through green lights in slow motion. Every time we came to a place where he could turn off, my whole body turned in that direction in an effort to somehow subliminally send him that way. But of course he kept going on the route I was following.
Finally, excruciatingly, we approached my street. If this car goes down my street, I thought, I will pretend I live somewhere else and go home later. Even if it is tomorrow.
My whoop of joy as the car passed my road without turning onto it was, I'm sure, heard in the next county. And it probably got there a lot faster than the Extremely Slow Driver did.
At first I thought maybe the driver was looking for a street, and I was willing to cut him a little slack. But when he kept braking with no side streets in sight, the slack I was willing to cut him tightened until it disappeared. He did everything in slow motion. He turned in slow motion. Went around curves in slow motion. Went through green lights in slow motion. Every time we came to a place where he could turn off, my whole body turned in that direction in an effort to somehow subliminally send him that way. But of course he kept going on the route I was following.
Finally, excruciatingly, we approached my street. If this car goes down my street, I thought, I will pretend I live somewhere else and go home later. Even if it is tomorrow.
My whoop of joy as the car passed my road without turning onto it was, I'm sure, heard in the next county. And it probably got there a lot faster than the Extremely Slow Driver did.
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