Like my new rug?

I've been so busy with first work and then the holidays, I've barely had time to visit my basement. Meloni was lonely and needed something to keep him warm.

Mmmmmm, white bearskin. (Faux, of course. No need for PETA to show up for a surprise basement inspection.)

God, that man is so fine. So fine. SO fine.

God.

I truly, unabashedly, with no reservations and with great fervor, love men. Just fucking love them. From the tips of their toes to the tops of their possibly receding hairlined heads.

God.

I'll buy him a blanket too, if he asks. I love men.

Overdose on E!

More E than you can handle, but, c'mon, you didn't really think you could handle me, now did you?

How to get even more amusement value from me:

I maintain a very active "shared items" feed on Google Reader, sharing my favorite posts from close to 200 feeds I follow. (Yes, I said 200 feeds. Honestly, I have a life, it's just a good chunk of it is online, okay?)

Should you want "in", there are a couple ways to do it. I have a "Sharing is Good" box, showing the last ten items on the lower left hand corner of the blog. Links I place there get a fair amount of out traffic, which always makes me happy. I like helping people find good stuff.

Most of my regular readers, though, follow me in *my* feed, and don't get over to the blog itself unless they are making a comment....meaning my favoritest people miss out on the warm, loving sharing of my reader.

You all can still get in, though.

My shared item page is here. If you use Google Reader and want to subscribe from there, just click away.

If you use another reader, subscribe to the actual feed here.

For the low, low price of free, what do you get when you subscribe? You get whatever floats my boat the moment I read it. Everything shared *should* be SFW, unless I have a brain fart and push "share" unintentionally. Maybe a couple nekkid behinds in the midst, but nothing pictorially graphic. And lots of weird, eclectic fun mixed with some sex mixed with some kink mixed with some politics mixed with....you get the idea. A big mix.

Average day, I share 15 to 20 items out of everything I read. If you aren't overdosed on my, cough, eclectic world view yet, fill up with some more.

If you maintain a shared Google feed, drop me a note in my comments? I'd be happy to subscribe. Never too much sharing, well, until we all hit overload *KABOOM* and go back to writing on stone tablets...

--------------------------------

Edit: On further thought, I'd characterize the shared items as reasonably SFW. Not like, gee, I wouldn't mind in the least if my boss read everything right over my shoulder....just not tons of naughty parts hanging out all over the place. KWIM?

i haz toolipz!

Holiday prep this year was brutal. Family was sick, husband completely out of commission. Given that I depend on him for I don't know, like mostly everything, the frantic days before Christmas were wearing, physically & emotionally.

The Christmas holidays are tres important to me and mine. The late husband passed between Thanksgiving and Christmas eleven years ago now...some holiday marker, huh...you can give into the spectre of sadness and loss that hangs with a milestone like that, or you can fight back with joy...is my thinking at least.

I fight back with joy, dammit. Joy. We will all ENJOY ourselves, dammit.

Just try not to get yourself miserable in the process, you know?

The most pressing "joy" pressure to me during the holidays is my late husband's parents. He was their only child and they lost him. I remarried quickly. Their young grandchildren were adopted by my new husband, integrated into a new life, leaving the markings of their son, including his name, behind. Keeping *them* fully integrated into our lives, into our joy is a high priority for me...and the Christmas holidays, when they come to stay with us, is the perfect time for me to show them.

Of course, this also means somebody has to clean the toilets before they come. And cook the food. And decorate somewhat properly. Etc.

One thing and another, I got through this year's prep, albeit more solo than I would have liked. Tried my best to keep good cheer in the lead up...did hit a low point or two where it seemed there was more work than fun and where, where is the joy. I was moving into grumpy, pressured and bitchy, hardly fertile ground for a happy celebration to come.

So, I sent myself tulips!

Pretty, Christmas tulips, straight from the grower through 800flowers.com. They arrived the next day, Christmas Eve morning. The youngest son was well enough to help out. He followed the directions (Christmas miracle!), cut the stems, mixed the preservative into the water, and set my tulips right up for me. So pretty, red and white. I love tulips. I felt flooded with joy, so blessed to have such pretty visitors from nature, from another part of the globe, inside my home on Christmas Eve.

(Fresh cut flowers are an indulgence. Indulging myself thusly put enough joy in my tank for me to continue to work to spread joy to others. Being indulged by other people is *delightful* when it happens, but seldom likely to come when you need it most...is my experience.)

Days later, I still have my tulips. The company is gone, the children off on adventures of their own, relative peace and quiet in a house that still hangs with the joy of the holiday had. The tulips have bloomed fully, standing tall, not yet ready to droop....though I myself have long crashed. :)

"When life hands you lemons, send yourself tulips", I always say. (Not a particularly catchy saying, but hell, I never claimed to be Will Rogers.)

Wishing you all continued joy.

Dexter [spoiler free]

Oh. My. God. The husband and I are watching the first season of Dexter on DVD. Oh. My. God. This is one of the best television shows like, um, ever.

I'd heard Dexter was great but I didn't expect....wow. One of the best uses of the medium since The Sopranos turned everything inside out.

If you haven't watched Dexter (Showtime) yet, first off let me warn you, be careful what you read online. Better yet, don't read anything online except this blog post which is guaranteed spoiler free.

Three eps in, I read the first couple Wikipedia paragraphs (idiot!!) and had a key answer to Season One revealed to me. (Idiot! I know better!)

How did a nice girl like me end up a Dexter fan? Despite all of the good buzz, I had no intention of watching the series. I knew the premise was Dexter-as-a-serial-killer and I knew the series was graphic. Bought the DVD for the husband for Christmas since he has a stomach for serial killer tales. I don't. (Not at all. I do *not* like blood and gore and graphic images. I hide my eyes like a twelve year old.)

Christmas night, both the husband and I were exhausted from marathon days of prep and celebration. He decided to pop his new present into the DVD player and I impulsively chose to curl up with him. (I was so tired I figured I'd fall asleep in his arms quickly, not disturbed by whatever gore was going to dance on the TV.)

Yeah. Three episodes later....... Throughout, we kept muttering to each other, or maybe to ourselves, wow, this is amazing.

Michael C. Hall kicks acting ass. Bringing humanity to a sociopath is not the easiest gig, you know? Here's a quote from him about Dexter, lifted from the Wikipedia entry.

I think Dexter is a man who…a part of himself is very much frozen, or arrested in a place that is pre-memory, pre-conscious, pre-verbal. Something very traumatic happened to him, he doesn’t know what that is. And I think on some level he wants to know. He denies his humanity, he describes himself as someone who is without feeling, and yet I think that he maybe suspects — in a way that maybe isn’t even conscious yet when we first meet him — that he is in fact a human being.

For acting, writing, production values, seat clutching plot turns - run, run, run, watch Dexter. Now.

Re: violence and gore warning....God, really, this is violent and gory. It is stylized in a way that I can *handle* it, but just barely. Unlike most series on DVD we watch, the husband and I are taking this one slowly. We needed a two day break from the first session to take up again.

Ultimately, though, I've found the series thus far to be life affirming...in its own very weird, very twisted, Dexter kind of way. So watch, and hide your eyes like a twelve year old if you have to. I know I do.

(if you've seen Dexter, please keep the comments spoiler free, thanks!)

Fun with Dolls!

Sheesh, E, for a blog about teh spanking, where is teh spanking?

Here is teh spanking!





I am hoping the little animation works after I publish. Mind you, the picture is not *that* exciting, but I was thinking about posting my (killer) cole slaw recipe today, so, you know, you take what you can get for the admission price around here.

Ran across the cutest site, SexualPositionsFree.com.

Spanking post is here.

Let's see some more fun, shall we?

Now, I have no problem accomplishing the above. Some of the other things the little dollies do, I'm not so sure. I have spatial problems.

Crazy Upside Down Squat




Crazy Kriss Kross



Kneeling Pretzel



These make me nervous. Right hand, left hand, who can remember which one is which. Once you mix in legs, and then part A going into slot B, I can get all screwed up (pun intended). Perhaps with a GPS.....



This position, however, I know damn straight I could do with no worries.

Two Men and One Hand



Ahhh, much better. It's good to be Queen. Fetch me a drink, too, handsome? I'm parched!

Merry, Happy Christmas!

To you and yours!

And if that's not your holiday this season, let me wish you the happiest of holidays that is yours.

For you and yours. Your holiday. Or days. You could have more than one holiday, couldn't you? I suppose it is also possible you might not want to be merry, in which case it's a bit presumptuous of me to wish it on you. OTOH, it's a decent enough wish that no one should be put out by it....

Oh fuck.

Enjoy!

So many of you have made such an impact (the good kind) on me this year. You make me feel all warm inside. You're the best. I mean it.

Santas in Speedos

In Boston, no less.

Pictures from UndiesDrawer.







From the Boston.com article:

BC: I bet beer tastes better in a Speedo … especially before you’re about to run around Boston in nothing else but that.

SF: It's the weirdest thing standing in a bar with nothing on but a Speedo and a Santa Hat. You have to have some kind of buzz to do it. I myself do a couple of shots in the two-hour window before the race begins. The spectators in the bar can't contain themselves. It's a free for all.

Honestly. What did you guys do for amusement before I started blogging? ;)

Chiron Beta Prime

I should be tired of this holiday song by now. The teenagers have been playing it nearly non-stop since Thanksgiving.

Apparently, I can't get enough. :)

Jonathan Coultan.

Did I say "overlords"? I meant "protectors".

I think this is a geek Christmas classic in the making.



Song Lyrics:
This year has been a little crazy for the Andersons
You may recall we had some trouble last year
The Robot Council had us banished to an asteroid
That hasn't undermined our holiday cheer
And we know it's almost Christmas
By the marks we make on the wall
That's our favorite time of year

Merry Christmas from Chiron Beta Prime
Where we're working in a mine
For our robot overlords
Did I say "overlords"? I meant "protectors"
Merry Christmas from Chiron Beta Prime

On ev'ry corner, there's a giant metal Santa Claus
Who watches over us with glowing red eyes
They carry weapons and they know if you've been bad or good
Not everybody's good but ev'ryone tries
And the rocks outside the airlock
Exude ammonia-scented snow
It's like a Winter Wonderland

Merry Christmas from Chiron Beta Prime
Where we're working in a mine
For our robot overlords
Did I say "overlords"? I meant "protectors"
Merry Christmas from Chiron Beta Prime

That's all the family news that we're allowed to talk about
We really hope you'll come at visit us soon
I mean, we're literally begging you to visit us
And make it quick before they...*MESSAGE REDACTED!*
Now it's time for Christmas dinner
I think the robots sent us a pie
You know, I love my Soylent Green

Merry Christmas from Chiron Beta Prime
Where we're working in a mine
For our robot overlords
Did I say "overlords"? I meant "protectors"
Merry Christmas from Chiron Beta Prime

There's No Crying in Baseball

Still doing a mental post-mortem on my end of the year employee review fun.

There's something about me that makes people cry.

While some of my d/s friends think that can be great fun in a sex scene (not my bag, but everybody should live and be well with what floats their boats), I don't know anybody who thinks making people cry is a rollicking good time in the real world. Seriously.

Three people cried, I mean cried, big tears, had to get tissues, had to pause for long moments to help them compose themselves, on me during the reviews. A couple other people welled up, cheek muscles moving but didn't actually cry to the point of red noses and swelled eyes.

Why they all cried, I can't say. I'm still figuring this out. I only had one review that had hard things the listener wasn't prepared to hear. The other reviews were positive, with reasonable notes on areas for improvement. When the people cried, they told me things, things about how hard this year was for them personally...their families, their parents, their children. Struggles they had had in the job. Dissatisfaction with personal limitations that kept them from spending more time on work, or the exact opposite. How they needed more money, lots more money, because of this, that, the other thing.

Honestly, three of them sobbed. (And, mind you, I gave out pretty good raises. The raises weren't mind blowing, but they were well above cost-of-living increases.)

Hang with me here a sec.

One chick, she does solid work and makes decent money. Sole provider for her family for a bunch of reasons. She says, I looked up my job on Salary.com and I should be making $25,000 more a year than I am. So, I told my husband I'd tell you and then you'd advocate for me.

Seriously? What do I *seriously* say to that? What I need to say is there's a *big* difference between Salary.com and Monster.com and you should try Monster.com and see how that works for you. Real world, real career, toughen up and take responsibility for your destiny.

What did I say? "Here, have a tissue."

I talked to a healthy handful of my management type friends over the last couple days. Couple of them are serious management professionals, Sr. VPs in large, publicly traded companies, and they all agree I fucked up. More than once the Tom Hanks quote (which I'd thought to myself during the process), came up. "There's no crying in baseball."

I'm not doing these women (yeah, they were all women) any favors if I let them think it's *okay* to sob during an end of the year review. They could have gotten this idea when they said, "I'm sorry I'm crying." And I said, "Oh, it's okay."

[bangs head against wall repeatedly]

Oh, and I gave hugs at the end of a couple of them. Do you think that was a problem, too?

[bangs head against same wall repeatedly, leaves large dent]

I do not like making people cry. I like making people smile.

My dream job is where I make lots of money by spreading sweetness, light and fairy dust across the land. When you see that position come up on Monster.com, let me know, mkay? In the meantime, I'm going to have to figure out how to say the hard things more effectively.

My natural response, comforting someone in the moment, feels like the right thing to do, but long term, people are more helped by brutal honesty than hugs.

Also, I had a set of boundaries around here, not sure where I left them.....


Mr. Tom Hanks, "League of Their Own", *the* scene

This really IS the best Christmas song of all time

I know, I said that was Bruce. And, it was Bruce, until last year......

Last year I was watching Leno at holiday time. Twisted Sister was his musical guest. Right there, my mind was a little stretched since one doesn't usually see Twisted Sister on Leno. I wasn't particularly interested since I'm not really a Twisted Sister kinda chick, right?

They came out, they came out to sing "Oh Come All Ye Faithful" (!).... they played....and.....after I *picked up the pieces* of my *blown mind*, I watched the clip over and over. Made the husband watch it. Made the kids watch it. Their minds too were blown.

It's frickin' awesome.

Just bought it on iTunes to add it to our holiday mix we're blasting while cleaning, cooking and decorating. I've got them mixed in with Nat King Cole, Jimmy Durante, Burl Ives, Josh Groban, Bruce Springsteen, John Lennon, Paul McCartney.....

"Oh Come All Ye Faithful", Twisted Sister video. Honestly, and swear to god, I really think this IS the best Christmas song of all time.

Buy it. Download it. Turn it way up. The louder it is, the better it is. (FWIW, I don't think this video does full justice to the song. The visual is cute, but distracting. The power is in the music and the beat.)

Bumbles Bounce

Time to get back in the happy holiday mode.

Because he makes me really happy:




Wheeeeeee!

Part 5 of 6 of the Rankin/Bass classic (1964) Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer. This part features the Bumble (above), who "reforms" at around 7:00 in the clip.



Bumbles bounce!

My failure....

..... let me sho it 2 u.

Sigh.

I'm still processing the results of spending a marathon day yesterday giving employee reviews and raises for the year.

I should be drinking heavily while doing this, but you know, it's currently 5 in the morning, and up since 3AM mind spinning, I don't think drinking heavily would have been a good choice. At least not on a work day.

Honestly. I never in a million years set out to manage people. It's not in my constitution. I am, by nature, a quirky, extroverted, overly bright, under formally educated, geeky sort of "genius" personality. (Please don't take my use of the word "genius" there too literally. I'm referring to personality type, not *actual* intelligence.)

I am a natural leader, if you measure that by people wanting to follow me. That's happened my whole life, as far back as I can remember. I'd set out in a direction on my own, turn around after awhile, and damn, look at that, there's a string of people behind. Well hello there, I'd wave. Not sure I know where I'm going, but if you really want to, okay, come along for the journey. Ooops, was I supposed to take a left turn or right turn at that last junction? Hope you guys enjoy the scenic route. Look, I brought snacks!

Manager? Really notsomuch. Not. So. Much.

I naturally suck at all of the elements that are required for managing people, including attention span. When it finally got through to me, maybe only five or six years ago, that being *responsible* for *people* was my destiny, like it or not, I have worked very hard to acquire skill sets not at all natural to me.

Yesterday morning I set out thinking, look how far I have come. I can do this. Yay.

Yesterday evening I went home thinking "Wow. I fail."

If there is anything harder than trying to guide and shape individuals to their maximum potential, to help them *feed their families* the best they can, I really don't know what it is.

Nuclear science maybe is harder?

Really good managers or nuclear scientists should feel free to chime in with an opinion on that. Me, I'm starting happy hour around 4PM.

The Best Christmas Song of All Time

Finally got to spend a little bit of time preparing for the holidays today. Some last minute shopping (thank you Amazon!), here and there, and here again. I can practically smell the mistletoe....hear the crinkle of gift bags and tissue paper.

Oh, also, a got a holiday call from Citibank's fraud department. They had a hard time believing that one woman could spend that much money that fast on one credit card. HELLO, have you not heard of tabs on Firefox? I can check out five shopping carts at the same time!)

Anyway, ho ho ho, the spirit is nearly upon me, time for some Christmas music, eh? Let's start at the top. Long time blog friends know whom I think is Boss. So yeah, there's Elvis (thanks Kate, your post inspired me), and Nat King Cole and Rankin & Bass songs (of course)...but there's only one Boss and only one Best Christmas Song of all Time.

Santa Claus is Coming to Town, several versions

1. From All Star Holiday Show (Red Bank, NJ) Dec. 2006 in support of ALS. Sound quality is pretty good. Worth it to see Boss jamming with Cookie Monster, Elmo and the Grinch. I can't embed it, you'll have to click to watch.

2. This one is from December 2003, Christmas in Asbury Park. No Cookie Monster in this one, but there's a dancing Santa and a snowman....not to mention Bon Jovi. Good sound.

(May I say, god, he is one fine looking man, that Bruce fellow)



3. *This one*, this one is the best. Sound not quite so good, but beautifully, classically Bruce & the E Street Band. Taken from the "20th September 1978 - Capitol Theatre, Passaic, NJ"- show.

(May I say one more time that, god, he is one fine looking man, that Bruce fellow.)



Okay, guh! Do you *hear* that sax? Do you hear Clarence? Guh. What a sax does to me....got me wondering who has been naughty and who has been nice.

Ho, ho, ho! ;)

Upon Further Review

That time of year again. Just finished a big chunky stack of employee reviews. Cranked them all day. If you've never written formal reviews for another person, you probably suspect that the task sucks. If you have, then you *know* it does.

I don't know, maybe a different personality type other than the one that is mine might not find the task so odious. Me? Blech.

Spent a few minutes daydreaming a porno theme or two based on The Employee Review...just for laughs, not for actual arousal. I love those cheesy plots. The Stern Reviewer. The Penitent Employee. Bad writing. Even worse acting. Someone is going to end up over someone's knee, now aren't they? If only it were that sexy in real life. (Wait. If only it were sexy in the porno!)

Glowing reviews, of course, are fun to write. I got to write a few of those today. People who'd risen up, taken on big tasks, exceeded expectations. People who not only did well, but have *somewhere to go*.

I don't mind writing really bad reviews either. I don't get to write them much. By the time someone gets to one of my direct report teams, they've passed through enough hurdles they can't truly *suck*. Last one I wrote was a couple years back. Nice young man, hopelessly misplaced in his quasi career path. While my review was just scathing, I was able to deliver it with sincere maternal affection and *beg* him to find another career path before I had to fire him. Please. You aren't defective, this is just the wrong business for you, let's brainstorm businesses where you might do better, okay?

The reviews I hate are the ones where I need to document people's shortcomings in areas that are core to their personality. (Well, that *I* think are core to their personality.) Tell a shy person for 1,119th time in their lives that their shyness is holding them back from progressing, for instance. I probably cringe to say it more than they cringe to hear it..they are used to hearing it by now, I guess.

One chick today, I spent two hours writing her review. I'll probably tear it up and rewrite completely tomorrow. Core, key player for me. Very valuable. Also condescending as get out to everyone around her, and alienating. A thorn in the side of the team, when she's not doing excellent, excellent work.

I'm no idiot. I know where the condescension comes from. She's shared enough of her family background and first marriage with me for me to understand the deep insecurities that lie beneath. If I were her therapist, I'd try to help her. If I were her friend, I'd accept her as is. If I were her mother, I'd love her through it.

Her reviewer? I have to document it. Suggest (lame, I'd like otherwise but really lame in the end) strategies for improvement. I have to skirt saying what is the truth...*nobody* wants to work directly with you.

Did I mention reviewing people sucks? Then there is the joy of dividing up the raise pool.....

There are certain kinds of power I get off on. This is not one of them.

As if the cats weren't bad enough

Introducing: I Haz a Hotdog!

Lego E

Tada!

You know you want a Lego version of yourself too.

I will say that the Lego E is *slightly* more matronly than the real E, but if you squint, you can see that she's sporting some *hot* stockings.


via Oddness

It's starting to add up

In a previous episode, I ranted and railed about the dearth of basic math skills in the U.S.

And, you know, how other people's inability to grasp number fundamentals make *my* life harder.

It was a particularly titillating post. You guys have been dying for a sequel, right?





From The Straight Dope

The following examples may help to clarify the difference between the new and old math.

1960: A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100. His cost of production is 4/5 of this price. What is his profit?

1970 (Traditional math): A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100. His cost of production is $80. What is his profit?

1975 (New Math): A logger exchanges a set L of lumber for a set M of money. The cardinality of set M is 100 and each element is worth $1.

(a) make 100 dots representing the elements of the set M
(b) The set C representing costs of production contains 20 fewer points than set M. Represent the set C as a subset of the set M.
(c) What is the cardinality of the set P of profits?

1990 (Dumbed-down math): A logger sells a truckload of lumber for $100. His cost of production is $80 and his profit is $20. Underline the number 20.

1997 (Whole Math): By cutting down a forest full of beautiful trees, a logger makes $20.

(a) What do you think of this way of making money?
(b) How did the forest birds and squirrels feel?
(c) Draw a picture of the forest as you'd like it to look.

---------------------------------------------

Starting to add up. We might be able to calculate how long the handbasket trip is going to take sometime soon.

I have no idea how this works

Granted, I have spatial problems. My brain translates spatial concepts first into Greek, then Latin, by the time it gets to English, I'm lost.

Still.

Ebay auction.



Take a walk on the wild side with this super sexy mens Thong!

Black in color w/ sleeve for you.... member wrapped for that added flare with 3 stineless rings!

Split your testicles to add to this unique style!

Certainly for those who desire something different!

Your partner will go crazy when they see you in all your glory!

It will be a night to remember for sure!!

Your purchase will be discretely mailed to the address of your choice!

-------------------------------

Do I *want* to know?

via UndiesDrawer

On Scars

Searching for the words for why this video from Post Secret affected me as profoundly as it did.

Not finding them. You might have the same sort of wordless reaction I did. Which means *something*, I'm sure...just not sure how closely I want to look.

Pr0n and The New Prudishness

This is porn. Click to make bigger.

Wish I had time to post more.

Chelsea Girl has a post today that gave me a pain behind my left eye, on the evil proliferation of comedy and pearl necklaces. Not her post, which was smashing as usual, but the topic.

I don’t need to be told by a feminist-friendly site like Jezebel that what I like should be banished to the outré world of the “fetish-y,” nor do I need to have it implied that I like what I like only because I’ve fallen victim to the evils of the porn industry.

Mind you, I'd like to fix pr0n up to be more inclusive of the wide spectrum of *female* desires, but I'm up to exactly HERE with the new brand of feminism that says *I* need to be protected from evil male desires created by evil pr0n.

Do I *strike* you as the kind of woman who needs to be protected from *anything*?

Bah. Sanitize things for my protection at your peril.

Meanwhile, Beej has coined a term in the comment section of one of her latest posts,

That’s just the new prudishness, though, isn’t it? Oh, don’t be so blatant about sex because sex is speshul. It’s like the kind of thing Denise Robertson would say on This Morning.

The New Prudishness. I feel an 87 part series coming on. This one will have better pictures than the last one did.

Marvin, Sweatpants, Size 42

I'm making everybody around me a bit mad the last two weeks. Mad as in "crazy" and also mad as "angry'. I have too much to do, not enough time to do it in, and am running late everywhere I go.

I'm inconveniencing and disappointing people left and right.

Our 2008 healthcare plan election forms were due this past Friday. Think I did them? Nope. So the nice H.R. lady has to come looking for me today, listen to me panic when I get to the part on the form where I need my kids' SS#'s.... hear me call my husband in a rush...the husband has to stop what he's doing, find our tax forms to steal the numbers off of ... yada, yada.

Send me presents, please. I accidentally left a beautiful vendor gift of frozen Kansas City steaks in my office all weekend. Not so beautiful anymore. Gah.

Getting ready for the holidays, forget about it. Literally. We don't have decoration one up. I'd *said* I was going to order an artificial tree for us this year...no live tree 'cause the puppy will eat it...but forgot completely until I had to put a rush order in this weekend. My kids are like, where's the tree and I'm like, look for a UPS guy running around the corner with it, really. Soon.

I'm getting that jangled, jumbled feeling I get every Christmas holiday season. Work deadlines are thick and fast, life pressures real and unrelenting. My efforts are sincere enough, but my timing is off.

I can't make anybody happy, as in, I'm not capable of it right now.

If it weren't for Marvin, all would be lost.

Our building lobby has a tall Christmas tree which had been filled with gift tags for members of families in need at the holiday season. I'd promised the husband and our kids that I'd bring home some gift tags for kids the same age as our kids, let my kids buy for other kids, on their own. Sometime last week, or was it the week before, I'd browsed the tags. So many to choose from! Hard to decide......I called the husband to talk about what to select but didn't actually take the tags.

Today, today I thought well, I must get our tags or I'll run out of time to shop. Went out to the lobby and the tree was virtually empty. There was one, just one, lonely tag remaining on the entire tree.

Tied in ribbon it read:

Marvin
Sweatpants
Size 42

Sweatpants! Size 42! I seized with panic. The kids toy gifts were gone! My family was going to be so pissed off at me, I'd promised. I grabbed this last tag off the tree and rushed to find the woman who is coordinating the gifts.

"I. Need. Kids. To. Buy. For. My name is going to be mud! Look at the only thing that is left!" I waved the gift tag around.

She smiled. "You have Marvin, don't you. Marvin is a tough one to find a giver for." And then, she said soothingly, "We're working on getting more kids. I've got a call in. We're hoping for a new list tomorrow." She held her hand out. "Do you want me to put Marvin back for you?"

Marvin? I looked down at the tag in my hand.

Marvin
Sweatpants
Size 42

Marvin. In that second, as she reached for the tag, I imagined the Dad of the family to whom the tag belonged. His children's wishes had adorned the tree earlier this month. I'd touched their tags and thought how much fun it would be to buy this game or that doll for a kid who would be giggly, laughing, excited to receive.

And then there's Marvin, who worries about feeding those kids 365 days a year, Marvin who, bless him, just wants a pair of sweatpants, size 42. Marvin, an example of a request so direct and sincere, there's no sexiness or thrill in filling it. It's too easy to make Marvin happy.

Marvin, left on the tree, all by himself.

I held onto the tag and shook my head. " Nah, I'm keeping Marvin. The man needs some pants. Just, see what you can do about finding me some kids, too? I'll take four. "

If I get kids or I don't get kids, I still have Marvin. Marvin is one person that I'm guaranteed I can't disappoint. I'm going to make him at least reasonably, moderately happy with one pair of sweatpants.

Now, whose happier about that? Marvin, or me?

Giving is a funny thing. Happy holidays to me, two weeks early.

4 geeks - Whut?

Combine lolcatz, geekdom, the original Star Trek series and Tribbles, and this is what you get.

WHUT?




Dis iz Tom's fawlt. He be snedin mai teh linx. Dis WHUT tehn got in mai brainz n be makin teh postz.

Halp!!!!

I like things that go splodie!

Plane going 500 MPH meets wall. Wall wins.

Wheeee! Play again and again! (test plane, nobody gets hurt, you can enjoy splodie with no bad parts)



via Haha.nu

Screw Bronze

I've been wanting to tell you all for a few weeks that you need to be reading Elizabeth McClung's blog, Screw Bronze.

Every time I try to form a post, though, I get stuck because being 1/100th the writer she is, I can't find the words to tell you why. Also, I have this near uncontrollable urge to call the blog "courageous & inspirational" and to declare Dr. McClung a "hero", just so she'll come over to my little blog and rip my insides out for being such an ass.

:)

Sometimes me likes to flirt with danger.

Forget me. Just go. Read

My thong pic, a disability lap dance, the party, dehumanized, but still seeking possibilities

You won't stop with just one post.


Thanks to Belle for the original link.

Comments N Stuff

Comments:

Ooooops. I screwed up on comment moderation.

Your comments are my *favorite* part of blogging. Unless I'm asleep (which happens at weird hours) or deep in work meetings, there is usually no more than a few hour time lag between the time you make a comment and it is published on the blog. Often it is just minutes.

Blogger makes this easy by sending an email of your comment with a shiny little "publish" link, embedded right in. Gmail also makes this easy by flashing to me when I have a new message. Takes me a nano second, no matter what else is going on, to pubish or reject a comment.

One tiny problem. If people comment at or near the same time, Gmail threads the comment notifications oddly, and I can miss the email notifications entirely. Which I apparently did to three comments this week. Just caught them in my comment control panel, "awaiting moderation". Gah!

I'm sorry. Your comments are my favorite thing. I'm going to bypass the "publish" link from now on and go straight to the panel so nobody gets left behind for long.

N Stuff

*waves hi* Wow, I'm busy. How about you?

Work is insane, but that's okay, it just is this time of year. Getting ready for a new calendar year is a big deal in my neck of the woods. It's crazy until about mid-March when it lets up again. (This blog started mid-March 2007, directly after the insanity of last year.)

Of course, getting ready for the holidays when you have a family is also crazy, so a lot of my "goofing off" time is sucked up into real world demands.

This, too, shall pass. Everybody is healthy and happy, and even the three legged poodle is walking on four legs about half the time.

I have a bunch of posts half written either in my head or in draft form on Blogger...and a bunch of friend's blog posts starred in Google Reader for me to go back to comment on. I'm planning to do a little catch up today.

After all, do you think I could not comment on this hot number? I've been "thinking" about that post all week!

hugs, E

Do the Math

This is a rant, a rant about basic math skills in the United States of America population, 2008. More precisely a rant about the lack of basic math skills in the United States of America, 2008. Subtitle, "Yes, we are definitely going to hell in handbasket, but no one can calculate out how long it will take us to arrive at our destination or how much luggage the handbasket will hold for our trip."

This isn't a rant about how the McDonald's cashier is incapable of making change on her own. I would have ranted about that ten years ago, but I've given up. We've destroyed the American education system, yeah, I give. Our McDonald's cashiers need registers with pictures of pretty hamburgers on them, machines that will calculate and dispense the proper amount of change with no human intervention. You can't throw the nice lady off by giving her $10.16 for a $5.16 bill and expect her to know that you've done this so she doesn't have to break a five.

That handbasket has sailed. We stood on the dock and waved. Bye now, have a safe trip! Write, if you retained how to do that at least, when you get there.

Let's move up the food chain, shall we? The following conversation is paraphrased and fictionalized, even though I'm throwing quote marks all about. I can do that. It's my blog.

--------------------------------------

Stardate: Yesterday

Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Hi, this is E."

"Hi, E! This is Bouncy Happy Fred, the key account sales rep for Your Favorite Widget Company. I'm calling because I do that occasionally, to try to justify my compensation. My compensation is outrageous in proportion to the amount of value I bring to the process, but hey, thank God I'm not a McDonald's cashier."

"Hi, Bouncy Happy Fred."

"How are you doing, E? I'll insert some small talk here since, you know, I like to pretend we are close friends. Eventually, I come to the real reason for my call, to bug you. I've gone through and come up with 15 products that you are currently buying from other Widget Companies. I would like you to buy them from me instead. Can I send you an Excel spreadsheet with my better-than-the-competition's prices?"

"God, Bouncy Happy Fred, I am so under it right now. Later would be better. I've got a lot of aftermath to deal with based on the gigantic 2008 price increase you guys gave on One of Our Top Five Selling Products."

* silence *

"Bouncy Happy Fred, are you there?"

"Um, E, what do you mean huge price increase?"

"30 percent, Fred. The price quote you submitted was a 32% increase over last year. That's a key product. It's been stable for a decade. Knocked me in the gut."

"Um, yeah, I should re-check that. 30 percent, you say? That, um, can't be right."

"Why Fred, it has to be right. Otherwise you would be a full-of-it blowhard who doesn't take the time to make sure a price quote that affects a million units annually is right before he submits it to his top account. If the price is wrong, you either don't care about this account, or you are too math blind to have seen the obvious problem before you submitted a formal quote."

"I'll call you back."

Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Hi, this is E."

"Hi, E, guess what. We can go with last year's price again this year. Aren't I a hero?"

"That's great, Fred. I would love to be a total bitch right now, and rip right through you for all of my time and my staff's time you wasted by being so math blind in the first place, but, the whole speech would be yet another waste of time, wouldn't it? A guy as handsome and personable as you are shouldn't be held accountable for something as silly as what numbers you have submitted actually mean and their real world effect. Have a bouncy, happy day, now."

--------------------------------------

Gah. Everywhere. E-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e.

Americans seem, nearly across the board, lack a sense of what numbers *mean*. The only thing that's more appalling, is that people seem to be proud of it.

I am so tired of people of all colors, genders, ages and economic backgrounds doing that cute little routine people do about math. A little shoulder shrug. A little eye roll. A cute little smile and then, you know what's coming out of their mouths next, "Oh, math really isn't my thing."

--------------------------------------

Stardate: Ten Years ago

Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Hello, this is Irving, the self important company controller who will eventually be fired for drinking on the job and also gambling too much online."

"Hi, Irving, this is E. I have the year end financials for my tiny little division that will eventually grow big and shiny but right now is not much more important to you than a flea on your ass. Irving, these financials are wrong."

"E, that's not possible. I am both a CPA and a MBA. You went to film school, and didn't even finish that. My numbers are always right."

"Irving, you've charged me $95,000 for inventory loss this year. You can see that that number alone effectively wiped out any real profit I was going to show. You can also see, the number can't possibly be right. I barely keep that much inventory on hand. It would be impossible for me to shrink $95,000 in inventory in a single year."

"Oh, yes that. I had to put that number somewhere."

"Excuse me?"

"Let me insert a bunch of technical talk that make it sounds like I know what I'm talking about, and then poof, that's how that number appeared. Then I had to put it somewhere, so that's where I put it."

"You don't care that the number makes no sense where it is and puts a burgeoning division in the red possibly wiping out ownership's desire to fund me next year?"

"Nope, not in the least."

"You don't care that the number is indicative of something that went wrong somewhere else and you'll never know what that is unless you understand this number and where it really belongs?"

"Nope, not at all."

"Enjoy the vodka."

--------------------------------------

Now, in the example above, the guilty party did actually recognize that the number made no sense, he just didn't care. He'd spent his CPA/MBA life banking on the rest of the population being so math blind, they couldn't catch his lazy ass "file the numbers wherever is easiest for me" method to accounting.

The funny part, if you are into black humour, is that it worked this time, too. Despite my vehement protests and repeated (probably too emotional) explanations of how *stupid*, *illogical*, and *impossible* that number and its subsequent conclusions were, his numbers were accepted as the final version by both ownership and our outside accounting firm. It took another five years for someone to say to me,finally, "You know that thing with Irving awhile back, you were right weren't you? Sorry about that."

--------------------------------------

Stardate: this week, last week, next week

Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Hi, this is E."

"Hi, E. This is Gladys, a very hopeful job applicant who did a second interview with you a few days ago. I would like for you to hire me now. And pay me lots of money!"

"Well, Gladys, tell me. How do you think you did on the pre-employment tests?"

"Oh, I think I did very well. I'm shiny. I hope you noticed how pretty my handwriting is."

"Your handwriting is very pretty, Gladys. Tell me, did you answer all of the questions?"

"I answered everything that was important. I mean, I skipped the math questions you had on there, but, I'm applying for a creative job. I didn't want to think about those math questions. I'm a creative person. Math, giggle, you see, giggle, it's not my thing."

--------------------------------------

Seriously, people, seriously. Seriously! What part of life doesn't have a need for a basic understanding of what numbers mean? How the f-u-c-k have Americans gotten so screwed up in their approach? In their thought processes?

I'm not talking calculations that can take us to the moon. I'm talking basic, barely fourth grade math.

Every three months, I have to re-train staff on square inches. Calculating square inches isn't hard. There's a big, honking clue on how to do it.

5 X 5 is how many square inches?

Class? Don't let your eyes glaze over, stay with me. Look at the "X" there, that's a BIG hint. Try it this way:

5 times 5 = ?

25! That's right! 5 X 5 is 25 square inches. Very good!

I'll know that the three months is nearly up and time for a re-train, when I put out an assignment for something to be 8 square inches maximum and I get back stuff that is

8 X 8

No, that's not eight square inches. That's 64 square inches.

*bangs head*

So, you tell me. what the hell is wrong with us? Seriously. I want to know. Americans go through a minimum of ten years math education, if not the full twelve, and come out knowing nothing? Nothing? What the fuck. Tell me. Please. What is wrong with us?

If a train, carrying America's population to hell in a handbasket, leaves the station at 5:08AM and it travels 120 miles an hour.....

This is political attack art

Apparently.

I can roll with that.




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