Idiot Box

This was my Facebook status this morning:

Hey morning news program, I don't need you to spend five minutes reporting on Black Friday and advertising deals. That's what the 10,000 commercials you've
already run and the 20 circulars in yesterday's paper were for. Report the damn
news. Oh wait, the news right now is obnoxious jackasses who crash D.C. parties.
... Uh ... just go off the air and run a test pattern. That's more useful.

I wrote this about five minutes after I turned off Good Morning America, which I did for two reasons: I was getting sick of wall-to-wall Black Friday coverage as if it were the fall of the Berlin Wall, and Brett was paying way too much attention to it. The former is indicative of the attitude I've taken toward the Christmas shopping season lately -- yes, I like shopping for my family and friends, but this insane "BUY BUY BUY BUY BUY" yelling at me every single second of every single day on the television makes me hate America. The latter? Well, I've been finding that a little alarming lately.

Brett, inevitably, was going to like watching TV. And I have no problem with some of the programs he watches on a regular basis. Yo Gabba Gabba! is a lot of fun and I've been able to avoid most of the other shit that's out there (mainly because we're never home all day to watch all of that shit). But as time has gone on and he's started to identify what's on television and ask about it (i.e., when we watched It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown! the first time, we wound up watching it about 100 times ... I've watched the rather lackluster A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving twice already since yesterday), I've wanted to watch television in front of him less, especially things that are violent and/or scary.

That sounds completely hypocritical of me, who grew up on freakin' Tom & Jerry cartoons wherein characters not only tried to kill one another on a regular basis, but also were seen smoking and drinking (that episode where Jerry goes into the city and winds up getting completely shitfaced was one of my all-time favorites as a kid), and I don't want to raise a kid who's sheltered and naive ... but I don't know if it's unreasonable to say that the most "adult" programming he sees is Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy!

I don't think there's any reason to panic, though. This isn't Maggie Simpson smacking Homer in the head with a hammer after watching Itchy and Scratchy. Brett would smack me about the head even if he wasn't watching television. But I think there's something to be said about what he watches and consumes; it's just another way in which I continue to be aware just as he becomes more aware.

Turkey!!!

It's hard not to be all smug right now that I: a) avoided traffic, and b) don't give a shit about Black Friday. But yeah ... we only had to drive 90 minute to my in-laws' house and I don't get paid until Monday so the only shopping tomorrow that I will get done will be online browsing so I can make a list and place a big order at some point next week.

So for today, it's another year of the annual tradition of loafing. Brett and I are up watching the morning news and getting ready for the parade, and then it's cooking and playing and watching three football games. I'm pulling for the Lions and Raiders today, two teams that suck beyond all definitions of the word suck. Then the Giants play tonight. GO BIG BLUE!!!

So Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. May you stuff yourself with turkey and laugh smugly at grainy footage of stupid people crowding a Walmart.

From Sodor to Lilliput (100 Books ... 16 Left)

78. Thomas Helps Out
79. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (Disney Golden Book)
80. Curious George and the Puppies by H.A. Rey
81. 'Twas the Night Before Christmas by C. Clement Moore
82. My Christmas Treasury (story collection) by various
83. Plans and Other Things That Fly by Richard Scarry
84. Gulliver's Travels by Jonathan Swift

Back on pace in a way and reading more children's books, but many of those books several times over and always out loud with Brett. So it's definitely a worthwhile experience. There isn't too much to say about the Scarry book or the Thomas the Tank Engine book. One is a book we often read at Little Gym while waiting for his class to start; the other is the book we read together on the potty. The Snow White Golden Book is another Little Gym lobby classic and it's pretty much the story from the movie ... although I never understood why, when she comes upon the dwarfs' [sic] house, her first instinct is to clean. Way to be a feminist, Snow White.

I'm a big fan of Curious George. I had several of the books when I was a kid and I think it's pretty cool that Brett knows who he is, watches the cartoon sometimes, and likes to read his adventures. The same with the 'Twas the Night Before Christmas book -- it's one of my favorite holiday stories and while it's not really that long (in fact, it's really just a poem), the book he has is a pretty cool one. It's vividly illustrated with some moving stuff on each page and he really likes to say "Dash away, dash away, dash away all!" when we read. The Christmas Treasury book isn't as fun -- someone decided to take a bunch of Christmas stories and put them in verse, probably so that little kids could enjoy them. Which I definitely get, but at the same time, I'm not the biggest fan of annoying sing-songy verse.

Anyway, with that out of the way, on to Gulliver's Travels. I picked this one up back in March because I teach the Lilliput and Brobdingnag segments as part of my 12th grade English's unit on satire. I had never read the entire book and was really only familiar with the Lilliput section, having seen some really crappy adaptation of it back when I was a little kid. Anyway, I had read other works by Swift--mainly, "A Modest Proposal" and understood some of the fun satirical things that were in what I had already read of Gulliver.

Too bad the entire book wasn't as fun. Honestly, and I know that this is going to make me sound like a total moron and a bad English teacher, but I was bored and I found myself struggling to finish the book. Granted, the book is something like 300 years old, but Swift's prose and whatever subtlety he is going for doesn't really lend itself well to a modern audience. There was too much ... telling. And I wound up being disappointed. After Malory and this, I think that I'm going to turn my attention to something a little light.

So, up next: Generation X, holiday-themed reading, and Macbeth.

Been there, done that, didn't get a T-shirt

Is it sad and pathetic that it took 36 minutes for me to run a 5K?

On some level, I'd say it's not considering that since I last ran any sort of race the furthest I'd run outdoors was the distance between home plate and first; however, on another level, when you have friends who always seem to be running half-marathons and marathons, it is.

Ah, anyway, it's done.

We'd signed up for the Turkey Trot 5K this year because it was actually a 5K and not a five-miler, which is what it had been a few years ago when Amanda and I ran the race for first time (and when I had run it the next year solo). With a new treadmill in the house, we knew that training for it would be easier and we wouldn't have to rely on the annoyances of gym memberships, especially those which go relatively unused. That, and we could make our own schedule for training (or Brett could make the schedule for us, considering that's who our training seemed to work around).

We'd been inconsistent in said training until about a month ago when we realized, "Oh, this is coming up!" Since then, we'd been jogging on a fairly more regular basis, so it's not like we were going into this completely cold.

And thankfully it wasn't completely cold when we took to the track at Butler Stadium in Quantico ...

See what I did there? It's called a segue.

Anyway, very little went wrong with the race itself. The worst thing was that we arrived too late to get T-shirts because all that was left was an XS ... kind of like when you go Christmas shopping for someone who wears 36x34 pants and the only sizes they have left are either 54x22 (for someone who obviously doesn't exist) or 32x34 (which is such a tease). But we soldiered on, running for pride.

Amanda and I each had our own iPod playlists for the occasion. Mine was comprised completely of Green Day songs (which proves that it's old, because the "music that spoke to me" when I was a teenager is now the soundtrack for my workouts), and it was kind of cool to start running to "Are We The Waiting" and its anthem-like pounding. In fact, it was almost an inspirational montage (well, as inspirational as you get when you're not listening to "What have you done today to make you feel proud?").

We kept pace with one another for a while but then split up about half a mile in, as Amanda told me to run ahead. This was right in the middle of "Jesus of Suburbia," which is about 1/3 of the way through my playlist, so I was a little off my usual time. I thought I could make it up, though. If I didn't throw up, that is.

One of the things that sucks about running on a treadmill is that they don't come equipped with anywhere for me to spit. Yeah, that's gross, but I hock up--and wind up swallowing--a lot of phlegm whenever I run. Being outside, I was able to get my run on and get my spit on. The first few loogies--right around the halfway mark--were pretty thick and I sent them flying pretty well onto the gross. But around the two-mile marker, I tried to spit again and it smacked me in the chin. So not only did I look like a hot, panting mess, I was dripping with my own saliva. Kind of like a St. Bernard.

But at that point I was running at a decent pace, had definitely made up the time I needed to, and was headed into the last mile with a chance to beat 40:00, which is my usual workout time. Yeah, then the fucking Marines had to make part of that last mile go uphill. Sadistic bastards. I couldn't run the whole hill, as I got a wicked stomach cramp and then nearly hyperventilated because I was trying to "correct" the stomach cramp. But my walking was only about 20 seconds or so, nothing to really kill me, and I headed down into the stadium at my former pace, then kicked it into higher gear as I rounded the track into the last straightaway, which headed to the finish gate.

In retrospect, I should have kicked in later because I nearly ran out of gas before I crossed the finish line ... but three things kept me going: 1) I was almost done; 2) I was coming in at 36 minutes, which was under the 40 minutes it takes me on the treadmill; 3) there was a guy dressed as some sort of mascot offering me a high-five, and you don't disappoint a mascot.

After crossing, I coughed, coughed, gagged, coughed, gagged, nearly threw up, coughed, got some water, coughed, and waited for Amanda to finish, which she did 12 minutes later. I'm sure that at some point this weekend I'll stop feeling sore and on Monday I'll get back on the treadmill so that I can keep up whatever level of fitness I've managed to maintain (although I might go with a different mix--1980s training montage songs, mayhaps), because I've still got some serious weight to lose and I might do the Turket Trot next year ... even if it'll be a 10K.

These are not the best of times, they're the only times I've ever known

I think this is the space where I'm supposed to get philosophical. Or sentimental. Or something. That's the usual procedure when you watch a very old friend walk down the aisle, right? Well, either that or "Oh my God, I'm old!" ... which, quite frankly, got old itself around the time I turned 30.

At the same time, Cathy's wedding was not simply the wedding of another friend. In the great high school drama, it was the epilogue; you know, that last scene, where everyone who is left standing is smiling while some sort of uplifting -- but not too cheesy -- song plays on the soundtrack right before we fade to the credits.

[Top 5 songs on my iPod for this moment? "Stockton Gala Days" by 10,000 Maniacs; "Can't Go Back Now" by The Weepies; "Camera One" by the Josh Joplin Group; "This is Me" by Eddie from Ohio; "Summer, Highland Falls" by Billy Joel]

Of course, life isn't a high school drama, even if sometimes act as if we're still there (or in my case, have to go back there every single day); however, my best friends from high school are far-flung, having moved from Long Island to different parts of the east coast. We rarely see each other for longer than an afternoon every once in a while and have moved beyond the inseparable nature of our friendships at 17 to being the type of friends you'll run into at weddings and funerals.

Considering that I've been to enough of the latter this year, I was happy this was a wedding. It capped a very busy weekend for me -- my sister's engagement party was the day before, and Brett pulled off the amazing feat of actually taking an afternoon nap at home not just one day but all three days we were there. We had a chance to hang out with both bride and groom on Friday, where we caught up and Brett showed them the various toys that we'd hoped would occupy him during adult conversation. But what can you do? At least they seemed to have fun with him (and who wouldn't?).

We weren't able to go to the entire wedding, unfortunately. Since it was Sunday, we took Monday to travel back and Brett's not old enough to be tolerable in the lengthy car ride from Sayville to Charlottesville, so we waited until his bedtime and headed out, arriving at my in-laws' house at around 1:00 in the morning. As a result, we only went to the ceremony. We'd intended to go to the cocktail hour but our timetable just didn't mesh.

But that is without drama. At 32, should you really have drama? If there's any surprise is that I'm surprised that I'm not surprised that my high school friends and I are all adults (I was going to put "mature" there, but that might be stretching it). Besides, that's the only moment -- the one at the end -- that's supposed to be drama-free. We were all genuinely happy last Sunday. Because our friend was getting married to someone who obviously is great for her and makes her as happy as those families we've already started make us.

So I guess that was philosophical and sentimental. Oh well.

Roll credits?

Gods, Demigods, and Butter Tigers (100 Books ... 23 Left)

72. Golden Books Sleepytime Tales
73. The Nearly-Wed Handbook by Dan Zevin
74. Fox in Socks by Dr. Seuss
75. The Mitten by Jan Brett
76. All-Star Superman by Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely
77. Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

The books continue to pile up in both the "read" and "unread" piles. My pace is a little slower than I'd like, as it seems like I'm getting stuck on a book here and there (in this case it was Frankenstein, which took me a little longer to read than I'd wanted). I know that I'm not going to finish exactly every book that I have in my huge "unread" pile, but if I make my goal of 100, I'll eventually get around to them.

Anyway, onto the books.

I dug up The Nearly-Wed Handbook to give to my sister as an engagement present. I first read this book years ago when I was an intern at its publisher, Avon Books. I'm really disappointed that Dan Zevin hasn't written more because as I mentioned when I read The Day I Turned Uncool, I find him utterly hilarious. The Nearly-Wed Handbook, while it's about 10 years old, is still really funny, even though I've been married for six years. This is a great stress-breaker for anyone planning a wedding, especially when Zevin delves into the intricacies of seating plans, florists, tuxedo rental and dress buying, and other wedding craziness.

The Mitten and Fox in Socks have been sitting on Brett's shelf for a while and made the rounds recently in an afternoon of reading and fun. The Mitten is an update of some Ukranian folk tale; Fox in Socks is a tongue-twister that I almost considered making my sophomores read aloud as part of their public speaking unit (because I'm that much of a dick). But the Sleepytime Tales book owes its awesomeness to Amanda, who has been reading some of the stories (I made sure to go back and read them for real so I get my "credit") to Brett on a nightly basis. Some of the stories in there are pretty famous, such as "Goldilocks and the Three Bears" and "The Pokey Little Puppy." Others are ridiculous, such as one about these tigers who tease an Indian boy who then causes them to run around a tree so much that they wind up turning into melted butter which his mom scoops up and uses to make pancakes for the boy and his family.

Yeah, it's about as weird as it sounds. And that's not even half as bad as the one about the girl and her little baby doll which is really creepy in a "Sally Draper, future serial killer" sort of way.

Anyway, listening to Amanda read these and make comments on how many sentences end in prepositions is hilarious and awesome, especially since Brett really doesn't pick up on our commentary and is more interested in flipping the pages and pointing out that he sees such things as tigers and bears and cars and trains and other implements of transportation.

Turning now to Frankenstein, a book I've read a couple of times before and will be teaching in the spring. This is one of those books that I could probably read again and again, it's just that good. And I'm honestly not a huge fan of 19th Century English literature. But Shelley makes both Frankenstein and the monster complex and sympathetic and layers the story in a way that movie adaptations don't fully get. Yes, Victor Frankenstein (Fronkensteeen?) is a little too tortured and too whiny at times, but at least he's got a reason, especially as the creature vows to kill everyone around him (and does). I love its themes of the consequences of trying to play God and the way the plot builds its suspense with each confrontation between the two.

Speaking of playing God, I have to say that I was disappointed in All-Star Superman. I checked this out of the library at work and read it in a day. Grant Morrison is one of the most famous comic book writers out there and this is his take on the Man of Steel. However, it's a characterization that I didn't really enjoy. For the last 20 years or so, since John Byrne redid Superman, there has been a focus on the character of Clark Kent and how he is the real personality behind the cape and the superhero is an act(this, btw, directly contrasts Batman, who is the real person putting on a "Bruce Wayne" act). Byrne and the writers who came after him gave Clark some real personality and character and bolstered Superman's supporting cast in a way that I felt the Golden and Silver Age stuff, while fun to read, never did.

Here, though, Morrison does Superman as a demigod, the all-powerful being who uses Clark Kent as sort of a convenient disguise. But ... why even have Clark Kent in the story, then? Yes, Ma and Pa Kent are in this story, but I never really got the feeling that the whole Clark aspect was necessary. Quitely's art is impressive, which was no surprise because I liked his work on The Authority. The All-Star line is DC's answer to Marvel's Ultimate universe. But it's somewhat of a misfire. I think I'll stick to catching up with Green Lantern and maybe some mainstream Supes trades.

Coming soon: Gulliver, Hitchhikers, Orwell, and whatever else I can scrounge up as I try for 23 books in 2 months!

A Proper Anniversary

In reflecting on my sixth wedding anniversary, I can't help but think of two things: first, its coniciding with Halloween; second, the long-ago days of adolescent dating.

The first is one of those inevitable things when you get married on November 1. For most of our first few years of being married, the fact that Halloween was right around the same time never bothered us because we never did anything for the holiday anyway. Once we had Brett, I think we knew that was going to change. This year, he was pretty excited to spend the Halloween weekend at his grandparents'; hwever, next year I'm sure he'll be just as excited to spend it with the two of us doing some truly great trick-or-treating in whatever costume he gets (this year, he was a dragon and had a great time going around and saying "RAWR!").

Thinking back to when Amanda and I first started dating when we were 19 is worth a bit of a chuckle only because I remember being young and dating and celebrating "month" anniversaries. A month seems like a long time to be with someone when you're that young. Now we've been married for six and together for thirteen years. And even that doesn't seem like it's that long. We looked through our wedding album tonight and the day itself is pretty fresh in our minds (this, I think, is partially due to my sister's recent engagement, although our wedding did kick some serious ass, so it's not just that).

We don't usually do huge anniversary presents. We like to do a big dinner or weekend together. This year, we continued to follow the traditional gift list and this year's candy/iron brought me a copy of Iron Man on DVD and a few boxes of movie theater-sized candy (I've already decimated the box of Junior Mints). The weekend was spent at Barboursville Winery, complete with a tasting, dinner at Palladio, and a room at the 1804 Inn, where we stayed in a small cottage that was rustic and almost European in a way. In fact, the whole estate felt like it was a world apart from our neighborhood, even though it was barely a 20-minute drive.

The trip itself wasn't monumental by any means, I guess. We arrived, walked around the ruins of an old mansion once owned by the governor of Virginia that was designed by Thomas Jefferson but burned down in the late 1800s, went to the winery for a tasting and then relaxed for a while before having an excellent meal (complete with a wine pairing, which was exquisite). The atmosphere at the inn was cozy--from the fireplace (which, sadly, was never used because it was too warm last night) to the English breakfast we had this morning before we packed up and left. Actually, it all felt grown-up ... with no television in the room, we spent a couple of hours on Saturday reading while listening to classical music on NPR and then walking around the grounds a little to take some pictures using the digital SLR I'd swiped from my classroom.

I guess some people would have found our day and night boring -- no huge costume parties, no getting ridiculously drunk -- and even I pause to wonder if this is what one's thirties bring. Then again, it's not like we spent the evening playing gin in the room before retiring at 9:00. And I think that a little maturity can go a long way, especially when you have to stand in line at a wine tasting with obnoxious douchebags (which you have to expect, btw).

What I loved about it and what I love about our anniversary every year is that we just get to revel in spending time with one another. We've always valued the experience of a nice dinner or a weekend away because we've always been the type of couple who likes to do things together like that, especially when they're new in some way or another. So while it's a little disappointing to have to return to work tomorrow, it's nice to know that our way of celebrating six years with a look toward many more was more than worth it.