Ready or not, change is here!

We have a new president. Whether you voted for President Obama or not, the day is here, and I hope we'll all join together in showing respect and support for the democratic process and the man we have elected to lead our country in a strange and often terrifying time.

I'm a big believer in personal responsibility. Don't just jump on the truck that has your party emblazoned on its side. Please, please, take the time to read, study the issues (all views), and make informed decisions before you speak.

The election season and time leading up to the inauguration have been stressful for me because I do that, and it's hard sometimes to stand in the middle of the great divide. I'm staunchly bipartisan, though I did have particularly strong preferences in this election. While waiting for election day and inauguration day, my stomach has knotted and ached at times while reading the hatefulness spewed from my fellow citizens (from both parties), while deleting emails I am fairly certain people didn't read all the way to the bottom or check out for validity before clicking "forward," and when listening to small children spout the views of their parents--because kids are honest if easily misled. They'll repeat what their parents say at home, and not only repeat it loud and clear, but more often than not grow to embrace it.

But now the election is over, the swearing in has been accomplished without chaos. I read something this morning about how amazing that is. So many people watching around the world live in countries where change of power almost guarantees violence and chaos. (I can't remember where I read that -- sorry for the lack of attribution.)

We are a country who can embrace our political differences (not to mention all the other kinds of differences! Wow!) and still, at the end of the work day, get on the highways, the railways, and in the air, and feel confident that we will be safe nearly 100% of the time as we rub shoulders -- in spite of those differences. What great privilege -- and what great responsibility.

Change we can believe in. That was the platform. President Barack Obama is one man and we're expecting a lot of change from him.

But change also happens one citizen at a time. What about you?

Joe who?

If I make more than $250K per year, I am not Joe the Plumber.

I am Joe the Plumbing Executive.

Just saying.

To bail or not to bail ...

If you want to read slightly lighter, more exciting stuff, go read my review of the Swell Season (Glen Hansard of the Frames/Marketa Irglova) concert at my other blog.

If you are worried about the state of our economy, this will just take a minute.

I've been receiving various plugs in my inbox for different ways to approach the financial crisis as a taxpayer, citizen, voter, little person. It's still unclear what the best solution is to me, but reading through these is at least educating me. I'm still not sure I'll understand it in time to have any real influence. Sigh.

Dave Ramsey's 3 Steps to Change the Nation's Future

John Mauldin's Who's afraid of a big, bad bailout? (reprinted with permission on Meg Tilly's blog)

These two opinions seem to have common goals through quite different solutions.

What about you? Have you come across anything that make sense to you?

Jake joins The Cult of Sincerity

Speaking of Jake Armerding, check out my blog post on An audience of me about The Cult of Sincerity, a full-length independent feature film that premiered on youtube April 8, which features two songs by Jake himself.

Yep, youtube. I watched the whole thing. I liked it. And, like American Idol, if you support it, it even "gives back!"

Hey, Ryan

You said it had been a while since I blogged. I blogged today.

This one's for you. :-)

Proud ... again

You know, I'm always bragging on my kids (swan farts and all), but sometimes I just can't help it. They make me proud, and that's a fact.

Yesterday, Ryan attended a rally at UNT where Chelsea Clinton spoke. He managed to worm his way up close to the front (I wonder if he was wearing his super stealth mocassins?), and asked her what her mother intended to do about poverty and homelessness if she were elected.

He was semi-impressed by her answer, although I'm fairly sure Clinton is not his choice of candidates.

I was completely impressed by him. What was I doing at age 19? I certainly wasn't attending political rallies or questioning the candidates, and I'm sure I was more worried about what I was wearing to the next "foot function" (yeah, I went to a Baptist college. We didn't actually dance, you know) than homelessness or poverty.

That's my boy. These young people are showing us up in many ways. And people are worried about the state of our youth in America.

What about you?

Life's little irritations:

1) Wind. Not just a pleasant breeze. Really windy wind.
2) Pumping gasoline.
3) Leaky gas nozzle.
4) Standing downwind, pumping gasoline with leaky gas nozzle.

Life's little pleasures:

1) Eating a simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich. (It would be perfect if you didn't have to clean the peanut butter covered knife or spoon when you're finished, huh? You can't just rinse it off like you can most foods--you have to really get your hands messy. Messy hands phobia here shall go unmentioned.)

2) Flower beds full of brilliant red-leafed shrubs and purple pansies, together. In the winter. The only other time red and purple seem to work together is, in a word, PAISLEY. And that's only if paisley works for you. I know people with paisley phobias, too.

3) Making a small donation to the ICRC to help with the troubles in Kenya. We had a small discussion in the comments of my post from a few days back, and I'm going to try out the tipping point theory here. It wasn't a huge gift, and I normally wouldn't mention my gifts to a charity--it seems wrong and self-righteous--but I'd like to challenge you to do the same, or make a donation to another organization helping there. Perhaps we can make a bigger difference than we did in Rwanda by reacting early, while the situation is perhaps more containable. See Paul's post about how you can help.

Kenya

My friends Heather and Paul returned from a two-year assignment in Nairobi, Kenya only six months ago. I am relieved beyond words that they are safe here in the U.S.

Paul is diligent to keep the political situation in front of his blog readers--a situation that has now resulted in at least 800 deaths. I asked him tonight what we can do differently as Americans than we did during the Rwandan genocide. The scale is "small" right now, and perhaps not as aggressive as it was in Rwanda, but who's to say that couldn't change overnight?

Sure, it's all the way over on the other side of the world, and doesn't affect our every day lives here in the states. BUT...the thing that sobers me, and you may call me crazy if you like, but who's to say it couldn't happen overnight in our very own country? I'm not convinced we don't have it in us. What could we be doing now to help solve the current crisis in Kenya, and prevent the very same from happening some day on our own soil?

This is not what I intended to post in regard to the article about peace that Carleen linked to last week, but it fits.

I was somewhat stunned last night in a movie theater when the crowd was filing out and a gentleman behind me had a sudden leg cramp that basically flattened him in his seat. At first, i wasn't sure what was wrong, I thought perhaps he was having a seizure of some kind, but after a minute, we figured out between what he was gasping and what his wife was saying that it was a leg cramp, it was something that happened to him on occasion, and that we shouldn't worry.

The amazing thing was nobody else in the packed theater besides our small group noticed. Nobody asked if he needed help, or even stopped to gawk. They just went on out talking about the movie, Untraceable--which was a pretty scary statement on human nature itself.

We take it for granted that if we need help, it will come.

Whistling a tuneless tune and looking around casually

Yeah, so it's two days later and I never added more, but I hope you read the article and found it as illuminating as I did, and maybe even acted on it. I may still do that soon. (Post more ... I actually did try to act on it in a small way, which could possibly be part of that post. Maybe. Or maybe I'll just keep it to myself and feel good about it.)

I also need to post about the blog award I got from Bungi--The Roar for Powerful Words. Thanks, Bungi. She actually thinks I'm funny. *BIG SMILE*

She'll definitely be getting the award back. She's also introduced me to something that could take up way too much time in the near future, I fear. Scrabilicious . . . No, wait, it's SCRABULOUS on Facebook. I was really good at Scrabble back in the day. Watch out world.

And let it begin with me

In honor of the MLK holiday tomorrow, I'm going to follow Carleen Brice's lead and link to Susan Skog's article, 10 Ways to Bring Peace to the World, which I sorely needed to read tonight.

I think I'll add more to this post tomorrow, but wanted to get this link up tonight.

Out beyond ideas of wrong-doing and right-doing, there is a field, I'll meet you there...
--Rumi

My 2007 Super Hero

It only took a 30-minute phone call with my brother on New Year’s Eve to remember that he’s ... well, he’s my brother, and he’s not perfect. Our friendly banter led to the usual rolling of eyes and concessions with casually shrugged shoulders. Important details like, say, the setting for the movie Juno. (Not Texas, as he thought for sure. Minnesota, doofus. I told him so.)

And yet, in spite of all that, I am here to name my hero for the year 2007. It’s my big brother. You can call him Tom, or like me, you can call him Raymy, but never, never, never call him a wimp.

Five months ago this past weekend, his life as he knew it fell apart. I won’t go into the specifics of how things happened, but suffice it to say that when I flew out to stay with him on July 30, he was broken. And, we honestly weren’t sure he could be “fixed.” As a family surrounding this devastated man, we were really scared, to be frank.

But, you could say, in the words of David Wilcox (of course), that my brother is “stronger than ever now, in the broken places.”

Here is a man who was already a great dad. He was, in fact, a most unusual dad for our generation. He was that almost unheard of entity, even in California—a stay-at-home dad. He had been the full-time caregiver for his little son for more than five years. And yet, he also endeavored to keep his own passions burning. He wrote full fiction manuscripts and screenplays and submitted them frequently. He led a stay-at-home dads group when he wasn’t changing diapers or cleaning up puke.

In the last several years, he even took stand-up comedy classes and began performing frequently in comedy clubs around LA as the “Stay-At-Home Dad Comic.” One of the cutest things I ever saw was when my brother asked his little boy to do his own “routine” for me. My four-year-old nephew climbed up on top of the concrete picnic table where we were hanging out in La Jolla and said, “Hi, I’m Aaron, and I’m a stay-at-home kid!”

But as my brother and I trudged around LA last August, trying to take care of all the details of his new life, I took many deep breaths, and said as many prayers under my breath in the space of a week as I had probably said in a year. Please God, let him survive this.

God answered those prayers and more. My big brother is not only surviving, but he is, shall we say, kicking butt.

In an ironic stereotypical role reversal, it was unclear whether he would be able to manage the details of a budget. He’d never had to be the one to do it. And yet, he’s not only been able to manage, but comes up with inventive ways to economize. (You should see the voodoo doll-slash-toothpick holder we got for Christmas. What, you think I’m kidding?)

He knew he’d need an advanced degree to eventually obtain the kind of employment it’ll take to continue to live and raise his son in the place they have called home for years. Yet, I breathed a little sigh of relief when the Master's in Urban Planning program details he’d already been checking out for months showed it was too late to sign up for the fall semester. It’s okay, I said. Take a few months, get on your feet...

Instead, he showed up the first day of the semester unregistered, petitioned the professors to take the classes, was accepted not only to the classes, but eventually to the program, and proceeded to take a full load with final grades higher than most of his classmates. In fact, two-thirds of the others dropped out before the semester ended.

I hoped he might eventually return to his stand-up comic engagements, but thought it might not be a bad idea for him to take a break. After all, his identity as a stay-at-home dad had been shredded to pieces overnight. He’d have to write all new routines, right?

Nope. He didn’t miss a show. He kept delivering the same jokes and callbacks with the same shrugs and pauses, waiting for the laughter of his audience to assure him he was still alive. As we talked Monday, he was preparing to leave for a show at a place he’d performed before—a physical rehab facility where people understand pain. He anticipated a good show—his last one there a few months ago had been one of the best he ever did. His routines have gradually morphed into a representation of who he is today, and he says they’re even better now. He’s got an edge he didn’t have before, after all.

Oh, yeah. Somewhere in between, he has rediscovered his talent and passion for drawing. Over the holidays, we’ve received a nearly daily dose of the black paper and chalk “LA Noir” drawings he’s done to prevent boredom and loneliness while the rest of us have gained 10 pounds watching movies and eating junk.

There is one area he hasn’t changed at all, unless you consider going from amazing stay-at-home dad to amazing single dad and not losing his mind a change. Then again, getting a five-year-old to kindergarten several days a week and then getting yourself to class for the rest of the afternoon and evening and doing a full load of graduate-level homework somewhere in between might be a change from six months ago. Yeah.

So, one other thing. For the last several years, my brother has made an annual Christmas CD and sent it out to parents and siblings, and who knows who else. (Maybe even the president.) In spite of all the great excuses he had, this year was no exception.

He shamelessly ripped the voices of the big guys—Nat King Cole, Burt Bacharach, and the Captain and Tenille (Huh?)—from the originals and crooned, doubled up, and maybe even harmonized himself in recordings that made us smile, laugh, and sing along. He recorded his little guy singing 20 repeats of the dreidel song before he whispered “ENOUGH!”, and then Aaron’s self-written and titled “Banana Boy.” Something about a scary Christmas tree and a robot in perpetual battle?

But, what ultimately made me cry and solidified my brother’s status as my hero of 2007 was his acapella version of a song—sung before by one of his own heroes, Elvis Presley, and often by our dad when we were children. Sung this time by my big brother in a brave, unwavering voice.

There’s a sweet, sweet spirit in this place,
And I know that it’s the spirit of the Lord.
There are sweet expressions on each face,
And I know that it’s the presence of the Lord.

Sweet, holy spirit,
Sweet, heavenly Dove,
Stay right here with us,
Filling us with your love.

And for these blessings,
We lift our heart in praise,
Without a doubt we’ll know,
That we have been revived,
When we shall leave this place.

(Sweet Sweet Spirit/Original, Doris Akers, 1962)

I love you, Raymy. You are my hero, my brother, and my friend.

Here we come a-yelling?

Kristen and I were out doing some holiday errands and stopped for hamburgers at the Burger King drive-through. While we were there, an incident happened that reminded me not only of who we are, and who we are to be, but also that it's better to go postal vicariously through other people.

The lady ahead of us had great difficulty placing her order. She repeated the whole thing several times, and the poor employee kept getting it wrong. The last time he repeated it back to her, the lady simply yelled at the top of her lungs, "TWO NUMBER ONES!!!!" (and although she didn't say it, you could hear the rest of it in her voice, "... you $%#$ %$%*@!!"

To his credit, the employee replied calmly. "Okay, two number ones, and what drink would you like with the second one?" And amazingly, she answered him calmly.

I have to say that after she yelled, I laughed my head off. She really didn't sound like she was about to go to the window and do anything violent, she was just fed up--not only with the BK employee, but with holiday stress in general. It was her moment to let it all go. (I hope, but then again, perhaps this is her usual M.O.)

In the long run, it was not only a release for her, but for me, too, and it reminded me of how hard it is to keep your cool during this time of year. We are supposed to be thinking about peace and love and all the good stuff, but instead are running around like headless chickens trying to get everything finished. It all seems so critical in the days leading up to Christmas, but so unimportant when it's all over.

In these last few days of the season, temember who you are to be, and let someone else do the yelling.

Here we come a-wassailing
Among the leaves so green,
Here we come a-wand'ring
So fair to be seen.
Love and joy come to you,
And to you your wassail, too,
And God bless you, and send you
A Happy New Year,
And God send you a Happy New Year.

We are not daily beggers
That beg from door to door,
But we are neighbors' children
Whom you have seen before
Love and joy come to you,
And to you your wassail, too,
And God bless you, and send you
A Happy New Year,
And God send you a Happy New Year.

Good master and good mistress,
As you sit beside the fire,
Pray think of us poor children
Who wander in the mire.
Love and joy come to you,
And to you your wassail, too,
And God bless you, and send you
A Happy New Year,
And God send you a Happy New Year

Putting it all in perspective

The easy stuff:
1) Dealing with kids and dismal grades
2) Broken down car
3) Going to the ER to have stitches removed from daughter's face (caused by falling flag in color guard practice last week)

Otherwise known as "my life."

The hard stuff:
Being the parents of LaSharon Powell, a 17-year-old girl killed in an auto accident in our school district this afternoon, or the parents of the other four injured, two critically.

Not my life. Just a reminder to myself.

Please pray for these students and their families. I can't imagine a more horrible way to experience the holiday season than this.

Drowning in Christmas Stuff

EDIT: I removed the image I had on this post. Quite by accident, I figured out a way to increase your blog traffic in amazing numbers, but it's not necessarily the way I wanted to increase it. :-) Just imagine a cozy Christmas scene with stockings hung by the chimney with care, a purdy decorated tree, and lots and lots of other "Christmas stuff."

I've come to the conclusion that I simply have too much "stuff" for Christmas decorating. I used to really look forward to it, and would spend a few days cleaning up the house good, then put the decorations out, and even then I got a little carried away at times. Let's just say one tree has never been enough, shall we?

So, the last few years, Todd gets the boxes down from the attic, and the stuff sits. And sits. And sits. I had grand plans this year to start early, get a box or two at a time down, sort through it, get RID of the "too much stuff" stuff, and it would be easy as pie, right?

Then I got sick, and now it's December 10, and I'm back to the "too much stuff" thing. When I'm out shopping, the shiny, glittery "new stuff" calls me, but mostly, I've resisted this year.

Well, except for that rug. And ... those Christmas tree skirts. (Which now join the two I bought on clearance last year that I totally forgot about until I opened the boxes of too much stuff.) I'm having to give away skirts, and this is the first time ever it's not because I lost or gained weight. (Although that's a story for another day.)

But, yeah, too much Christmas stuff, and thus, a flagging Christmas spirit.

Something's not quite right, don't you think? I'd venture to say it's more than just me with a "too much stuff" problem at Christmas these days.

The soapbox inscribed with the golden compass

MY DEAR WORMWOOD

The ways in which we have managed to take the patient’s eye off preparations for celebrating his savior’s birth are simply delightful.

That whole Golden Compass movie hoopla is by far the best plan we have laid in years. Forget boycotting Disneyland, Johnson and Johnson, Barack Obama, (or Kingdom Below forbid, Harry Potter!), or any of the minor scuffles we’ve managed to create over the years. This one is supreme.

If we can keep him indignant about our claims that there is no Enemy Above, he will surely forget to talk about such silliness as the “Enemy Above’s love” for him.

Do remember you are there to fuddle him.

One of our greatest allies at present is the Church itself.

Your affectionate uncle
SCREWTAPE

Yep, that’s a little tongue in cheek, if I do say so myself, and not nearly as good as C.S. Lewis would have done it (except for the parts in italics, which I ripped off from him).

I'm watching the whole Golden Compass movie hoopla unfold, and wondering which of the promoters had the amazing marketing idea of tipping off the Christians.

You see all the rush to boycott the movie? You see how that may just make it the biggest movie of the season? Come on people. This trick has been done before. Forbidden fruit only makes the kids hungrier, and only makes the grownups look more stupid.

I don’t have a huge issue with the emails that describe what the movie’s about, but they are often accompanied by MESSAGES IN CAPITAL LETTERS TELLING ME I SHOULD BOYCOTT THIS MOVIE. Oh, yeah, now my interest is really piqued, along with that of my kids.

If your child wants to see the Golden Compass, I say take her while you still have the opportunity to be a part of her decisionmaking process. If you’ve brought her up believing in God, in whichever faith you subscribe to, have honest conversation with her about what Phillip Pullman might want her to believe. If she’s too young to understand that, she’s too young to see the movie anyway. It doesn’t look like it’s filled with singing dwarfs or rosy-cheeked maidens.

My daughter came home from school the other day and said, “My friend isn’t allowed to go see the Golden Compass.”

“Really?” I said. “If you want to see it, I don’t mind. You are old enough to understand what the author’s trying to get people to believe, aren’t you? That God doesn’t exist. And in the movie, they ‘kill’ God, who turns out to be a phony?” (Which is a kind of strange dichotomy if you think about it. Why kill something that doesn’t exist?)

She said, “Yeah, I know. Well, my friend’s mom doesn’t really care if she sees it, but her church said she isn’t allowed.” (And my daughter is 10. And she’s heard that. And she gets it.)

Who are we kidding? Do you really think the church started this? Hollywood has been playing previews of this movie for months now in the theater, and the books have been out for who knows how long before that. But, why, suddenly, a week or two before the release, is it suddenly an issue for Christians.

Well, we aren’t that quick to start stuff, but we are sure good at jumping on the bandwagon when someone pulls it up to the circle.

Imagine the hoopla if someone had tried to start a boycott against Narnia because it glorified God? Who knows, maybe they (whoever they are) thought about it, but then just laughed at the ridiculousness.

Supposedly, the “plot” is that kids will watch the movie and be drawn into reading the books, which are allegedly more overtly atheistic and anti-Christian. (I'll be honest--I don’t know, I haven’t read them. I can't stand fantasy, but if I need to eventually, I will.)

Again, the crux of the matter is, if you’re not looking at what your kids are reading or watching, and talking about it with them honestly, and hoping and praying they will make good decisions when they can truly think for themselves, then what difference does it make anyway? It’s a free for all.

Discuss amongst yourselves.

(However, be warned that if things get ugly, I’ll delete your comments. I’d just like to hear some honest, heartfelt, yet adult discussion about this debacle.)

Overheard in Austin

I almost forgot ... when we were there a few weekends ago at the Nickel Creek concert at Stubb's, about an hour before the concert actually started.

Girl behind us: My feet are killing me.
Guy behind us: Why?
Girl: These are my bar heels.
Guy: Okay ... ?
Girl: I'm usually drunk when I'm wearing them.

That makes perfect sense. I guess.

Soapboxes R Us

Well, I had one very pleasant post before I got back into complaining mode. I think I'm going to change the name of my blog to Soapboxes R Us. Too bad I don't have a plug-in to make the R backwards, or I'd be all set.

What kind of idiot installs a bathroom light fixture off-center? In fact, what kind installs all kinds of fixtures in the same house off-center? Probably the same idiot, I'd guess, but I'm still not sure what kind.

We are trying to replace the outdated "makeup lights" in our bathroom with some more modern fixtures. Perhaps the universe is trying to tell us to be content with those old ones. BUT WAIT! The old ones have EIGHT light bulbs each. That's 16 total bulbs, which cannot even be replaced with the new, energy-efficient bulbs. I'm sure you know what I mean by "makeup" lights. Flourescent bulbs wouldn't be very pretty in them. Kind of "Mork from Ork" style, perhaps, but that's just not what we're going for. (And if you don't know who Mork is, you're too young to be reading this.) At any rate, surely it would be very green of us to replace those power suckers with relatively inexpensive ones that have only 4-5 lights. You would think.

When we (as in the Todd part of we) removed the old fixture over one sink, it turns out the junction box is not centered. The STUD is not centered. I'm not talking an inch or so. I'm talking about six inches. The old fixture didn't connect the same way. The new fixture, thus, when installed, looks pretty dang goofy.

So, now we're faced with a dilemma. Redo the junction box, which involves adding some kind of horizontal brace, which involves cutting a large hole in the sheetrock, then replacing it, taping and bedding, repainting (which we're doing anyway, so that's not a big deal). All for a 80 dollar fixture. Or...find another ugly light fixture? Or, put the cheesy one back up and deal with the ugliness and the major sappage of energy?

C-R-A-P!!!!

Rarrrhhh! (Soapbox warning!)

Today is schedule pickup day for both girls, and lemme tell you, if it wasn't, I'd have to . . . um . . . do something I might regret. (My mom suggests burying your offspring from the neck down from the ages of 12 to 18, leaving only their heads above ground so they can breathe and you can feed them , but I might have to extend that to age 10.) If they could both just groan and grumble a little more, it might set some kind of record for this summer.

Pick pick pick. Jab jab jab. Whiiiiiiiine. Louder, I can't hear you!

Shew.

So, we are ready for school to start in approximately 91 hours.

And mom is cranky. But not just because of all that. There's more.

I'm on a soapbox since last night when we went school clothes shopping at my formerly favorite store, Target. Well, I guess they'll have to stay my favorite discount store, because I realized as I did a little research on the Internet last night ALL the stores do this, not just Target.

We were in the girls' department, and my youngest got a hankering for a cute pair of capri pants in the school uniforms section. Understand, she's not required to wear uniforms at her school--other than a strict dress code that some days makes parents long for a uniform policy. However, as you know, I am domestically challenged, and uniforms would likely make me crazy, because they'd never be clean on the right days. Well, Todd would probably be organized enough it wouldn't be a problem, but if it were up to me .... I digress.

So, you remember my post a while back about the young girl who was "overweight?" (From China, or maybe it was Viet Nam, can't remember for sure.) I got on a soapbox about that because the kid was like 5'4" and 100 pounds or something, and they were saying she was overweight.

Well, I've got a new one for you.

As we were checking out the cute khaki capris with the pink and black polka-dotted interfacing and striped ribbon belt, we noticed something. When I got home, I researched it further because it was bugging me that much. At Target, Walmart, JC Penney, and I'm sure any number of other department stores, they charge $2.00 extra for girls' plus size uniform items.

Yeah. Seriously.

Okay, I can kind of understand the extra charge for adult plus size clothing. It does take more material to create larger-sized clothing, and perhaps there are some other considerations on equipment, etc. BUT LITTLE GIRLS. Let's do the math. If you are a size 12+ little girl, your pants are still smaller than a size 16 regular little girl. And shorter. BUT, because you have that little plus on the end of the tag that allows your pants to fit your little pre-teen poochy belly body without the legs dragging five inches past your feet, you pay $2.00 extra. Or at least your parents do.

I really can't say much else without getting ugly other than what kind of message is this sending our little girls? Even at age 8 (yes, 8+'s also pay the extra two bucks), you should somehow fit into the "ideal" we have created for female bodies in this country. (And yeah, they do it for the boys, too, in the "husky" sizes. I checked.) Is this new, or have they always done this for kids? I just don't remember, but it doesn't seem like it. I am glad they have responded to the fact that not all kids come in the same sizes and shapes, but still. I don't see them giving a $2.00 upcharge (or even discount. HA!) for the slim sizes, by the way. Sounds like unequal treatment to me.

Excuse me while I go puke.

ABC Family's values

Wow. I was just sitting on the sofa surfing while my kids watched ABC Family and their ten-millionth episode of Boy Meets World (which my son says is the Brady Bunch of their generation, along with Step by Step and Full House, by the way).

The show ended, and the between-show commercial spots ran. An ad for HP Pavilion notebooks was what caught my ear:

"Get a new HP (model whatever) out of your parents for just $999! Or a (model whatever) for $499!"

Things have come a long way since, "Follow your nose!" and "Frosted Lucky Charms are magically delicious!" and "You sunk my battleship!", haven't they?

The ante has been upped.

My girls snuck looks at me after the commercial, and Emilie said, "Ridiculous."

It might have been the "WHAAAAAAT?!?!" I let out spontaneously that inspired her to say the right thing. I hope not. Kids are smarter than we think. That's what scares me.

Why friends don't let friends (fill in the blank)

So, I got a new cell phone last week. (And don't you hate it when people start blog posts with the word "so"? I do, too, but it's just so tempting I can't resist!!!)

I was much attached to my little tiny Nokia with all the buttons on the front and the super-dee-dooper flashlight on the end. I carried it around with me at night after all the other creatures were asleep when I finally shut down the computer and went to bed so I wouldn't stub my toes or other parts. (And, since we're being up front, I still carry it at night. I keep it charged, because it's the best flashlight and reading light ever.)

I got a fancy schmancy newfangled flippy-picture-and-video-taking-text-messsaging-ringtone-downloadable-voice-commandable-it-probably-babysits-your-children-while-you-go-to-the-grocery-store Samsung phone. They practically gave them to us (in fact, they are truly paying us to use them for the first three months, so if you are out of contract and want someone to pay you to use a new cell phone for three months and still end up with a cheaper bill afterwards, go to Costco!).

How could we resist? We gave up on our old company after we determined that: a) They didn't want to help us, really. b) They were going to charge us an arm and a leg for everything--phones, service, existing as human beings. c) They were going to make us change all our numbers just because we wanted to change the name on the account. d) They, obviously, were unconcerned about customer loyalty even though we've faithfully paid them, on time, and more than we pay for, say, WATER, or personal items per month, which are really more necessary if you think about it, for nearly a decade.

And they haven't even called us to find out why we left yet. I guess that's one thing in AOL's favor. They'll do anything to get you back.

I digress.

So, (there it is again), I'm now learning to use all the bells and whistles on my new phone. It is, in fact, harder than geometry, and that's saying something if you knew me when I took geometry. My children are patiently teaching me all kinds of tricks. I am a computer freak, but other electronics slay me, and frankly, I just don't care. People used to try to get me to make the copy machines or printers work when they were messing up in my old offices, because they knew I was a computer freak, and I just laughed in their general directions. Computers hold the key to my success. Other things that plug in? Why bother.

But, I have successfully sent text messages to Gail so we can have brief conversations about when we're going to work out (and this is quite an accomplishment if you know the two of us--yes, the working out and the brief conversations). I have installed a photo of my beautiful, yet feisty and death-wish-filled cat on the wallpaper. I have even mastered the art of calling a few people using the voice command. The lady who asks me what I want to do has serious pronunciation issues, though, and cracks me up with her inability to recognize names I have clearly YELLED into her ear. I apologize to everyone I have inadvertently called this week when the voice command lady interpreted (as a fake example) Sally Smith as John Doe.

If you've read this far, this brings me to the subject at hand. Finally.

I have always tried to be a conscientious cell phone user and follow the rules like:

1) No talking on your cell phone in the library or church. Or ... in the middle of talking to an agent, as Kristin Nelson talked about in her blog one time. That is a bad idea, apparently.

2) Turn the ringer off during movies, especially when the super scary AMC employee comes in before the show starts and warns that you'll be forcibly removed if you are seen using a cell phone during the feature presentation. (This really happened when we went to see Premonition.)

And, of course:
3) Put your cell phone down while you're driving and you see a police officer approaching, because if you are breaking any other rules, the cell phone attached to your ear is probably not going to help your case.

Which brings us to my point.

My dad is always reminding us kids about not using cell phones while we drive. I, in turn, remind my son not to use his cell phone while he drives. It makes me wonder if my dad uses his while he drives. (Just think about that for a moment.) I don't think he does, though, considering he even hands the phone to someone else in the car when he's a passenger because he can't hear. Hehe.

Anyway, I've discovered that my fancy schmancy new phone is much more difficult to master while driving, so I have cut back considerably on my office hours in the car. I could use that old Nokia puppy with one hand, knew exactly how many up and down arrows it took to call the people I needed desperately to talk to at that exact moment, etc. Piece of cake. The new one takes two hands and three brains, which is pretty tricky while you're driving. It gives me new respect and much sympathy for all the people I've dialed who answered the phone while driving as if their lives depended on it.

Which brings me to my actual point. This is the funny part, I promise.

Yesterday, while working out at the Y, I was sitting on the recumbent bike, alternately spinning my legs and resting because my stomach still hadn't quite recovered from the bubonic plague I contracted last weekend. I was listening to my Once CD (don't forget, this is a movie you have to see while you still can!) and reading a book at the same time. You think this sounds difficult? It was, but not so difficult I couldn't observe an approaching Y patron.

She walked slowly toward the bike at the end, breaking Y rule number one: Use of cell phones in the exercise areas is prohibited! I casually watched with my peripheral vision as she approached the bike, sat down, slowly began to pedal, and held a heated conversation on her cell phone. All this while a 8 1/2 X 11 inch piece of paper printed very prettily with the words "OUT OF ORDER. SORRY FOR INCONVENIENCE." floated gaily in front of her face, covering the computerized controls of the bike. She didn't notice until she'd been sitting there for a minute or two and finally decided to select her speed when her conversation ended. Then she abruptly stopped pedaling, looked around to see if anyone was watching (not ME!!), and got up. In her shock, she went to a different type of machine altogether.

I said all that to say this. I think I'm going to stop talking on the cell phone while I drive. You probably shouldn't either. Friends don't let friends talk on their cell phones and drive.

(Anyone know a good 12 Step Program for this?)