God Grew Tired of Us

John Bul Dau is a Sudanese Lost Boy, a Dinka. At the age of 13 he was forced to flee his home and walk a thousand miles, first to Uganda, then to Kenya. At the age of 13 he says he was tall and looked older – so he was put in charge of the care of 1,200 younger children. To worry about feeding them. To comfort the scared and the sick and bury the dead.

John Bul Dau is one of the lucky ones. At the age of 23 he was chosen for asylum in the United States. Catholic Charities assisted him and three other Lost Boys in relocating to Syracuse, New York. There, he worked two, sometimes three jobs to send money to the boys left behind in the camps.* He put off his dream of attending college to aid his family; the father, mother and six other siblings who somehow survived the civil war. He worked, and continues to work, tirelessly to encourage the other transplanted lost boys to maintain their identities as Africans and educate the public about the violence that robbed him of his home and family.

John Bul Dau is possibly one of the most beautiful human beings I have ever seen.

The film also follows the stories of Daniel Abol Pach and Panther Blor, who find asylum in Pittsburgh. It was painful to see the worst qualities of the residents of my city on screen. How the merchants called the police and complained when the boys came into their stores in large groups. The looks on the faces of some of the residents in Giant Eagle as the boys learned about bread and balloons. The sense of isolation that lead one of the boys to a mental breakdown.

It was rewarding to see the best qualities of the residents on screen. The store worker who gave away doughnuts so the boys would learn what sprinkles tasted like. The little girls at the pool who chatted happily about the Sudan. The volunteer at Catholic Charities who taught the boys how to turn on a light switch, adjust the shower and guided them through the piles of paperwork.

It was strange to see my city through the eyes of strangers.

*The boys also had to repay the United States government for the cost of the plane ticket to the U.S.

So Strange I Can't Pass it Up

Between now and July 1...

• I will not look at the cost of flights.
• I will go to the airport early to see if I can fly standby on an earlier flight.
• I will wire the landlord an advance for the apartment I am renting, to make sure that I have a place to stay in case I am a victim of the law of averages again.
• I will not take my computer with me this year.
• I will remember to put a clean shirt and pair of underwear in my carry on, in case my luggage goes missing again.
• I will not purchase that wide angle zoom lens since I need money to pay for my $1286.30 plane ticket.
• I will, however, order the CDMA/GSM phone with AC & European power adapters, so J can stop worrying about me wandering European streets alone.

In other news I had an interesting IM exchange with a co-worker this afternoon. Due to the nature of my employment, my schedule has been crazy and I will have 20 hours of overtime this pay period by the end of the day tomorrow.

I am hoping that the lack of sleep is the reason why W decided to tell me that her husband had “fallen off the porn wagon again”. In the context of her recent admission that one of her previous jobs was data entry at a porn distributor, I could not help but wonder where she met her husband and how she defines falling off the porn wagon. Did he fall a little bit off, as in cracking open a Playboy and claiming he was reading the articles? Did he rent a video? Go on a bender and buy out the store? Does he have a serious addiction that requires therapy?

I am flummoxed.

Pan's Labyrinth (El Laberinto del Fauno)

J was unsurprised when I insisted on seeing this movie on Friday night. As I am a huge fan of folk/fairy tales and legends, watching this movie was an absolute must and I had a great time spending two hours dissecting the source material.

Guillermo del Toro borrows from British, Greek, Roman, Danish, German and Christian mythology* to weave together a story almost unbearably brutal, so violent in places that I had to turn my head away from the screen and wait for J to tell me when it was OK to look again. Characters are struck, beaten to death, tortured and shot. One scene shows the amputation of a man's leg.

In Ofelia's (Ophelia) fantasy world the creatures are strange, the fairies are not pretty and there are monsters everywhere, a mirror reflection of her real life. She must face fantastical creatures including a giant toad and the Pale Man, a horrible creature who sees through eyes in his hands.

The two most significant complaints about the movie are that it is not appropriate for children and that it was too derivative. The underlying assumptions of these complaints is that the only appropriate audience for mythology is children and all forms of fantasy must be purely original. If that is the case, then I should turn in my Harry Potter, my Hans Christian Anderson and my collection of tales from the Brother's Grimm and immerse myself in Disney cartoons until I choke.

*Mythology in the all-inclusive, generic sense of the word.

Dear New YMCA Members

I think that it is great that you decided to join a gym. I remember how difficult it was to get used to working out with a whole bunch of strange people, always worrying about a stray bead of sweat or that someone will walk off with my towel.

Please feel free to stop by the desk and get directions to the locker room. While you are there, have one of the staff introduce you to this really neat little invention called a “lock”. See with a lock you can store you stuff in an equally interesting object called a “locker” without worrying about someone stealing it. If you don't have a lock, you can turn over your driver's license and a member of the staff will loan you one for the duration of your workout.

Imagine how nice it will be to move from station to station without lugging your coat, scarf, hat, backpack and extra pair of sweatpants with you! Imagine how grateful other patrons will be to have one less obstacle to trip over.

Please stop carrying the disinfectant spray bottles from station to station. I don't know if you noticed, but there actually is a finite number of bottles. That number is significantly lower than the number of people working out at any given moment. And while we are discussing this, please stop giving me an ugly look when I use “your” spray bottle to wipe down a machine. Finite number of bottles, remember?

Is it really necessary to remain attached to your cell phone during a workout? Really?

Is it really necessary to pout when you cannot get a treadmill next to your friend? Really?

Cold Day

It was so bitterly cold today that I waited until sunrise to walk to my bus stop in the mad hope that it would be marginally warmer then 3 degrees below zero. I was rewarded with -2 degree temperatures and my favorite on bus entertainment.

My favorite meth addicts were back on the bus today, bundled up and the conversation was rocking. Literally – it centered around one man's “vintage” Pink Floyd t-shirts, circa 2002, which he intended to leave to his children and his (female) companion's tenuous connection to an autographed Keith Richards guitar, complete with pick. Her Keith Richards-guitar-story set the man off on a rant about how hard David Bowie is on his guitars and how amazing it is that Bowie is able to get any sound out it. From that he segued into how much of hack Keith Richards is as a guitar playing, stealing riffs and techniques from other players and that, essentially, he “sucked”.

During my mercifully brief walk to my office, I reflected on the idea that a t-shirt could be an heirloom and wondered if one purchased in 2002 could actually count as “vintage”. Downtown Pittsburgh was so empty and so cold that I abandoned the notion of stopping at Starbucks and headed straight to my office.

I also elected to skip the gym in favor of getting home before the temperature dropped even further with the setting of the sun. Back in my house, I turned up the thermostat and made a mug of hot tea, grateful that my furnace was still working and my pipes were unfrozen, unlike one of my hapless co-workers.

Now the house is warm, Lucy is snuggly and I just finished half listening / half watching Rick Sebak's goofy documentary Sandwiches That You Will Like. Which I have on DVD.* The extras include the "Mystery" made by the now defunct Chiodo's Tavern.**

* I also purchased the companion cookbook.
** The tavern is now a parking lot for a Walgreen's.

Sad Day

Molly Ivins died today. One of the wittiest and smartest women in the universe just died.

Rest in peace Molly. You will be missed.

Thanks for fighting for the rest of us.

Alternet
New York Times
Yahoo News

I Have Too Many Books

My buying spree is coming back to haunt me as I look at the piles of unread and partially finished tomes on my nightstand. My study is overrun with finished reads, stacked double on the shelves with more piled on top and two huge stacks on the floor. If I gave up part of the space for the stationary I never use anymore and the stereo, I would have a shelf and a half more room. But then Lucy Snowe* would have nowhere to hide.

My other option is to actually get rid of some of the books, but I'm not very good at doing that. I hoard books. Not only the ones I have finished, but the ones I have yet to read. My current reading list is huge primarily because I can't decide what to read next.

My current reading list:

The Poetry of Pablo Neruda.
There should never be a deadline to completing a book of poems. Especially when they are written by Pablo Neruda. I have been reading this one slowly over the last several months.

The Men Who Stare at Goats – Jon Ronson.
I'm halfway through Ronson's trip into the bizarre world that is Psych Ops of the United States military.

Kiss Tomorrow Hello: Notes from the Midlife Underground by Twenty-Five Women Over Forty – Edited by Kim Barnes and Claire Davis.
Because it is never too early to start a mid-life crisis.

The Black Book – Orhan Pamuk
I have not started this one yet. The problem with Pamuk is that he demands your full attention as a reader and I'm not ready to give it to this book. If it is anything like my experience with Snow, it will take me about two years to finish.

Home Game: Hockey and Life in Canada – Ken Dryden and Roy MacGregor
Ken Dryden graduated from Cornell University, played for the Montreal Canadiens, earned a law degree and now serves in Parliament. Don't ever tell me hockey players are stupid.

If you want a better understanding of hockey, read his first book The Game.

Zamboni Rodeo: Chasing Hockey Dreams from Austin to Albuquerque – Jason Cohen
Life in the Western minor leagues of hockey.

Love – Angela Carter
I love fairy tales and did my senior writing project on Cinderella. Angela wrote the best modern interpretations of classic fairy tales I have ever read. At some point I will take the mere two hours to complete this novella.

The City of Angels – John Berendt
I have heard such awful things about this book that I am afraid to pick it up. I really should give it back to my father.

My Kind of Place: Travel Stories from a Woman Who's Been Everywhere – Susan Orleans
Susan Orleans has my dream life and job. If I could be anyone, I would be her.

The Wild Party – Joseph Moncure. Drawings by Art Spiegelman
Great poem, fantastic drawings. Another one I am reading slowly.

Someone I Loved (Je l'aimais) – Anna Gavalda
The cute Swedish guy who treated me to dinner in Paris last summer was a big fan of Anna Gavalda and suggested her. Popular in Europe, she has not caught on in the United States yet, although one of her novels in being turned into a film.

This Blinding Absence of Light – Tahar Ben Jelloun
Corruption – Tahar Ben Jelloun
More French writers. Tahar Ben Jelloun is brutal.

Persepolis: The Story of a Childhood – Marjane Satrapi
Persepolis: The Story of a Return – Marjane Satrapi


*I was deep into Villette when I found Lucy underneath a car in a mall parking lot in Greensboro, North Carolina.

Angry Motorized Scooter Guy

I may have alluded to Angry Motorized Scooter Guy in past entries. AMSG is exactly as described – a very angry, somewhat overweight man who rides around my neighborhood in a “mobility scooter”, a flashy metallic red number complete with basket.

I was first introduced to AMSG on a street in downtown Pittsburgh. He was arguing with a bus driver over whether there was enough room for him to ride the bus. It was the position of the bus driver that there was not enough room on the bus. It was the position of AMSG that there was, indeed, enough room on the bus for him to board. The PAT driver relented and was proven correct in his estimation as AMSG was forced to stand, pick up his scooter and put it into place, thus making everyone on the bus wonder exactly what sort of handicap the man had.

Every since that first encounter, which ended with AMSG following me up the street to my house ranting the entire time about the insensitivity of PAT drivers, I have tried to avoid him. Successive encounters only verified my first impression – that he was a pretty angry guy. Most of his encounters with PAT drivers were combative in nature, to the point that drivers would actually pass him up if they saw him waiting at a stop.

But I witnessed a softer, gentler side of AMSG this morning. As usual, I left the house timed exactly to witness the passing of the four buses that seem to drive by my stop just as I am about to reach it. As I saw AMSG waiting at the stop, I took my time crossing the busway, assuming I would catch one out of the next set of five slated to pass by in twenty minutes.

As it turns out, AMSG was not able to board the bus because the chair ramp was broken. Not only did he let everyone else board before him, he also notified the driver that I was coming and held the bus for me, with only a single bitter comment about his inability to ride this particular bus.

Thanks AMSG!

Jenn's Adventures in Open Source Land

But first... There is something satisfying about seeing a vehicle parked across from the Pittsburgh Parking Court get a ticket.

If someone had told me five years ago that I would spend my days in front of a computer testing prototypes, I would have laughed at him. If someone had told me that I would spend hours of my time trying to find an open source emulator for a Macintosh host, I would have asked where he got the pot he just inhaled.

And yet, five years later, instead of earning an MLS and retreating to the bookish world of librarian ship*, I find myself spending an obscene amount of free trying to hunt down an open source emulator just so I can install an obscure, open source operating system on my iBook for the express purpose of learning how to use it – for work.

Some days I wake up and don't recognize myself.

*Caveat: Librarians, especially modern librarians are anything but bookish. There is a reason for the “hot librarian” fantasy. Smart women are sexy.

Fight Night

But first, yet another reason not to fly Continental this summer.

Last night J and I attended a second Penguins/Leafs game, a game in which Pittsburgh pounded Toronto into submission figuratively and literally to a final score of 8-2. It is the highest scoring game I have seen in my five years of regular attendance in Mellon Arena.

I knew it was going to be an interesting night when I saw a security guard escorting a drunk Leaf fan out of the arena before the game began. The fan was quite polite about the situation.

More interesting than the score was the number of fights that broke out on and off the ice. Toronto does not like to lose, and as the points piled up, so did the pushing, shoving, illegal hits, outright punches and penalties.

Off ice, in the stands, the fighting was so distracting that half of the arena missed the Leafs second goal (myself included) because we were too busy watching arena security breaking up a fight and escorting brawling fans out the building.

On the way back to our car I stopped to give a group of very happy Leafs fans some directions. They had driven the whole way from Toronto for the game. I felt bad about the fact they drove all that way to watch such a spectacular loss and said “Oh, I'm so sorry”.

“No, don't be sorry”, the man replied. “Great city, great fans, great game. We had a blast”. Then one of his friends offered me twenty dollars for giving the group directions.

Found Objects

From the low point that was Sunday breakfast, J took me to a starving artist sale and to Gabriel Brother's to look at clothes.

After looking at the wonderfully bad art I dashed off to the restroom. While in the stall I spotted a piece of scrap paper lying on the toilet tissue holder. Curious, I opened the paper to this...

“Chef – piece of Bone in pork loin – woman bit down on & was very displeased Said pork “loin” is suppose to be boneless – Dirty Silver”.

Hmm... I don't have any theories. I just thought the note was fascinating. Maybe I'll send it to Found Magazine. (Confession: I once left a love letter in a very public place. I came back later in the day and discovered it was gone. I've been checking out Found's website ever since on the off chance it gets submitted).

My other comfort this week (aside from the peace offering of irises, roses and carnations from J) was the arrival of the huge order I placed from Amazon. The only book that did not come in was Joseph Moncure's The Wild Party, illustrated by Art Spiegelman. I wanted a hardcover copy, which I had to order through Powell's Books.

And the dental hygienist who cleaned my teeth on Monday said I had “very expressive eyebrows”.

In Other (Horrifying) News

Three pregnant teenagers assaulted their caretaker with a frying pan and escaped from the New Hope Maternity home in American Fork, Utah earlier today.

A maternity home. In 2007.

I skimmed some of the headlines for the 27 articles listed in Google News. The majority of the articles used the phrase “whacked” to describe the assault, which I found to be an unfortunate choice of words, as it made me laugh over a tragic situation.

What kind of parent, in 2007, feels like they need to isolate their daughter by sending her to a maternity home? What kind of pro-life bullshit is that? To proclaim that all life is sacred, then slut-shame your daughter by hiding her away?

Milestone

I think I bounced my first check ever today, an automated draft for gym fees. In all the years on my own, when I was so poor that my dad had to pay my taxes and my heating bill, I have never bounced a check. I'm still waiting to see which way the equation money in / money out goes.

I did not get paid last week. My company's payroll, sent to the processing company for deposit in our accounts, was overlooked and the mistake was not caught until almost noon on Friday, and only because one of my co-workers emailed the owner (who resides on the West Coast) to tell him that no one in my office got their paychecks. The owner was apologetic, added an extra hundred dollars to each employee's paycheck and will reimburse us for any financial charges due to the mishap. But it still leaves me broke until sometime Tuesday afternoon.

So I am playing what seems to be a common sport for most of my friends, the odds that the funds I transferred when I realized I did not have enough money to cover the draft, are credited before the YMCA attempts to get its money.

Which leads me into the tension fraught ordeal which was having J's parents in our house for Sunday breakfast.

J and I are in trouble right now. Our decision to forgo all family Christmas activities in exchange for a peaceful Noel created a considerable amount of controversy in J's extended family. Since Christmas day we have been subjected to passive-aggressive remarks about our non-attendance at Borg family holiday events. In an attempt to stop further commentary (and so we can take down the Christmas decorations this week) J invited his parents to the house for breakfast on Sunday.

Tensions between J's father and myself are to the point that I spent most of the week prior to the visit nursing a low level migraine (complete with nausea) while J was less than his sunny self. Both of us were anticipating the dropping of another emotional bomb and dreading it.

Into this environment came J's parents. The FIL first shot was at the fruit I had carefully cut up into a salad for the meal. Apparently the addition of mango taints the other fruits and “ruins” the salad.

The meal went downhill from there and hit a low point as I began the story of my missing paycheck, only to hear “They are paying you what you are worth then” come out of that man's mouth, followed by a lecture about not having overdraft protection on my account.

I left the table and contemplated murder. I did the dishes. I listened to “jokes” about how nice it was that I was helping out around the house. I contemplated divorce (not for the first time). I made some more tea for myself. I managed to stay out of the dining room for the rest of the meal. I got one crack in when he asked about the noise in the basement and I responded by telling him that the noise was being made by my first father-in-law.

He did not find that joke very funny. Score one against the bully.

I am convinced that if J's brother had not stopped to visit, there would have been a fight. It would have been ugly. And it probably would have ended in me leaving the house.

May You Live in Interesting Times

I am currently not under a curse and have been living in mostly dull times for the past two weeks. The highlights so far seem to have been seeing a former student in my hometown's liquor store, the exchange with the transexual / cross-dresser / drag queen on New Year's Eve and the huge order I placed tonight with Amazon for a stack of books, including Jon Ronson's The Men Who Stare at Goats and a DVD of the Royal National Theatre performing The Merchant of Venice.

One the books I am currently lusting after, but did not order, is a three volume graphic novel called Lost Girls, written by Alan Moore and Melinda Gebbie, primarily because of the authors' reinvention of the characters Wendy, Dorothy, and Alice. The book is insanely expensive and has been criticized as “pornographic”.

From the spring of 1999 to May of 2003 I worked at my former high school as a substitue teacher and librarian. I taught primarily middle school students, with occasional guest appearances in AP English to lecture about narrative styles using Jose Chung's 'From Outer Space' and teach Frankenstein. I ended up loving my middle school students, especially one group of bright, funny, fun kids.

Two days before Christmas J and I stopped in at the liquor store to grab a bottle of Bailey's. As I wandered through the store I was stopped by one of those former students, now in college and almost unrecognizable. And she was happy to see me.

This past sunday, the FIL continued in his quest to get me to submit to the family borg. First by implying that I was lazy for not getting back to him soon enough on a recommendation of a digital camera. I was especially irritated because he failed to inform me that he needed the information quickly. I shall be vindicated as the camera he purchased from eBay is an off label brand from an unknown company. If it breaks, which it will, he is completely out of luck.

While driving around Western PA this weekend, I managed to catch most of the interview with the organizers of the Helsinki Complaints Choir on Weekend Edition. While the concept of a complaint choir is not new, I found the interview highly entertaining.

This Entry Rated "R" for Adult Content

“You're too cute to be with guys!” said cross-dresser? transsexual? drag queen? in the Lava Lounge last night after I broke the news I was married. She tried to charge me a kiss for taking her photograph. When I turned her down, she tried to persuade me that J would enjoy watching.

Not so much, I assured her. She shrugged her shoulders and began flirting with the other patrons. I laughed and recounted the exchange for K, as it was too loud for her to follow our conversation.

Last night I put on a dress more expensive than my wedding gown*, put my hair up and slipped on a pair of 2” patent leather black pumps to go out to dinner with seven other people.

This year it was at Mallorca, dinner for eight at the civilized hour of nine pm. There was some debate over the time when J made the reservation, as certain members of our party were concerned that if the complicated equation of win/losses worked out, they would miss the final Steelers game, the one that would put them in the playoffs.

The Steelers lost on Christmas Eve, thus ending the debate.

Mallorca is an odd restaurant. The food is excellent, but the service can be uneven. We arrived early to have a drink at the bar and wait for the rest of the members of our party. When the final two members arrived, we were hustled to our table only to discover that it was only partially set and missing napkins, silverware and glassware. After multiple attempts, one in our party managed to flag down a staff member to get napkins for the entire table.

Once we had all the appropriate tableware and drinks, we settled in to enjoy the rest of the meal. During the meal we were entertained by the delivery of meal flambéed in a dish the shape of a pig to one of the tables and cheers from the kitchen when one of the waiters carried in a round of beers for the cooks.

Until dessert. In which my streak of being unable to receive the first (or sometimes second) item I order remains unbroken. This time it was the tiramisu. Which was served to two other members of our group before I was informed that the kitchen had run out.

The staff was rather distressed when I exclaimed “Oh, no!” and began laughing. One of the guys who received his order of tiramisu offered to give it up, but I waved him off and ordered the chocolate cake instead.

Post dinner was spent at the aforementioned Lava Lounge, where the girls danced to 80's hits, the guys stood at the bar watching the coats/bags/cameras and we all made a lot of noise when the ball dropped.

*I acknowledge the sheer vanity of posting a photo of myself in the dress. I don't care.

Quiz Time

I'm actually working on a real post, but curiousity got the better of me and I had to take this quiz.

What Kind of Reader Are You? Your Result: Obsessive-Compulsive Bookworm You're probably in the final stages of a Ph.D. or otherwise finding a way to make your living out of reading. You are one of the literati. Other people's grammatical mistakes make you insane.
Dedicated Reader
Book Snob
Literate Good Citizen
Fad Reader
Non-Reader
What Kind of Reader Are You? Create Your Own Quiz

Another New Photo for a New Year

Reflections 1, originally uploaded by lcuy2 (Jenn).

Phipps Conservatory, Oakland, Pittsburgh PA.

A New Photo for a New Year

Reflections 2, originally uploaded by lcuy2 (Jenn).

Taken during a recent trip to Phipps Conservatory

Penguins vs Maple Leafs

J and I took a friend's son to see his first hockey game Friday night. JM is from South Carolina, where there is not a whole lot of hockey, but has been sports exposed enough to know about Sidney Crosby. BM has seen professional hockey before, but the Columbus Blue Jackets actually make the Penguins look competent, so watching a game in Mellon Arena was a whole new experience.

The Penguins returned our investment by beating the Maple Leafs 4 – 1, the first time they have managed to win a game against Toronto, at least on home ice, since 2001.

If you want to introduce someone to the sport of hockey, I cannot think of a better way to do it then take them to a Leafs game. Leafs fans travel well, an attribute you don't normally see in hockey. This is a product born of the difficulty and expense in obtaining tickets in Toronto and the relatively close distance of teams in Buffalo (Sabres), Detroit (Red Wings) and Pittsburgh (Penguins). I'm not sure if they go the distance to Columbus, but I would not be surprised if they did.

It makes for a fun game, as the number of fans from the opposing team is audible, enthusiastic and friendly, from singing “Oh Canada” to good natured taunting of happy Pens fans on the way home about the team's imminent departure from the city of Pittsburgh. Ouch.

JM even got to watch a fight. Between Jarkko Rutuu and Ben Ondru during the second period.

Have a safe and Happy New Year.

Christmas 2006

Day 1 – December 23

In which we successfully dodge the family ambush...

We decided to get the family visits out of the way, while I am still sick enough to easily justify staying home in bed. Trying to wrap presents Saturday morning was a chore, as my mind and reflexes were stuck on one speed – molasseses, with a memory retention of five minutes. Rare is it for me to be so out of it, even when I am feeling unwell. J ended up wrapping the majority of the gifts for both of our families.

After some tea we set off for my parents home in DuBois (the home the hot dog stuffed with peanut butter, in case that monstrosity has slipped from memory) to drop off gifts. My parents had us open our presents. Then we hit the road again to make it to a Christmas party hosted by J's cousin.

But first, a stop at J's parents to drop off another load of gifts, complete with the frantic scramble to remember the alarm code. After tucking the presents underneath the tree, we headed to J's cousin for some holiday merriment.

J's family Christmas celebrations are usually dry affairs. Imagine my shock to discover that J's cousin stocked the garage with beer, the counter with liquor and wine and the fridge with plenty of soda, seltzer and water for mixing.

It turned out I needed the single Strawberry Daiquiri I imbibed during dinner, as J's aunt ambushed him for an explanation as to why we would not be attending Wigilia this year. The ambush continued as we went through the process of saying our goodbyes. In spite of J's repeated assertions that we would not be spending the night, would not be having dinner with the extended family on Christmas Eve and had most of next weekend booked with activities with friends, various family members simply refused to believe that any of his statements were true.

By the time we made it home it was late, we were exhausted and I had a massive headache.

Day 2 – December 24

Last Minute Shopping...

J woke earlier to visit the Strip District to pick up the ingredients for Christmas dinner while I slept. When I woke, it was a clear head and more energy than I've had in the past two weeks, enough energy to finish the last minute shopping I had been putting off because I was so tired.

Sundays in winter mean Steeler games, and Christmas Eve was not exception. The Waterfront was quiet, the traffic almost manageable, the general population of shoppers congenial. As a bonus, I found a dress to wear on New Year's Eve.

It took me most of the afternoon to finish up. As the day was beautiful and most people were merry, I did not mind wandering aimlessly around in the sunshine.

The highlight of the afternoon was an exchange with a shopper in the line at Giant Eagle. As we waited for the cashier to ring up her groceries, we overheard a conversation in the next lane over, in which two women mocked those (myself included) who would use a check/debit card to pay for small purchases. As the cashier announced the (substantial)total on the woman's groceries, she turned to me and said “Do you think the debit card police would approve of me?” which made us both laugh.

I made J open one of his presents early, a volume of Animaniacs cartoons on DVD. We spent the evening watching episodes from the DVD.

Day 3 – Christmas Day

Holly, Jolly, Peaceful Christmas...

After opening gifts, J happily set up train track in the dining room to terrorize the three cats and alternately nagged me to crack open the iPod Shuffle he gave me so he can see how it works.

I have a 40GB iPod which I use to back up all my music and take on trips. I asked for a smaller one to take to the gym, and he obliged. He also raided my Amazon wish list for ideas, so I now have an enormous pile of books to read, mostly non-fiction. He even managed to track down some obscure hockey books from my list and special ordered them (although some have not made it to our door yet).

I did nothing today. It was glorious.

Be Careful What you Wish For

I had hoped for some semi-cataclysmic event (like a snowstorm) to trap me in my house over the holidays so I could stay home guilt free.

I got the flu. From J's niece.

Not the event I was hoping for. Damn.

Merry Christmas everyone!