Happy Almost New Year!

Hey a photo! Thanks Lt.!! In this photo you see the remains of the cake I made for Christmas Eve. They were actually several little cakes, shaped like cars and trucks: sorry I didn't get a photo, but I'll be doing those again and so you'll see pics in the future.

Meanwhile, go here. The player identified as Nick Kaminski is actually the Fork. You can see him in the video, if you want. Note his ability (rare among athletes) to construct a coherent sentence. Lets all hope the Hokies win the Orange Bowl, because then all my relations will be happy.

Aside from those important messages, its now time for resolutions, if you're the resolution type. My advice: don't do it. Nobody ever sticks to resolutions: you're just setting yourself up. Instead of getting into some high-pressure resolution, just try to think a happy thought every day. Its more fun than a diet, and if you eventually forget, there isn't any guilt involved. I actually did keep a resolution for a while: five or six years ago I resolved to never again drink green alcoholic beverages. And I didn't, until the Lt. showed up with his green chili wine. So: was I successful because I kept that resolution for the year in which I resolved? Or did the eventual breaking of the resolution negate (or at least mitigate) my temporary success in resolution-keeping? See, resolutions never really go away: if you lose weight this year, next year you'll have to at least maintain your new weight, or suffer the guilt of fattening back up and breaking old resolutions. If you resolve to stop smoking or drinking, or cursing, you can never go back to doing those things, or else you'll have ruined your success. Most New Year's resolutions actually bind you for life: behave forever or suffer guilt. These are the sorts of choices that shouldn't be made while holding champagne and flinging streamers about. So I guess my real New Years message is: don't drink and resolve. Improving yourself and your life is a good idea, but wait until you've sobered up, and that post-holiday-sugar-buzz wears off. Lets face it, we all think more clearly without lampshades on our heads. (for the record, I've never attended a party that involved the wearing of lampshades in any fashion. I've also never attended a toga party. I was invited to one, but I had to go to work that night.)

If you can't help yourself, I've prepared a list of safe, low-pressure resolutions that you can grasp in your holiday frenzy:

1) I resolve to stop cursing one day each month, unless I'm having a really bad day that day.

2) I resolve to eat fewer snacks on Tuesdays in June, except ice cream and chocolate which contain healthful calcium.

3) I I resolve to smile at old ladies in the grocery store unless they're really cranky looking. I at least resolve to not run old ladies over with my shopping cart, unless they're blocking the whole aisle, at which point I'd be doing the other shoppers a service by running the lane-hog over.

4) I resolve to not put a lampshade on my head except at New Year's, unless some other really awesome party comes up, or if Skip is at the party, because she's never been present at a lampshade-wearing event.

5) I resolve to read Skip's blog regularly.

6) I resolve to comment on a blog I like once a month until I forget to comment.

See, nice, safe, fun resolutions.

Happy New Year to all!

Hey, Penn State Won!

Well I was going to post some photos the other day but apparently I have none: CVS apparently failed to put any photos on my photo disk. I sure wish I had that digital camera, and honestly I can't imagine where its gone, I even emptied boxes recently and saw not a trace of the missing camera.

Anyway, Penn State won, and I'm just as surprised as anyone else. If we're very lucky blog fans, we might get some actual photos of the festivities, but judging from recent posts (or lack thereof) I doubt it. So: go other universities!

Meanwhile I think we may be getting some new molars. This whole tooth thing is ridiculous, its like the whole Rocky series: just when you think you're safe, a whole new one shows up. Apparently by the time he gets the last of them, it'll be just about time for them to fall out. Its little things like this that make me think the human body isn't necessarily such a marvel of engineering after all.

Bleh

Yes, here it is, the post-holiday slump. After all the frenzied cooking, wrapping, calling, visiting, and the extreme excitement of gifts and cookies, suddenly its over and we have presents that aren't quite brand new, crumpled paper that we so carefully affixed to special items, plates of crumbs, and no desire to move, eat, or shop ever again. We already called all the relatives, the Christmas shows have abruptly stopped running on the television, so now what?

Once again we have here a little lull when nobody expects us to do anything (except the Widge, who does rightfully expect meals, diaper changes, books read, and general parental activities). Don't bother getting out of those jammies, just lay around snacking. Unless, of course, you live at the North Pole, because you guys owe me money. I bought all the gifts, wrapped them, and even labeled about half as being from Santa. I don't mind much, I like you jolly elves as much as the next parent, but if you're going to get half the credit (plus all the cool holiday specials, parades, and celebrity appearances) you could chip in a bit. Either that or give us parents a slice of the fame. I'd like to be beloved by children everywhere, especially if, as it seems, there isn't much actual work involved. I'd love to be greeted by applause when I show up at IHOP.

Folks, when your parents told you that Santa doesn't exist, they were just cranky because the fat man isn't really much help in the gift process. I'm pretty sure he is real, and hanging out in his fancy castle at the top of the world, laughing at us all, with out puny bank accounts, and our gifts, with his picture on the wrapping paper and his name under "from", hidden in our tiny closets for weeks. I don't think he's a bad guy, but I do think that he, like God, has the sort of humor that we don't usually appreciate, because it tends to be at our expense.

So crack open an ice cold Bud light, oh jelly-bellied icon of holiday cheer, because you not only make the gift process look easy, you manage to give presents all over the world without budging from your comfy fireside chair.

What's the opposite of Exodus?

Introdus? Thats what's going on now. The hordes are descending upon our peaceful borough just in time for winter festivities. Well, there are really only two of them, but they're large, and seem like a horde.

Nick arrived yesterday, and has once again become the Widge's personal hero. For the next two weeks he (the Widge) will roam around saying: "Neek. Neek neek neek." That is, when he's not saing "Boom!" every time someone mentions turkey. That's because we were watching Mythbusters, and you'll all be happy to know the Widge really seemed interested, but of course they blew up a turkey, so thats certainly going to hold the attention of a small boy.

The last of the gifts arrived and was wrapped yesterday, so we've entered that little gully you fall into just before charging up the hill of Christmastide. We sent the cards, made the pirogi and the cookies, decorated the tree, bought the gifts...now what? Here at the Skiphaus, we get to celebrate the anniversary of our graduation, which I did by watching my favorite movie from my college days: Fight Club. Its been at least 5 years since I saw it, but it's still good. Shockingly, I was only 18 when I first saw that in theaters. Gee whiz, I'm old!

Anyway, I say, enjoy this little bit before Christmas, the last few days before that pile of wrapping paper and toy bits appears in the living room, before cookie crumbs and sad shreds of ham are all that remains of the glorious feast. Although I remember many wonderful Christmases, I don't recall the food (unless it was terrible: I remember a peanut soup that I hated), and I don't necessarily remember the gifts, although one year I got a doll I had wished for. What I remember, year after year, is the warm, happy feeling of lounging around, with that glorious, glowing tree, and the anticipation of the gifts, the cookies, the food. So folks, don't sweat it, let a few things slide, and just put your feet up, enjoy your decorations, read the sweet Christmas messages your friends and relatives are sending, and be happy that its Christmastide.

Claus encounters of the Santa type

Our visit with Santa tally is up to 3: a whole lot of Kringle time for a kid who doesn't actually understand the Claus/gift corollary. But he seems to be calmer about the old elf now, and actually cheers when he appears on television, which I think is a good thing.

About bears: the National Zoo does indeed have spectacle bears as well as sloth bears, or rather they have enclosures for these bears, because I can't say I've ever seen either. In the future I expect to visit other, bear-displaying zoos, although I don't plan to go to Chicago. Instead I'd like to visit the allegedly excellent Philly zoo, because I like Philadelphia in general. I think it results from the combination of good food, ample Revolutionary history sites, and the fact that I didn't grow up nearby. I have only spent one day in Philly, that I remember, because I know I was there in my younger days, so Philly is on the grand list of cities in which I've spent one day, along with New York, Boston and Atlanta. Its a small list. I don't hang out in cities much, and apparently only east-coast cities are worthy of my time. None of this, of course, has anything to do with bears.

Did I tell you I saw a gila monster at the zoo? It was laying draped over a rock, so we could only see part of it, but it doesn't really look pleasant. I'm thinking I don't want them meeting me at airports, or anywhere else. They looked much friendlier in the book, which just goes to show how literature can lead you astray. Folks, books aren't really healthy for you, and I'd like, at this holiday time, to offer an opportunity: send your books to me. I'm well-trained in dealing with this threat, and I'd be happy to save you from danger.

A danger I will not save you from: the giant, man-eating catfish the History Channel is doing a show on right now.

On the good ship Christmastide

Although it wasn't in my initial post plan, your excellent comments are highly amusing and worthy of note. First: vampires. In my last post I stopped short of commenting on certain holiday figures and their bizarre habits: only showing up at night when we are vulnerably asleep, living in a remote location, leaving gifts while apparently asking nothing in return, and that weird outfit. Thank you, Stan, for breaching the topic, because I now feel better in saying: I wonder if Santa might be a vampire? If you think that's odd, I'd like to note that the History Channel show did have a guest who speculated on Jesus being a vampire, and I wish to say that here in Skiptopia, we are wholeheartedly against that notion.

Additionally, I am intrigued by the jolly container ship captain. I can just see him, with his corncob pipe and Danish fisherman's hat, steaming along with his shipload of goodies. What a wonderful idea! I'll have to consider this further.

As to pirogi economics, this is a highly speculative field, in that no model for the average consumer exists. Currently pirogi are packaged in two-dozen batches, and I can tell you that at the Skiphaus (population 3), two dozen makes a suitable main dish, (served perhaps with eggs, or kielbasa), and one dozen will go for a side dish (served with anything, but ideally eggs and kielbasa). This latest crop was divided thusly: 8 dozen to the Skiphaus, 2 dozen to Stella and the Stella People, and the remainder reside at the Mothership, where pirogi economics get very confusing. Avereage dinner attendance is 4, and 2 dozen makes a nice side dish. But in the holiday-tide the colonials all congregate, and typical pirogi consumption tends to soar: between 4 and 6 dozen as a side dish. The bottom line here is that this pirogi crop is expected to last through the New Year, but not much longer, except at the Skiphaus where I usually lose a dozen in the dark recesses of my freezer, and find them again during the Eastertide, which, with its anniversary/birthday festivities, is a bigger holiday here than at the Mothership. Essentially pirogi making is a huge outlay of work, with every aspect being made from scratch, and generally takes the better part of a day, depending on number of workers. Although pirogi can be obtained from the average grocery store freezer section, they are not nearly as good as the home-made kind, mostly because at home we control the exact mix of the filling, as well as the thickness of dough, thus crafting pirogi specially engineered for our own palettes. The outcome, regardless of the short eating season, is entirely worth the effort, and I say that as someone who has been present at every pirogi making day for the past 27 years, and has helped in the last 17 or so. (the folks who have worked at pirogi making for the last 35 years may have other interpretations).

But what I really wanted to post was that I just finished a very good book: Stiff, by Mary Roach. Go read it today, it was very interesting and very funny, and I think many of you might want to consider composting as an alternative to the traditional burial. I personally believe that after death the physical remains aren't much different from an old banana peel, in that they both were once useful coverings that have outlived (haha) their function, and so I wouldn't mind being composted, or rotting in the trunk of a submerged car at the body ranch. Some of you readers have a very tough decision: have your remains composted, or plasticised for display.

In other news, we visited Zoo Lights last night and it was great, the Widge had fun, we drank hot chocolate and I even went into the reptile house, which many of you won't believe. They have a lovely iguana, a gila monster, and some wonderful tortoises, and many display cases for snakes, into which I did not look. The Widge labeled every unidentifiable animal as "bear": "Look, its a rock hyrax. Do you see it?" "Bear!" "Oh, look, a naked mole rat!" "Bear!!!" and so forth. We did not see any actual bears, and so I ask: have any of you ever seen an actual bear (not panda) at the National Zoo? Anyway, the lights were great, we especially loved the leaping cheetah, and the cow that really mooed.

We also finished shopping for Christmas, and if only I could finish the last few hand-mades, we'd be all done, gift-wise.

Pirogi Day!

and I'm pleased to announce that it was a recording-breaking day: we made 42 dozen. Many thanks to Stella for her help.

So I know I haven't been updating a lot lately, but on the other hand I post way more often than some blogs. Part of my thin posting is due to the fact that I've been chugging along finishing those last darned gifts, but also I've spent some computer time surfing around on Etsy, checking out all the stuff people made. Its amazing.

Anyway, not much new: the Widge has decided that Santa is cool, although apparently not as cool as Mickey Mouse. I suppose until Santa gets a theme park or two, he'll always come in second. He is a little creepy, after all, with all his sneaking around, and the fact that he only works one night a year. What really makes me wonder are the elves. Is this whole Santa thing a good gig for them, or is there some cultish, sweat-shop vibe there? With all the kids who want electronics, my next question is: do the elves make those? Do they just make the Wiis and all around Christmas, or has Nintendo opened a North-Pole plant that isn't publicized. If the Elves don't make the high tech stuff, don't they have a lot of free time? What else do they do? In the movies, the North Pole is basically just a toy factory and dorm complex. But there must be some other amenities: a good community theater maybe, or a gym. What about the reindeer: there must be more than just 8. Where do they all live? Do they have their own nutritionist and vet and all, like in the zoo? Is it better to be one of Santa's deer than just an ordinary reindeer running free in Lapland? But more relevant: why is the History channel playing their vampire programs, but not their Christmas ones?

Shopping!

Did some Christmas shopping today, although really if Christmas suddenly appeared tomorrow, I'd be okay, shopping-wise. Still some knitting to do, but that's how it goes. Speaking of knitting, the new Knitty came out. I read it mostly for the articles, of course, but there are some very lovely patterns too, if that's your thing. This episode has a pattern for kilt hose, so you can see that this is serious knitting, not just potholders and dish rags (although I like knitting dish rags).

Meanwhile, I've come into some money, so I think I'll follow the example of my siblings and buy a hat. I like this one, in black. I like the colors on the brown, except the brown itself, since my coat and boots are all black, and I think the black is more versatile anyway. What do you think?

Widge has a cold, poor thing. He's sleeping peacefully, since we've turned the bedroom into a mini-rainforest, humidity-wise. So far the heavy eucalyptus scent is keeping the wildlife at bay: much as I'd like to save the rainforest, I'd hate to wake up and find sloths and tree frog in the bedroom.

Happy St. Ambrose Day!

Yes, today is the feast of St. Ambrose, so a festive one to you all.

Well I broke my mug from the Maryland Renaissance Festival, which sucks because it held the equivalent of 2 cups of tea, so now I get just a cup at a time. Meanwhile just when it looked like I might finish my holiday gift-making, a crochet hook went missing. This sort of setback in the hand-making process may explain why not so many people subscribe to the "better to give than receive" ideal. Besides, there's nothing you can knit that would compare with a Wii, unless the giftee just doesn't go for gaming. So you see, I am fully aware of the fact that by choosing to make gifts I'm mostly just putting myself in a stressful position, which I could easily avoid by trotting over to the Giant, grabbing half a dozen assorted gift cards, and tossing them into cards. But lets be honest. Isn't the ability to complain a bit just part of the ambiance of the holidays? The Grinch and Mr. Scrooge are two of the biggest holiday celebs, and before you give me the old "because they had a change of heart," routine, recall that while "bah, humbug" appears on t-shirts, coffee mugs, and all sorts of other paraphenalia, Scrooge's change-of-heart line "I will keep Christmas in my heart" appears nowhere. Even the far better written (if a bit sappy) "God bless us, everyone" doesn't get nearly the same amount of gear. Why? Because once a year we all deserve the chance to grumble, and Christmas is a great time. At what other season are we expected to gleefully shell out piles of cash on gifts, wrapping, shipping, cards, cookies, and decor, while listening to countless re-makes of the same six or seven songs, and endure the close contact of relatives you rarely visit for good reason, all while maintaining a cheerful, loving attitude?

I'm not anti-Christmas (although I promise I'll be accused of it), in fact I'm pro-Christmas. All the stress and the bright lights at all hours gives everyone the chance for a much-needed meltdown. Nobody cares if you eat an extra cookie, drink a bit too much rum, get teary-eyed at random events of seasonal significance, and all this is immensely freeing. I suggest that as part of the holiday spirit, we all embrace the Scrooges among us. Go on and grumble a bit: you've probably got a reason. And those of you with no inner Grinch: cut us normal folks some slack. We're not heartless just because we don't want to hear "O Holy Night" 8,000 times before January. Because the true Christmas spirit isn't just about wandering around with a Santa hat and grin, whistling "God Rest ye, Merry Gentlemen." Its also about cutting the other guy some slack, even if he is a grouch. He might have just realized that fruitcake has the same density as mahogany wood (thanks, History Channel, for that fact).

Anyway, those gifts aren't knitting themselves, and I haven't seen any elves yet, so back to the old workshop.

About Christmas Cards

See, there are folks who think that the cards are just a terrible marketing ploy by the stationary companies. If so, congrats to them. Other folks don't send cards because they're too busy, which often means that card-sending just isn't a priority. I personally think that once a year its a nice idea to send warm wishes to all the people I like, and the people the husband likes, and various and sundry relatives. If nothing else, it reminds them all that we're still around, and that we recall that they're still around. On that note: some of you maybe already have your cards. If not, they're on their way. Except for those of you who haven't given me your address yet. You know who you are. I know you're enjoying life, during this interim time between Thanksgiving and Christmas, that seems to be an extended party, full of shopping and food, and more food. But during all the revelry with loved ones please also cast a thought in our direction: we also care about you and would like to send happy thoughts in a tangible, old-fashioned, traditional manner, as is our custom.

Also, I feel a bit bad for posting a photo in which the Widge is so clearly unhappy. So here's one in which he's less unhappy:
I also appear, because I don't post many photos of me. I figure those of you who don't recall what I look like are probably better off, and yet I do post photos of innocent bystanders, so I feel obligated to post myself from time to time.

In regards to the poll, so far you all believe strongly in Santa, Dragons, and an afterlife. I think the common thread is good marketing. Certainly Santa has some great publicity: he is, after all, a television and movie star, featured in countless books, and he makes guest appearances on shows like any other celeb. Dragons too have had some very good coverage on screen, as well as in video games, books, legend, and even religion. The afterlife is pretty much a standard in our Judeo-Christian-type culture, although it too does well in television and movies, and there is a computer game (named, coincidently, Afterlife) devoted to the subject. But the real link may be that they've all appeared on the History Channel. Although aliens have too, and you seem to scoff at them. (who was it that believes in aliens? In some cases I can guess who believes in what, but in some cases I'm stumped.)

Three posts this month and only the 4th! What lucky blog-readers you are! There seems to be a flurry of blog-activity out there lately, I wonder why. Possibly the aliens have something to do with it.

Dear Santa,

It was nice to see you on the train. You're looking very fit: good for you! I say, don't buckle to the peer pressure to conform to a Victorian standard of jolly plumpness. A trim Santa is an inspiration: maybe we can all chow down on cookies once a year and still loose weight. Anyway, I'm sure the Widge will eventually warm up to you. You must admit, your outfit is a bit unique. Handing out candy canes is a good idea: he certainly seemed receptive toward the candy. Since the majority of poll responders believe in you, I can only assume that the Widge, too, will get over his uncertainty and become a staunch supporter of your entire operation.

Once again we've set up and decorated our own tree, so you won't have to worry about that. I've even wrapped most of our gifts, so your job should be easy, as far as the Skiphaus is concerned. The Widge has been good and deserves some lovely gifts; the husband and I have been at least moderately well behaved, which I'm sure you already know. I think we've strengthened our case with diligent diaper-washing, and by paying our bills on time.

Anyway, what I'd like this year is a nice nap, once a week. So if once a week you could arrange for the Widge to be looked after, I could have my nap, and I'd be very grateful, and much nicer next year. I'm sure you can spare an elf, since Mattel and Fisher-Price seem to be making most of the toys these days. Additionally, he'd love to spend some time with a reindeer. I've seen pictures, and they look very fuzzy and not too big. I think he'd be much more inclined to hang out with you next December if he knew you'd set up weekly reindeer playdates. Of course if none of this is possible, you could always pay the electric bill. You wouldn't even need to stop by, just send your check directly to the power company. I'm sure you know our account number, since you see us when we're sleeping, etc.

In conclusion, say hello to Mrs. Claus and the elves and reindeer. Hope your December isn't too stressful, with all those mall appearances. Hope to hear from you soon!
love, Skippy.

A bit of analysis

Because I think it's really interesting that responders find demonic possession more believable than ESPN. Could it be that the excessive amount of ESPN that we see has rendered it, like cartoons, less believable, more of a fantasy brought to us by the same twisted minds that produce daytime T.V? Maybe the sort of people who read my blog just plain don't need 24-hour coverage of sports, games, and competitions of all descriptions. Sea monsters, on the other hand are apparently very plausible. The sea is a darned big place, after all. And yet you don't seem to think much of aliens.

In short, it really isn't possible to draw conclusions based on your responses. A new poll is required! Please see new poll, designed to further explore your belief in the unexplained. I'll take it for granted that those of you who believe in Santa also buy the flying reindeer, elves, and trip around the world in just one night.

Speaking of Santa, we saw him today in a parade, yesterday arriving in our locality, and tomorrow we'll be riding a train with the jolly old elf. In an old cartoon, we've been watching him deliever toys, and it seems he also used to set up and decorate the tree. I don't even expect him to wrap anything, but if he could send a check, that would be swell.

Storytime!

At the library, I mean, because we were there today. The theme of the day was bears, and we sang some bear songs and heard bear stories, but the Widge was a bit unsure about the whole thing. We'll go again next week and see if he feels and more comfortable.

Meanwhile the Discovery Channel is searching for sea serpents, which prompts an interesting question. So, please navigate your way to the poll on the sidebar, and we'll see what my loyal readers have to say about unexplained phenomena.

Sleepless in the Skiphaus

Well, actually one of us is sleeping, finally. But he doesn't do it very often, which is part of why the blogging has been so thin lately. Also the Venerable Fork returned for a bit, and there was also a very large feast, with special guest star: the future Mrs. Lt. But now we've reached the time of year when other Christmas trees are up, and ours isn't. Mostly because we don't have one. For stationary objects, they are surprisingly difficult to hunt down. There are, of course, trees everywhere, but we need the right tree, and we need to find it with a minimum of searching. Husband has an extremely low tolerance for the hunt, which is yet another example of his poor Native Americanness. I can just imagine his distant ancestor, fifteen minutes into the buffalo hunt: "Look, its cold out here, and if we found a buffalo we'd just have to drag it all the way back to the camp anyway. Lets just grab a few squirrels and call it a day." If his ancient Native forefathers were anything like him, marrying up with the new colonists was a very wise decision. I, on the other hand, make up for it by over-analyzing everything. For example, I know that hard-core environmentalists prefer us all to decorate existing outdoor trees, preferably with home-made, organic ornaments that the local wildlife can enjoy. If we must obtain indoor foliage, we should do so from small, local farms and then compost the tree carcass after the holidays. Artificial trees are out because they'll eventually land in a landfill, with all their evil synthetic materials, mocking natural wildlife for all eternity.

I personally subscribe to the diet coke theory of environmentalism, just like those women that order double bacon cheeseburgers, with a diet coke. I recycle, compost, and use cloth diapers and wipes on my child, which erases the bad karma of things like artificial trees and the fact that I wear lots of cotton (the most pesticide-laden crop in the world) and drink lots of coffee (#2. Or vice versa, but you get the idea.) Besides, vacuuming all the fallen needles from y local, organic tree, plus the fuel I use driving to and from the farm and the community tree-recycle-locale every single year will eventually offset the one artificial tree. Just like the amount of energy I spend washing cloth diapers and wipes takes something away from the hyper-greenness of the diapers and wipes themselves. Besides, according to that commercial, landfills become the basis for wetlands and baseball fields, so really, future generations of crane should thank today's artificial tree discarders. The green movement hasn't convinced me yet: for every green action there seem to be a pile of non-green activities that occur. But I like the way things are going: I can now carry re-useable bags without looking like a refugee from a commune, and even Walmart sells organic stuff. So right on, green people.

See, this is the answer. If you yell at me for eating meat, and preach the benefits of organics, I'm heading out for a Twinkie. If you calmly give e a few options, I'll get a bit greener. But I'm never voting Gore.

Turkey Time!

Well this year the old gobbler crept up and smacked me when I was busy folding diapers. See, apparently tomorrow is Thanksgiving. It came without long drives! It came without hand-turkeys, without cards and without that Charlie Brown show! Maybe Thanksgiving isn't something that comes free after you spend $200 on regular groceries during a two-week period. Maybe, just maybe, Thanksgiving is just a date on the calendar.

Nothing against the old anti-Catholic Puritans, and their festive little interlude before they resumed the Indian-killing and wilderness-destroying. Turkey day just isn't a big holiday for me. I'm totally in favor of the turkey-eating, and I think we should pause and think thankful thoughts from time to time, but the official, government-sanctioned holiday doesn't always fit my busy lifestyle. And the whole Black Friday shopping rush really messes with my shopping in general.

I think its because we celebrate St. Nicholas Day, on the 6th. You can only cram so much festivity into a one-month period before the cynicism starts to leak out, or maybe it's just too early in the season and I haven't fully ,marinaded myself in cheer. I do tend to get all sentimental and actually listen to holiday music while sipping hot chocolate in front of my glittering tree, but that usually happens between the 3rd and the 22nd of December. Then my tolerance for all the music wears off and I get cranky, which makes everyone else seem more festive in comparison. Its a valuable service, because every really good holiday story features someone cranky. But in the spirit of holiday cheer, lets not focus on the shortcomings. Lets focus on the fact that a few of you blog-readers will gleefully gobble down mountains of pierogi that I helped make while you were off basking in the desert sun, or rebuilding artificial hearts so that they pick up HBO, or whatever it is you college kids do. Plus, I never, ever, shake the garbanzo beans.

All My Reindeer

So I watched that heartwarming holiday classic about Rudolph the other day. I'm struck by how darned judgmental everyone at the North Pole is. I guess living there, isolated from the world, and only allowing Santa and eight carefully chosen reindeer leave, and only for one night a year, you have to find something to do with your time. Creating elaborate social structures and minute rules of appearance and behavior is certainly a time-filler. But I think they were all fairly harsh on poor Rudy. Even the adults, even Comet and Santa himself, the so-called Jolly Old Elf, made it pretty clear that Rudolph's best option was probably some form of poison, or at least a lifetime of exile from the "normal" deer. They're all lucky the Rudolph didn't snap and go down a dark path. That certainly would have made for a vastly different Christmas show:

A dark room, in which an aging reindeer is seen, tied and struggling to escape. Suddenly a match is lit, it illuminates a red nose.

Rudolph: So, Comet, ten years ago you wouldn't let me join in any reindeer games. Well, I've learned a few games of my own [evil grin]...would you like to play?

Anyway, Rudolph was far more well-adjusted than that, nut still, he meets up with some random elf, and within three minutes they've planned to run off together. Pay attention, kids: running away with strangers is just plain a bad idea, even if they have spiffy heavily-gelled hair. Or maybe especially if they have spiffy, heavily-gelled hair. Anyway these two apparently walk to Canada, or at least close enough to run into a crazed Yukon prospector, who proceeds to kidnap them. This about the point where I stop paying attention, because I cannot understand how the name on the Jack-in-the-box's birth certificate prevents him from being enjoyed as a toy. Why not just let kids think your name is actually Jack? And the cowboy on an ostrich: just get a horse. Anyway, the end result, after a bit of monster torture that certainly doesn't inspire joy at the thought of dental visits, is that Rudolph saves the day. But can we really believe that he was beloved, his nose overlooked, forever after? That seems contrary to human nature, and certainly contrary to what we know about the twisted social behavior at the North Pole. I'm thinking after a few weeks the taunting returned, Rudy and his sweetheart Clarice are forced to live in the remote cave with the leaks, and younger reindeer throw eggs at their cave while shouting: "shine-snout!"

I haven't seen Frosty yet this year, but I certainly hope it has fewer undercurrents of emotional cruelty. Also, I'm starting to wonder if Santa may be running a cult up there. If so, he certainly manages to cover it with some great P.R. I'm hoping he has a good enough sense of humor to keep me on the "nice" list.

unravel update!

Just this evening I watched a Disney cartoon, I think it was called "On Ice," it starred Mickey, Donald, Goofy, etc. Anyway, Donald begins to blow away, which is apparently a major hazard if you're animated, and Mickey grabs the edge of his sweater. It unravels, but only the body: the sleeves and neckline remain in tact. Okay, this could happen. It might not be as easy as it looks on T.V, but I think if the sweater were knitted in the round, it could work. I've never tried to unravel a sweater, though. Anyone with actual sweater unraveling experience, please feel free to comment.

If you want to destroy my sweater...

That Weezer song has been playing alot, and while its a good song, it bothers me. Every time I hear that song, I mentally search through all the sweater constructions I know of, as I'm pretty sure that there is no way to unravel a finished sweater by simply holding a piece of the yarn as the wearer walks away. You could certainly destroy it, or at least render it challenging to repair, but as far as I can tell, the former sweater wearer will never be entirely sweater-less, contrary to what cartoons would have us believe. I wonder if all those cartoons have somehow led us to value knitting less. As if somewhere in the back of everyone's mind, we worry that someday we'll be swept up in a strong breeze, or floating toward a waterfall, and when our friends try to pull us to safety by grabbing a sleeve, they'll end up unraveling our sweaters, so that we'll be doomed and underdressed. Blazers are much safer, they can't be reduced to a heap of yarn with a little tug. Well folks, trust your knits, they can't be undone nearly as easily as Weezer would have us believe.

Forgot to mention

Even Sesame Street was in a Skippy mood for my birthday: the number of the day was 13, which was celebrated by having "thirteen dancing wegetables" show up at the Count's place. Widge was so delighted he began to dance as well, so we danced around the living room along with the happy wegetables.

A Very Merry Unbirthday!

So many thanks to all of you who wished me a happy birthday. It was really nice, mostly because the Widge was a sweetie, and gave nice cuddles, and was just plain fun to hang out with.

So people kept asking if I feel older, and I do, but that's since the Widge was born. I think its not so much that I feel old, but rather that I accept my oldness. See, I now have a bathrobe, a full-on sign of age (unless you're a newlywed or Hollywood Golden Age starlet with one of those silky robes, that's different.). It could be worse: its not a Babci-style housecoat, the short-sleeve, knee-length cotton thing with the tacky flower print, the sort of housecoat that can only be correctly accessorized with curlers, men's athletic socks, scuffy slippers and a cigarette. But on the other hand it isn't the men's Woolrich work shirt I used to wear over my itty bitty tank top jammies way back when I was young. All the same I like my robe, and it does, in fact keep me warm, unlike the tacky housecoat, whose main function seems to be announcing the fact that the wearer is , in fact, a Babci (or possibly a Babushka: but they tend to wear actual babushkas in clashing tacky floral prints over their curlers).

Anyway, we found a new toy store that we like, and the Widge liked it too, although he never made it more than ten feet in, where the little Schleich animals were. He proceeded to line them up in complex arrangements, and identify each one, more than likely as a "moo". He got a cool Playmobil train, but those little engineers need a better union, because ours spent most of the day locked in solitary in a clear rubbermaid for some reason.

Anyway, Widge is crabbing, and for some reason I've got this underline thing now, so enough post for the moment!

So unlike the Lt. and the Venerable Fork-Boy, I have not seen Across the Universe, and to be honest, I've been avoiding it a bit, because I'm a big Beatles fan, and I worry about what happens when other people fool around with the Beatles work. That Aerosmith version of "Come Together" is, for example, terrible in comparison with the original. I cannot understand why anyone would ever try to cover what is, in its original form, basically perfect.

However the Lt. was here this weekend and we had a real cultural exchange: I introduced him to the Wonder Pets, and he let me listen to the Across the Universe soundtrack. I must admit, I'm actually pleasantly surprised. The Beatles are really a genre unto themselves, but this album actually highlights the vast array of musical styles they mastered. There's some interesting punk sounds, a bit of soul, and you can even hear a little country is you listen closely. Or maybe that's me. The point is: go buy the album, because Eddie Izzard's version of Mr. Kite is totally worth whatever they're charging. My other favorite: "While My Guitar Gently Weeps." This version is so good, I think the Beatles would have recorded it this way, if they could have. Of course there are a lot of love songs because nobody wrote better romantic music than the Beatles. Seriously. I think that aspect gets lost in amongst their trippy rock and that Indian vibe, but they had some really lovely melodies, and very sweet lyrics. Sing "I Will" to your sweetheart some time.

Another plus: for those of you who can't deal with the extreme end of the Beatles sound, the Across the Universe album makes "Happiness is a Warm Gun," (one of my faves) and "I am the Walrus," more warm and fuzzy. No help for "Helter Skelter," but lets face it, Charles Manson pretty much destroyed any decent person's ability to really like that song anyway.

Of course my real recommendation: go buy every single Beatles album you can, and listen to them all. For about three weeks. Drink lots of coffee and think deep thoughts about the poetry of the lyrics. Make sure you get "Old Brown Shoe," "You Know my Name, Look up My Number," "I, Me, Mine," and "Don't Let Me Down." Listen closely to the fabulous and sadly under-noticed "Long, long, long," which is my very favorite Beatles song ever, better even than the medley on Abbey Road, which you should always listen to in order, and preferably loudly. And after you've marinated in the real thing for a while, then go listen to the Across the Universe soundtrack, and then write lengthy, authoritative reviews on your own blogs.

Since you're dying to know

The Wonder Pets were great. They sang in the style of Gilbert and Sullivan, Frank Sinatra, and Andrew Lloyd Webber, with some Dixieland thrown in. The Widge loved it, he loved the coloring page afterward and all in all, it was a huge success. In fact I'm planning to add a Wonder Pets DVD to the Christmas list, because there's a certain monkey who is starting to get on my nerves. The show is still good, but I've seen all 24 of our DVD episodes over and over and over. To make matters worse, husband still thinks they're hilarious, and keeps quoting them at random moments, usually when I finally have three minutes in a row to try and read my book club book. What is it about reading that inspires the urge to involve you in conversation? It's just like the dentist thing, where they have to talk to you when those pointy things are in your mouth. I can't believe we actually pay people to poke us in the gums with mini-spears. But back to the books: seriously, people who ignore me when I'm wandering around at social events go out of their way to talk to me when I try to read. The worst is that perfectly spaced random comment thing, where after making one dumb remark, they wait just long enough for you to go back to concentrating before making the next remark. It bothers me more now because I have less time to read.

Anyway, the point is that you should all watch an episode of WonderPets, they're only half an hour long, but the songs do get stuck in my mind, but that could be because my defenses are already worn down after months of George, Mickey, and those annoying Higgly-types. I' thinking once we shove these sniffles out, there will be less time spent slugging in front of the T.V, and it will matter less. That's the plan, anyway.

In knitting news, there isn't any, sorry. No new completions, no interesting ideas, although the knitting group was fun, and we hope to have a few more members next month, and we'd like to do some type of charity knitting to benefit someone in the county (and I think I've been unofficially elected to head that project). See, there is actual knitting content, so I don't have to change the blog name to Skippy-searches-desperately-for-something-other-than-George-to-watch.

Perhaps I spoke too soon...

because the knitting that was going well is now mostly a tangled heap of yarn. It's okay, I've started to re-knit, and my brand new knitting group meets tomorrow, so I may actually make progress. But in case anyone was considering giving up the crush of humanity that is holiday shopping in favor of the tranquil bliss of making your gifts, tucked in your favorite chair, tea by your side, as the magazines promise, let me correct your imagery. Making gifts isn't any less stressful, and often it isn't any cheaper either. Although at the mall you don't get to see a toddler cheerfully stringing yarn tangles through your kitchen and down the hall.

The Widge still has his sniffle, and I now have a sniffle, and husband was sniffling a bit earlier, so really the Skip House is hosting Snifflepalooza! I'm pretty sure that this is husband's fault: these seem like movie-theater germs to me. Speaking of movie theaters, I'll be headed to one on Thursday, and not for baby pictures as usual. (you all know about baby pics, right? Where the moms get to watch a real movie in a theater full of other moms with babies? okay, just so we're all on the same page). Yes, we've graduated from baby pics, and will be attending Nick Toons, where the moms are subjected to the same cartoons we could watch at home, except on a big screen, in stereo, with a theater full of toddlers and other pre-school-types. We'll be seeing the Wonder Pets, notable as one of the few Nick Jr. programs whose name I can pronounce without feeling silly. (Yo Gabba Gabba?! Sounds like a conspiracy, as if all American children are learning to say self-depricating things in Japanese, for the amusement of some international syndicate.) So the Nick Jr. website isn't as fabulous as Playhouse Disney (seriously, go listen to the Happy Monster Band. Husband loves them. If I'm lucky, they'll start to edge out Journey in his affections.), but there are no Higglytown Heros on Nick Jr. Actually Wonder Pets is the only show we watch on Nick Jr. and only rarely, but they're kind of cute, and they have a Gilbert and Sullivan vibe. Besides, in about 40 years, when Widge's generation is in control of our government, and the Senators begin the day by singing "Whats gonna work? TEEEEEEAMWORK!" I'll at least know where they heard that. Or maybe hours of children's programming will have melted my brain.

Maybe I should change the title to: Skippy-comments-on-the-vast-array-of-children's-programming. Which reminds me: whats the deal with Canada? About a hundred years ago when I was young, there was that Canadian show called "You Can't do That on Television." Remember? The one with the firing squad, and all the slime? (some of you are just too young). Anyway, it sort of seemed like it would be funny, if we could really get what was going on. I thought it was a fluke. But then came Kids in the Hall, and now the Doodlebops, and that Emily Yeung show, and what I've learned is that I just don't understand Canadians, or at least the things they choose to watch. Nothing personal: all the Canadians I've met are very nice, I just don't understand the television.

Also, for the concerned commentors: I'm not neglecting my child. I only blog when he's sleeping, or hanging out with husband, yet another reason why my posting is sporadic. That plus, there are a lot of reruns on the kid's channels. Today we had an old episode of George, an old Clifford, and even an old Super Why, and that show is in its first season. It seems to me they could have written at least a full season's worth of shows, right? Especially since in most of these shows, the plot is pretty much always the same. Apparently repitition is good for the kids: it helps them learn, plus they find it really funny when their parents crack up.

Where's the better living?

The Widge has a sniffle, hence the thin posting lately. I've also reached a point in my Christmas knitting where I'm no longer ripping it out twice a day (for non-knitters, this behavior is called "frogging." Yes, knitting has its on lingo, not unlike LARPing, although I'd like to think the similarities end there.) So, seeing progress, I can almost believe that gifts will be finished in time, that I won't be up late on Christmas Eve weaving in ends, so I've been cheerfully knitting. But since nobody else is updating blogs either, I feel like I should get things rolling. (the Lt. is excused because of visit from Sweetheart.)

So here's the thing: I can't give the Widge anything. There aren't any children's cold meds, not until he's 6 or something like that. Of course, cutting edge medical technology, as history proves, isn't always good for us. Who can forget bleeding, after all? So we're probably better off not taking any medications at all, ever. But that's no good for the small boy who isn't sleeping well because he can't breathe through his nose, nor the parents who have to listen to his snoring all night. Poor Widge. It really doesn't slow him down much, though. He just snorts more as he dashes around getting into things.

So here's my problem: some pizzas were recalled lately, because of E.Coli. In fact there have been a number of recalls lately, for foods as well as the much-hyped toy recalls. Where's that better living through chemistry we were promised? At the rate things are going, it won't be long before we're all living on subsistence farms, whittling toys out of natural wood, knitting sweaters from the wool of our organically-raised sheep, eating only what we produce, so we know that science hasn't had a finger in our consumption.

The thing is, if we eliminate all lead, any bacterial hazard, any threat of side effects, and immunize ourselves as much as possible, what are we achieving? If we all live 'til well over 100, will it be worth all the tampering with our food and clothes and lives? I'm all for some well-placed science, but the fact that we can shoot up cows with antibiotics doesn't mean we should. I'm not saying we should ignore lead and just give our kids the drugs. I'm saying we can't protect ourselves from every hazard, and in our efforts to do so, I'll think we're getting increasingly paranoid. After all, mothers at the turn of the last century handled teething and childhood sickness by cheerfully administering the latest wonder-drug: the opium derivative laudanum, or the cutting-edge cough medicine, heroin. (thank you, History Channel, for that). This sort of thing isn't a new problem, and so far modern science hasn't been 100 percent right yet. I'm thinking we shouldn't try to rely on medicine to cure everything, we should expect that the FDA can't possibly catch all the potential hazards, and we should take a deep breath and remember that even with the appalling lack of laboratory tests, scientific studies, and knowledge of anatomy, people throughout history have managed to survive long enough to reproduce, compose music, churn out some very nice paintings, and brew the occasional pint.

This still isn't helping the sweet sound of a chorus of bears in the bedroom. The little Widge still needs his nose wipes roughly 10, 000 times a day. But the big picture is: this kid has a sniffle. A few days of runny nose, and he'll be fine. Technology is pretty good: if he catches pneumonia, I feel safe with the medical profession. And until then, we're probably better off leaving it alone. Because medicine, chemistry, the FDA, (and the fine people from the DEA who are now reading this because I mentioned laudanum, opium, and heroin in the same sentence) or any other technology aren't saviors, they aren't infallible, and at the end of the day, none of them can or should be held responsible for our day-to-day wellbeing. Even if you have a personal physician who's whole job is to advise you on the potential medical consequences of every action, he'd still be wrong sometimes. My message, then, to technological and regulatory agencies is: hey, everybody makes mistakes, but we're still cool.

And that was this month's serious post.

How to Trick-or-Treat without loosing your macho rep

Actually I'm pretty sure nobody reading this has a macho rep. Sorry. Anyway, the way to do it is scowl at the treat-giver, and point to the bowl of candy in an authoritative manner. If they don't respond correctly, and especially if they try to give you that "Well aren't you cute?" crap, just grab a heaping handful of candy. Then hand it to your peeps, who are carrying your little pumpkin-shaped bucket, 'cause you're way too cool for that thing. That's right: you look tough even with that little glowstick. You're rocking the Hallowizzle.

That's the Widge method, anyway. Poor kid, its hard to look really hardcore when you're only three feet tall. But trick-or-treat was a huge success, we were out for about 45 minutes, which is how long it took for him to get that glazed-over look. And to all those cynics out there: he really does eat the candy. Not the jolly ranchers and the now-and-laters, but all the chocolate stuff, sweet tarts, even some gummies. Which is most of the candy anyway. As to that stuff he can't eat, well, I carry him to most of the places, and I did carry his bucket around, and I also made the costume, two years in a row, so I'm thinking the kid doesn't begrudge me a jolly rancher.

Also, big props to IHOP. I know some of you have had some bad experiences, but our local IHOP rocks, and the Widge got a free meal for wearing his costume. I'll continue to go there even after the new Denny's gets built.

No photos, because I don't feel like messing with the disc. I do have a cute one of the Widge lining up cars, but he's naked, and this is not a nudist blog. Cute train photos coming soon.

Trick or Treat, and other great scams

Contrary to what the Little Einsteins would have us believe, there is no trick-or-treating at Buckingham Palace, the Palace of Versailles, or Neuschwanstein. Sorry to crush your dreams.

There is, however, in Virginia, and through the magic of CVS I am able to bring you photos of our attendance at the local Halloween parade this past weekend. You'll note that the parade was well attended by such beloved celebrities as Scooby Doo and the Cat in the Hat, who is listed just before the Man with the Yellow Hat in the phone book. And yes: I personally made my costume, husband's, and Widge's. Go Skippy!

The Widge, by the way, was delighted with the whole thing: thrilled that there were so many kids running around carrying pumpkins, and very quick to catch on to the whole trick-or-treat concept. He can rely purely on his good looks, he just had to appear and folks were giving him candy. He didn't bother with the old-fashioned formality of actually saying "trick-or-treat". Actually very few kids were saying it. Apparently thats arcane: everyone knows the drill now, nobody feels the need to go through the ritual aspects.

Also, saw an interesting movie today: the Prestige. I recommend it to those of you who think too much: you know who you are, but as a warning: you need to actually pay attention, and also overlook a fairly glaring breach of actual scientific fact.

And to Mr. Fork: I'm not suggesting Martian robots are evil. I'm saying we could find a way to construe them as evil, thus focusing our stereotyping abilities. Not that there's anything wrong with being a Martian robot.

hey!

go to the Lt's blog. See the photo of the girl in a Hawaiian shirt, holding a Guinness? That's me, on my 19th birthday!

Some Administration

Well every so often I feel compelled to tie up loose ends.

In response to the Lt's suggestion, I've gone through my personal postcard collection to dig out postcards suitable for framing (as previously discussed). So far I have postcards from: Wisconsin, Florida, North Carolina, and West Virginia. Which means I still need 46, from various states to include: Virginia, where I now live, Pennsylvania, where I used to live, and New Mexico, where my brother lives. So, readers, if you'd like to send a postcard, I'd be happy to repay you! E-mail me for address. What I'd like is a card that features the state name on the front, and preferably has some typical item pictured. For example: my Florida postcard (courtesy of the Lt.) says: Greetings from FLORIDA, and has an alligator on it. Also, please note that although the Widge has some very fine cards (from Tennessee and New Mexico, among others), they don't count, because they belong to him, and I'd like this project to be part of my collection. Otherwise when he goes to college, I'd have to take his cards from their lovely frames and give them back.

In other news, the venerable Manganese Fork noted that the quality of posts has gone down. I personally think it fluctuates based on various factors including amount of sleep, and occurrence of humorous incidents. Regarding my one-line note about the Tech game: its not a football blog. And while I am a fan of the Boy, I'm not necessarily a Tech fan, so although I watched their tragic game last night, it wasn't because I cared if they won, it was in hopes of seeing the Boy, preferably on the field. Keep in mind that Tech games are sources of deep conflict for me: while I hope for the team to rise to heights of glory (only surpassed by my beloved Nittany Lions), thus sweeping the Boy into a world of accolades and big, tacky, pimped-out rings, I also know that every single game means I have to go feed, water, and let out that annoying dog, the one who lives at my parents house. This morning, for example, I had to hustle out of bed at 7:30 to dash over and release the hound, so I wouldn't have to clean the floor like last time, then dash back to resume parenting so that husband could get to work on time. Its even more fun when I take the Widge over, because I find myself yelling things like: "just go out! Out! No, not you, you stay in: it's too wet. Not for you: you go out! No, don't let him back in because he didn't even pee! Wait! You can't go out!" and other things that show the high caliber of my fancy degree. Anyway, Mr. Fork: just be delighted that I cheer for you and hope for your success, and even endure the odd colors of your team in your honor. I'm never going to love Tech more than Dear Old State, sorry.

And Matt: its truly sad that this is the premiere knit blog in your world. Go see Mason Dixon Knitting. I also like Knit and Tonic, and although she no longer posts there, Eunny Jang has some stunning knits on her old site. I mean really, amazingly, fantastic for hand-knits.

For those of you who don't care for actually knitting, but appreciate some serious humor, see Threadbared, which also won't be adding new posts, and The Museum of Kitschy Stitches. Certainly they'll change your image of the quiet grandma-crafter.

Speaking of knitting, there hasn't been much lately, because my arm hurts from the typing. Most of you know that I type with only one hand, which, though fast and totally functional for me, doesn't lend itself to good ergonomic practices. The knitting I have done is for gifts and therefore not suitable for posting. But my Newcomer's Club is starting a knitting group, and I'm one of the founding members, and, shockingly, the most experienced knitter, in spite of the fact that most other members are actual grandmothers. The group is called the Knit Wits. I'm sure you'll all have fun with that.

Photo is of last year's knit your bit scarf, with some creative modeling.

No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!

So, just came back from watching that new Elizabeth movie. It wasn't bad, per se: the costumes were good, but the focus seemed a bit fuzzy. I think if you're doing a movie on the Armada, you should just do that, without all that fancy Walter Raleigh stuff. But here's my real problem, which is preventing me from just plain enjoying the movie: every single Catholic character was presented as devious and manipulative, in varying degrees.

I also like how they managed to drag the Inquisition into it. Hollywood should start paying royalties to the Catholic Church, for all the mileage they're getting out of this. As it turns out, the Inquisition probably wasn't as bad as we think. But just in case, I feel safe in saying, on behalf of Catholics everywhere: to each of you personally hurt by the Inquisition: I'm really sorry. I know that can't repair all those fingers broken by thumb screws, or bring back those relatives who died in the Iron Maiden, (which was not, in fact, used by the Inquisition), but maybe the healing can start here. Seriously folks, its been more than 500 years, can we give it a rest?

Back to Philip II and Co. Its important to understand that all these Catholic characters truly believed that Catholicism was the True Faith, and that God wanted everyone to be Catholic, and so anyone who turned away from Catholicism was turning away from God. Remember, the world was full of plagues and famines and everyone believed that they were directly caused by God's unhappiness. Remember also that England was a Catholic country, before Henry VIII decided he needed a new wife. Elizabeth was the product of that second "marriage," which of course was never recognized by any Catholic as being real, and so Elizabeth was not only illegitimate, she was dragging England back away from the True Faith of God, after her elder, and legitimate, half-sister, Mary,(and hubby, the aforementioned Philip II) had tried so hard to save the poor citizens from what they viewed as certain damnation. The point is, Phillip wasn't a crazy old rosary-clutching, cursing warmonger, he really believed that God allowed him to be king, but expected him to do his part to turn souls back to Him, and there were plenty of Catholics in England writing to him all the time and asking him to please rescue the country from the evil grasp of the Protestants, who had driven them to worship in hiding. See, two sides to every story.

Now, can't we stereotype and demonize some other group? Maybe Martian robots, they seem like a likely target.

By the way, in case you missed it, the moral of today's post was: wikipedia: not just for finding Simpson's info!

can't fall behind!

hey, did you guys know that Dumbledore is gay? After that epilogue, which tied up any true loose ends, I honestly haven't thought much about Harry Potter and company.

Anyway, the Widge got a postcard from New Mexico, so thank you Lt! I think the military should abbreviate that way if you're doing good: if you're mediocre, you'd be Lt, Doe. If you're average, you'd be Lt. Doe. And if you're doing well, you'd be Lt! Doe. Anyway, my new postcard-related goal (actually my only postcard-related goal) is to get a postcard from every state in the Union ("good idea," says husband, "then we can get one from every state in the Confederacy, and we'd have a full set"). Anyway, the cards would have to have the name of the state on the front, and then I'd frame them and put them all up. Of course thing one is to take inventory.

Okay, go listen to music.

updating my update

okay. the Lt.'s blog is getting all fancy, and although I really can't ever keep up with his technical abilities, I do have a big, juicy addition to my blog, to delight your hearts and amaze you all. That's right, Skippy is going seriously high-tech, and stepping boldly into the realm of moving pictures!!!


Um, yeah. I don't know why its sideways either. To be clear: I'm actually in the video (I'm the one with no mustache), so I didn't actually take the footage. And lets be honest: I couldn't shoot actual moving images if my life depended on it. Really, I'm every bit as shocked as you guys that I managed to get the video to appear here. I'm going to change the blog name to: Skippy parodies her own technical failings in a good-natured manner!

Video courtesy of Matt, whom you'll no doubt remember from the fuzzy photos. Thanks Matt, for taking this blog to new highs of ridiculability! (and for giving me the opportunity to invent ridiculability as a word!)

Now, please all proceed to the Lt.'s blog to watch some real video. And better post titles, now that he's actually using titles.

small note

Hey, the Boy is dressing for the Thursday night game against Boston college. Once again, look for #72

So.

Here's the thing: I don't like to string up too many photo-free posts. No offense to those of you who don't do the photos. Your blogs have wonderful content, and that's really the whole point of blogging, right? And honestly, when it comes to quality, my photos are pretty low. They aren't usually even on-topic, although I think that adds to the overall ambiance of the blog. Its just that somehow I feel better about myself as a blogger if I can use lots of links and photos. Well, about the links: I just think links are cool. I'm eventually going to start linking to myself, just for fun. The photos, though: that's what separates a blog from a plain old journal. (in another case of quirky spelling ability, I spelled "ambiance" perfectly, but misspelled "separates". Twice).

I have an added treat for you readers, in fact two, really, because here we have some never-before-seen (by most of us) wedding photos, and the second treat is that I didn't take them (obviously), so you can see an example of somewhat fuzzy photos from someone other than me! (Sorry Matt. Your current photos are lovely. Just look how young the Boy and the Lt. look! Don't they look spiffy, in their little handsome suits?!

Also of note, many of you (okay, just the Boy) will recall me mentioning a song I had in college, called "a little drunk is better than dead," which I lost when my ancient MP3 player decided that death was, in fact, preferable to any other state, drunkenness included. Well, it turns out that Matt got the song from me, and has given it back, and it now lives on my current iPod, thanks to husband's ability top get iTunes running, and anyway, if you want it let me know. Hey, look, in this photo, some sort of blog-glare is creating a little shiny spot, up there near Ox! Maybe its a UFO, or rather a UCO (unidentified church-going object).

Wait a minute, you're thinking. Those photos aren't fuzzy at all! Well, folks, I promised fuzzy photos, and I am a skippy of my word so here:
See, fuzz. Maybe I should change the blog's name to: Skippy posts medium-to-low-quality, unrelated photos!

Anyway, big fun hanging out with the Leap types, thanks to both of them for trekking out into the wilderness. Which was what I really intended to post from the beginning.

Little Trains

So we finally came to the realization that although we don't own a train table or any little trains, he's racked up hours and hours of play with them. We used to go to the library, because at our fabulous library in PA there was a train table in the children's section. So now, we're thinking: train table for Christmas. And there are so many little trains. I like this one. But look, here's a Chinese Dragon. And if you like the Little Engine that Could, well, they have that too. But there's more! Because track configurations are way more advanced than when I was a kid, back when the overpass was the height of toy track engineering. Look at this! There are multi-level tracks!! Of course all the fancy new track pieces certainly make more designs possible. We're very excited about future expansions, faster trains, and exciting destinations and accessories. I imagine that by this time nest year, the entire house will be one giant railway. We'll start charging admission, but you blog-readers will get a discount.

And yes, Curious George also has a toy train.

Secret Option D

well, it did rain, and we drove down to Charlottesville to the Virginia Discovery Museum. We had fun, mostly with the train table, but that's to be expected with a small boy. A very tiring day, a long drive, but the Widge was a sweet angel, and even played nicely with other kids, which makes me proud. We did get photos, so assuming we don't lose this camera, you'll eventually see a few.

Behold the previously mentioned photo.

Dateline, Virginia: no new teeth yet. Lots of chewing, however, stay tuned for updates.

Meanwhile, serious dilemma. Husband has a day off, and we can't decide on an adventure. After all those years of reading Choose your own adventure books, you'd think I'd finally figure out how. We might go downtown (to D.C., I mean, which, far from being technically downtown is at least 50 miles away) to a museum, which means a fun half-hour metro trip, with toddler, stroller, diaper bag, and possible train changing, just for added spice. But then, to what museum?! Natural History, with all the dino bones he recognizes from Curious George's museum trips? American History, with the antique cars and trains? Air and Space, with the rocket ships? The Art Museum, to hunt for fun animal paintings and sculptures? Anyway, other choices include: Luray Caverns (which also has an antique car museum, and lots and lots of slippery steps to carry hefty toddler up and down), or possibly just a hike at the local park, which is certain to offer all the dirt, bugs, leaves and running that a little boy needs. Clearly I'm not a big fan of the metro option. We did that once, and the whole train thing was fun, until Widge realized that just because he wasn't buckled in, didn't mean he could run around. It wouldn't be so bad if we didn't have to ride for so long. You really can't expect a very young boy to sit calmly anywhere for that long, and anyway, traveling with a child is very similar to a massive military troop movement. The fewer rations to be carried, the shorter distance to drag tired troops, and the most expedient methods of transportation are always the best way to go, lest morale begin to sag. The best option, as I see it, would be hiking, but I like to hike anyway, and there are lots of nice, crunchy leaves on the ground. And lots of big, wet thunderstorms in the forecast. We may need a secret option D. Any suggestions?

All Wet

We went swimming today at the nifty indoor pool, which you can see fairly well in the background of this very grainy photo of Husband and Widge:

This brings me to an interesting point. Being mired in the past, I'm very, very new to the world of facebook and my space, a world where people halfway across the planet know as much about your daily life as your family. I'm not sure I fully understand the comfort level these whippersnappers have with all this sharing, and certainly here in blog-land I've deleted and revised posts before publishing, because I don't think the world needs all the details, and also to protect the innocent. So, is it ethical to put up photos without express permission from the relations involved? I have, for example, a sweet photo of Widge splashing with Uncle Lt. Stan. Can I post that, or might the Lt. prefer the option of reviewing it first? The husband, of course, lost most of those rights when we got married. Its in my own best interest not to post anything that reflects poorly on him in general, certainly nothing that could affect his career life, although honestly I can't think of anything that bad anyway. But photos of him parenting in bathing suits, silly hats, etc, I feel the right to use. But to be fair, I'll include the following photo in which I appear in a bathing suit:
Anyway, the pool is great, and the Widge loves to swim. He really just loves water: some days he takes three or four baths, and usually squeezes in a shower or two. He's a very cleanly fellow. He can now count to two, and if given a line of trucks, will happily count them: "one, two, one, two, one, two..."

Also, we're on Tooth Watch now. Any day, a new tooth might spring forth. Stay tuned for exciting details.

Props to George

you all know I like Curious George, but here's one more reason: on today's episode, George and the Man with the Yellow Hat had to go into space to fix a telescope, and in spite of that totally improbable setup, the power wrench, which made noise in the lab, was silent when used on George's space walk.

Insert witty title here

So VTech won, but the Boy didn't actually play. You can, however, see a photo of him all dressed up at Stan's Blog of Western Wonder. You can really only see him in the same sense that you saw Darth Vader (in episodes 4 and 5, I mean), and they are in fact similar, with the extreme height and the helmet, but as far as I can tell, the Boy doesn't kowtow to an evil Emperor, and he's never plotted the destruction of the Jedi, although now that he's in college, it's hard to keep up with the details of his personal life.

In other news, Penn did one of the voices on Handy Manny today. And for those of you brave enough to actually click that last link, you can further terrify yourselves by visiting the homepage of the Higglytown Heros, My Friends Tigger and Pooh, and that creepy Johnny and the Sprites. Just watch their little intros, then imagine watching these shows daily. Imagine the reruns. Imagine the marathons they occasionally show. Now you know why mothers crack up from time to time.

Of interest to you vehicle enthusiasts, we now own the latest issue of Muscle Car Review magazine. Because it was the only thing that could calm the Widge during his Wal-Mart screaming fit. We also now own a shoe-box sized police car, with doors that really open, and lights that flash, and sirens, and fun sounds, like the officer instructing you to "Pull over and stop the vehicle now!" What a fun toy, especially amusing while I'm driving along with the Widge in the backseat, and suddenly I see flashing lights in the rear-view...thanks, Tonka.

No photos, sorry. I still can't find the camera. Honestly I haven't been looking very hard, but I have almost finished Christmas knitting project #1 (well, really its just #1 because it'll be the first one done.) After Christmas I'll try to post some gift-photos, but of course I can't do that now. But to make up for the lack of photos, I've changed the font. I'm so tech-savvy!

Good News!

To all of you who asked for notification of when my brother, The Boy, will dress and travel, here it is: my brother, The Boy, will dress and travel. So on Saturday, please tune in to VTech at Duke, and look for #72. When you see him, yell as loud as you can: "Huzzah!" Maybe he'll hear us, if we all yell in unison from various points around the country.

Also, back from New Jersey. New Jersey sucks, but the Widge was a little angel, so that was helpful, at least. Apologies to anybody who likes New Jersey, in case such a person exists. Honestly I find most of the residents are friendly, the food is good, and liquor stores are easy to find, so most of my issues come from the bad drivers, and the fact that it takes so darned long to get there, and then I spend most of my time in a nursing home.

In knitting news, whats up with those Mason Dixon types? No updates in a while, hoping they're doing something good!

Okay, then.

So apparently there's some sort of word count definition of "real post" versus, I dunno, fake post, almost post, whatever. You, my three readers (I know thats optimistic, but run with me here) are obviously not impressed with my ability to create a working hyperlink. Apparently you've been spoiled by previous photo-laden, humor-steeped, I-can-totally-waste-seven-whole-minutes-reading-this-lengthy-post posts. Fine. Luckily, after having misplaced them for a number of years, I've recently re-discovered photos from my honeymoon! Unlike modern photos, in these photos I actually look young, plus I'm blonde and way thinner than I am now. Even better, in my honeymoon photos, I get to hang out with Brad Pitt!!!
Aren't you all so lucky? How many people bother to take photos on honeymoon?! Mindful of the fact that we were in Vegas, we deliberately took those fabulous, ultra-touristy, off-center photos that are so nice to have on hand when you need to drive away annoying guests. You know the guests I'm taking about. You may even be those guests. Ask yourself: when at a friend's house, do you find yourself criticizing the food/decor/location/layout? Do you snoop in medicine cabinets and then gossip about your friend's prescriptions? Do you find that your visits often end with slide shows of touristy, off-center photos like this:If so, you're probably an annoying guest. Here's my advice: next time, don't add any of the "sugar" your host offers you to any beverages.
Seriously, I've never tried to drive a guest away, because if we never had guests, I'd never feel compelled to vacuum. Or rather, to commission the vacuuming, much like the Navy commissions the building of a ship. I don't actually vacuum, but I do clean the kitchen and bathroom. So guests can rest assured that while they may lose personal possessions to the army of dust-bunnies, they won't contract dysentery. Probably not cholera either. But no promises.
The point is, well, the bad photos are actually the husband's fault. I obviously didn't take the photos that feature me, although I realize that technology allows for that sort of thing, I think we all know that I haven't grasped the mechanics of that process quite yet. Lets face is, technology and I are basically acquaintances. I know technology because he dated a friend of mine, and we sometimes exchange e-mails just for the sake of nostalgia. I know some of you are too young to grasp the concept of nostalgia. Which reminds me, I saw Matt for about ten minutes yesterday, because apparently the wilderness was on his route from Penn State to wherever it is he is now. (Mapquest: Start at Penn State. Turn left. Drive for approximately 2 hours. Visit Skip. Turn left. Drive approximately 2 hours). He apparently remembers what we were all like at 18. (not all of you, of course, all of him and me and the folks we hung out with). Which makes me realize: I don't really remember being 18, not much. But I think I was probably a lot more fun, and I stayed up later. Now that I'm old, I can't hang. So having posted this much, its time to sleep.

Dear PBS

you suck. No George today?! No Clifford??? Just because its Columbus Day (observed) you think our children don't need wholesome entertainment?! And why couldn't we have celebrated Columbus Day on the actual day? Did we need a Monday off instead of a Friday? Why couldn't it be next Monday, much closer to the actual day? I don't have anything against Columbus, and if he needs a Day, thats fine, but couldn't we actually celebrate it on the date designated? We may be stepping on someone else's holiday, after all.

If you do need an excuse to party toward the end of the week (other than the actual occurrence of Columbus Day), you can always hoist one in celebration of Pulaski Day, on Thursday.

Knit your bit!

The wonderful Knit your Bit project is in swing again for the fall/winter. If you knit or crochet, consider this project. Its not as media-friendly as Project Linus or the Red Scarf Project, both of which are excellent charities, but keep in mind, aging vets need love too. Some of these guys fought in WWII to stop Hitler. I think they deserve a nice, hand-made scarf. I'm thinking I'll knit up a Henry from Knitty. Anybody else plan to send a scarf?

What is it with knitters and charity? We all know by know that hand-knitting is not a cheap or efficient way to obtain clothing. The Industrial Revolution kicked knitting from common necessary work to expensive recreational activity. But knitters seem to feel the need to cover the world in costly, time-consuming knitwear. We knit for charity so that even people we'll never meet will get to wear hand-made gear. Is that something in the nature of the knitters themselves, a personality tick that goes hand-in-hand with the yarn-buying urge, or is it the knitting itself, some needle-fumes that induce the urge to give?

Discuss. The fishsticks just finished cooking.

Skippy's Way-Back Machine

So yesterday we went to our little town's Hertiage Day to see the parade. I thought it was great, although in my slightly obsessive way I think it would have been better arranged in historic order: colonials first, then Civil War guys, and so forth. The Widge isn't burdened (yet) by my nit-picking, he just loved the horses and the old-fashioned fire engine, complete with dalmatian. Anyway, I didn't get photos, although I wish I had at least one good shot of the Cherokee Civil War guy, complete with feathers and war paint and loincloth. And since all us parade viewers were sitting on the curb, I can tell you: there wasn't anything under that loincloth. Luckily it wasn't a very windy day. Anyway, props for accuracy: I'm guessing the average Native type didn't wear tighties either. In fact, his disdain for pants-wearing may be the one point on which the husband is in sync with this Native ancestors. That and the appreciation for fire water.

Okay, the point here is that I do have pictures from historic events, the very pictures you are viewing in this post, and to further blow your mind, they're historic pictures, too. Yup, photos from my history, in which I interact with history.

Williamsburg rocks. All those guys wandering around in knee-britches and tri-corn hats, plus there's a great tea shop . If only there were more places where we could immerse ourselves in Colonial History! Of course it helps that I'm much skinnier in all my Williamsburg photos. See, in the Colonies, I'm thin! Hooray History!

So I guess I should re-title the blog, to reflect the content. Instead of "Skippy Knits" it should be "Skippy Visits and then Muses on Historic Sites and Events!"

Somehow it doesn't flow as well.