Leap Day

If I were so special as to only appear every four years, I think I'd request a name far more dignified than "Leap Day." On the other hand, I met some of my very best friends in the LEAP program at PSU. And mt name is Skip, which isn't far off "Leap". Regardless, in celebration I'm watching my beloved Pirates of Penzance. Hooray!

the promised pictures

See, through the magic of photography, I can create a post with minimal writing effort. The Lt. does is sometimes. Matt does it all the time. Well, not all the time, only on the rare, very rare, occasions that he blogs at all. Speaking of rare blogging, sorry I haven't updated more frequently. For whatever reason, February is just a draining month this year. And of course my life doesn't tend to offer much blog-worthy excitement. I don't feel too guilty, because there are plenty of you who blog far less often. You know who you are.

Anyway, regarding the photos, the husband took them, so they provide an interesting comparison point to my generally lousy photos, as well as a wonderful opportunity to see some pictures of me! In this first one, for example, I can only assume he was intending to focus on the Widge there, poking the ground with a stick. I'm the chubby, non-uniformed torso in the back, chatting with a militiaman.
This second photo is a tent in the Hessian camp. I'm not sure exactly what they keep in it, since its roughly the size of a small broom closet, and I'm guessing they didn't bring brooms along. In this one, I'm saying "no, stand still, just a minute, just one minute and then you can run, look at daddy, please just look at daddy, see, right there, he's the one with the camera, no, please stand still..." Not my best angle. I'm taller in real life.



Hey, a photo that blissfully does not include me! These are Hessians of some sort. I'm thinking that lemon yellow isn't the ideal color to wear into battle. It seems a little obvious. I'm thinking these are like the pledges, if they survive the lemon-yellow phase, they can move on to a better looking uniform. Something like this, complete with really shiny pope-looking hats:

"Hey, Franz, being a protestant mercenary iz cool. Ve get to vear pope-schtyle hats, und vith all the money rolling into our country, ve'll eventually be able to take over ze vorld!"

"Ja, Hans. It makes up for ze fact zat our accents vill be made fun of for drei hundert years!"

Check out the kickin' mustaches on these guys.

Field Trip!

First off, I know you'll all join me in wishing our Forky friend a happy birthday.

Additionally, please go visit the W blog for some great stuff about being politically informed. Lack of political interest makes the founding fathers cry, people.

Speaking of which, in celebration of Washington's birthday, we went to a Revolutionary re-enactment, a rare treat here in Civil War Central, where you can't actually call it "civil" and must instead refer to the "War Between the States," or, my personal favorite "The War of Northern Aggression." This was an especial delight because of the presence of some Hessians. The Widge was delighted: during the battle he shouted orders like a general: "March! More men, more march! March, march! Boom! More boom! More big boom!" Of course this isn't his first battle: less than a month after he was born, we went to a Memorial Day re-enactment of a WWII skirmish at the Pennsylvania Military Museum. Anyway, we had a wonderful time, and the Americans won, which was good. So happy President's Day to all. Photos coming soon-ish.

Vote or Die

or something like that.

Shame on you blogtypes who didn't vote. Go stand in the corner and think about what you've failed to do.

Ladies and gentlemen, when you don't vote, the terrorists win. I'm serious. Our ability to vote (and then gobble Chinese food while watching the returns. Or pizza, hey, that's what America's all about: choice) is the hallmark of our freedom, the tangible expression of our status as citizens, the physical form of our voice, not just as political beings, but as people. As humans we have a natural right to our free will, and when we don't vote (and don't give me any crap about "choosing not to exercise it") we literally, seriously give up that free will. We abandon our future, our lives, to the decision-making of others. Look around you, consider your acquaintances. Would you hand over your paycheck to them, to spend at will? Would you allow them to determine your ability to attend college, invest money, secure your retirement savings, obtain medical care? If you don't vote, that's exactly what you're doing. (And if you're gonna go that route, just send the paycheck to me.) Politics isn't a game played by old men in marble hallways, its the way you interact with the world, plan for your future, and memorialize your past. I am deeply, deeply ashamed of all of you who elect not to vote. I still like you as people, but I think you're making a serious mistake, and playing Russian roulette with your future.

I've been telling everyone that if they vote for Hillary, I'll never speak to them again. I've been asked if I'm serious, if it really matters that much. It does. Most of you know me well enough to know that, many of you know my family history enough to know I come from a fairly serious line of strongly active political citizens. Oppression is real, and I'll bet anything that you, personally, have a family tree full of people who swam rivers in the dead of night to escape oppression, who marched into battle and risked death to fight against oppression, who voted, organized, studied and worked so that they could vote, and become politically involved, because that is the ultimate freedom from oppression. And all those activities in the past were undertaken not only because your ancestors valued their freedom, but because they valued your freedom, they looked forward to the distant future, in which you would exist and be free to make political choices. If you don't vote, they might as well have buckled under, not even bothered.

Some of you just plain don't like the candidates, and I understand that. But that being true, why not work for the campaign of someone you do like? Write letters, create a pro-candidate web page or Facebook group. Just giving up and complaining is a terrible way to express opinion: if you aren't involved, you have to just shut up and take whatever you get. That's the choice you make by not voting.

Yes, it is this serious, even in the primary, even in small local races. No, I don't have a perfect voting record either, and I am ashamed of that. This matters, people, more than almost anything else, certainly more than what's on T.V, who wins the Oscars, what's going on in your relationship, friendships, or whether your car is in need of an oil change. Your political voice has the ability to change your reality, and craft the world of tomorrow. If you let that chance slip away, you deserve scathing blog tongue-lashings.

I Voted Today!

Did you? Okay, most of you probably didn't, cause you live in other states. But this voting thing is serious, and I want you all to think hard about it.

Other than that, not much going on around here. Its raining, the Widge is talking more and giving lots of kisses, and apparently there's some holiday coming up with all the hearts.

unseasonable

its supposed to be somewhere in the 60's tomorrow. I don't know if I'm prepared for this shocking warmth, and all the mud that I'm sure will come along.

You may be happy to know, however, that we took down our Christmas tree. We've given up the hope of Santa returning with more presents and begun to look forward to large, benevolent rabbit visits.

There really isn't anything new to report from Skiptopia, but I'd like to direct you all to the Lt. blog, which features lots of photos, some including Hulk Hogan and Kevin Costner, as well as all manner of bead-wearing weirdos and a little action and adventure. As exciting travel blogs go, the Lt's is my favorite.

Meanwhile, keep your eye out for action and adventure of another sort: tomorrow is Super Tuesday!

Groundhogs and Poems

Apparently there's a southern groundhog, mentioned on the W Blog. I've heard there's some weather-predicting crayfish in LA as well. I hereby state the Official Skip Position of Weather-Predicting Creatures of Any Type: there is only one Phil, folks. I'm not saying he's always right, but I am saying that he is a national institution, and should not be tampered with. I'm sure he's flattered by the profusion of wanna-bes.

Also, apparently there is a Silent Poetry Reading that occurs in Blogland on 2 Feb. This year is the third reading. So, for my turn, I'll be reading Vade Mecum, by Billy Collins (I found it in the book club book for February, Sailing Alone Around the Room). If you're so inclined, also look up his poem Taking off Emily Dickinson's clothes, which is, subject-wise, about exactly what it says. I like it, but I'm not sure you blogfans are that forgiving of my poetic sensibilities.

Greetings in Febtober

So my turntable did arrive yesterday, and many of you already know that because I called you and made you listen to it over the phone. To your credit, you all faked enthusiasm beautifully.

The sound really is marvelous, and because its a 6-record stackable (so it plays one after another, up to 6), I get to hear that cool retro sound of the record dropping. The Widge is fascinated, because sounds are coming from some boxy thing in our dining room, and because the whole business arrived in a very big box.

Speaking of the Widge, here are some Christmas photos for your enjoyment:

You can see that the pacifier (better known as the plug) is basically a constant feature. I like it best when he crams two or three in at once, or when he hangs it out the side of his moth, like a mobster with a cigar. He spends much of his free time apparently finding hiding places for them: once we discovered one hidden behind a poster on the wall of his room. He's very talented with this, so talented that we've lost roughly 6 or 7 plugs since Christmas. To balance that, he really only likes the one type of plug, the most impossible to find. I'm told this is all part of that curse that parents put, the I-hope-you-have-a-child-just-like-you curse. Folks, the curse, as Bill Cosby noted, works. Before you have kids of your own, think carefully: were you a hellion in your youth? Maybe a houseplant is the way to go. I can't complain too much: I got the plug thing and the resistance to sleep in any form, but on the other hand he's been carrying books around, telling himself stories based on the pictures. Yesterday while I was setting up the turntable, he pulled "The Road to Valley Forge" off my bookshelf, opened to random page, and began "reading". Plus, in liking such a rare plug, he gives me an exciting challenge, and I get to do happy touchdown-style dances whenever I find a plug. Every day is an Easter egg hunt here. As you see, he's pretty serious about the train driving, too. This particular train (I think its official name, the one that appears on the timetables, is: "Big TrAAAAAAIN!") now runs from the train table in his room to the kitchen: perfect for those commuters in the food-service industry. On special occasions it runs to the bathroom as well, for the special holiday outing.

In conclusion: what happened to January?!? Where did this Feb business come from!!! Now I have to pay more bills. I must say, though, in spite of being such a short month, February really packs it in, celebration-wise. Props for that, except it complicated my correspondence by introducing more event-specific cards.

Speaking of events: in Superbowl picks, the official Skiphaus prediction is: the Giants. Because husband likes the Giants, and because I don't like Brady. I'm not actually planning to watch the game, it would ruin my streak of Superbowl avoidance. Although for all of you on the fence about watching, apparently Victoria's Secret purchased an ad spot, if that helps your decision-making any.