sustanance for the new year

Today, I cooked.

Made something sort of like this, except a tiny little roast and half a bottle of $15 wine, instead of the clearly insane amounts in the linked recipe. (Serves 8? 8 what? Lions? Prides of lions? Dinosaurs?)

Incidentally, I'm drinking a glass right now, and it is my considered opinion that $15 Spanish wine is more than 100% better than $8 American wine. This is delicious.

Note to self: buy this again

soon.

I made the tiny roast for a couple of friends - Eric had a gig, and I had asked a family over for dinner, but this morning the woman was feeling poorly and begged off. I volunteered to bring some dinner over, an offer she could not refuse. So I made the roast and carved it in half, and Ian and I took half over to their house, along with gravy and rice and asparagas and the pie below, plus a bottle of sparkling apple juice for a toast, and party hats left over from Ian's birthday. Yes, we're a party, wherever we go.

I had made this awesome pie, which is delicious and super-easy. (It's tart, though. You'll want to pick up some ice cream. Or whipped cream. That way, you can squirt some into your kids' mouth. Where did he learn that? All I know is, he saw the can of whipped cream as I was putting away the groceries, and followed me around, open mouth upturned like a baby bird, until I obliged him.) Back to the pie - I was so pleased with the way it came out that I stopped at the store on the way home and got another bag of apples and bag of cranberries and refrigerator-case pie dough, and I just made 2 more. Ian rode around the store in a prismatic party hat, saying "Happy New Year. Hey! HAPPY NEW YEAR TO YOOOOOU!" to strangers.

It's so strange - he's so TOTALLY IMPOSSIBLE and then so damned exceptionally perfect in the space of a couple of hours. Like everyone else, I guess.

The roast came out quite good - I know, because we ate about half of our remaining half when we got home. Ian, who never likes anything, LOVED the roast and ate a ton of it.

When I got Ian ready for bed, I found that he had hidden a ballpoint pen and a raw cranberry in his diaper at some point during the afternoon. This explained two things - the 5 times he walked up to me this afternoon and said "Tummy hurts. Kiss it!" (because the point was drawing on him) and also the hilarity that resulted when I thought that the store was out of cranberries. Oh, Lord, did he think that was funny. We went through the aisles doing a little "Nooooo cranberries" call and response and giggling...only to find that we had at least one cranberry with us at all times. He's really perfect.

2006 was pretty close to the worst year of my life.

2007 has been pretty much the best.

I said to Ian as I wheeled him through the supermarket: "We're going to have so much fun in the new year!" He, of course, looked at me very seriously and said "No, no fun."

"You've gotta be kidding! Are you kidding me? You only think you know what fun is, buddy. By the end of 2008, I predict that you will say to me "I thought I was having fun before, but I had no idea! I didn't even know what fun was!"

So, hey, Happy New Year to Yoooooouuuu.

http://postsecret.blogspot.com/

I preached today; Patsy, who was scheduled to preach and with whom I had been planning an unusual service, was sick and hoarse, and after a series of brief conversations yesterday, I agreed to write and present a sermon, along with the communion/contemplative/liturgical elements we had been working on.

Edited to add: It's up on the Cedar Ridge site. Click here and it's at the top of the page.

I've been joking about how stressful it is, but here's my super-secret confession in the relative anonymity of cyberwhatsis - it was fun. I liked doing it. Of course I was nervous, and of course I worked hard at it and worried about it. But I also really enjoyed it - both writing it, and speaking it.

Here's what made it easier -
1. My husband, who not only contributed ideas and advice but agreed to be interviewed as part of the message (the theme was fresh starts, and of course he's been immersed in a fresh start for the last 11 months, so it seemed sensible; plus he's funny; plus how great is it to be able to have someone standing beside you while you do this? Pretty great. Is the answer.)
2. Jack B, who took over all the booth stuff I am usually doing;
3. Harp 46, consummate professionals who basically did exactly what I asked them too perfectly
4. Tony, who, when I called, said (as he always does) 'just tell me what you need'.
plus Christie and Gail and all the other people who help all the time. Plus Jim, who did not kill me for double-booking him and another sound operator, but instead went out and bought me coffee. Plus, of course, Matthew and Patsy, who each thought of 12 different ways to say 'you'll do a good job."

My husband also added a special visual to the new years liturgy that I had concocted - people wrote down the stuff they were leaving behind, and I had planned a 'ceremony' where we would take those pieces of paper and remove them as we prayed. Eric, of course, had a more striking idea, and stood behind me. And as I prayed to have God transform our old lives into some something new and beautiful, Eric magically transformed the paper into sparking fluttering 'snow'.

AND THEN HE WENT AND GOT THE VACUUM AND VACUUMED IT UP BETWEEN SERVICES.

Excuse me, I have to go kiss his feet.

Again.

He hates it, but I just can't be stopped.

Hey, if you want to feel a warm, yet sophisticated, sense of well-being and hope, go to Youtube and watch all 4 parts of this documentary short. My friend Robyn, the matriarch of a big family of artists, sent me the link to encourage me, and it really did.

H&R Block - the tax people - built a new building in Kansas City, and they commissioned literally truckloads of art for it - exceptional in volume, variety, quality and accessibility. And then they shot interviews with the artists, and footage of the pieces being created and installed, and it's just a really nice solid down-to-earth picture of hope and hard work. Heart work.

(to find the other sections, see this on the YouTube page, then click on "More from Leopold Gallery" and find "Art on the Block 2", and 3 and 4. It's worth your time, really.)

My Awesome Christmas by Betsy

I have had an absolutely awesome day - a few days, actually. Bullet Points [EDIT: I started to do bullet points but I can't seem to be concise. So, no bullet points, but a rather detailed synopsis:)

Christmas eve services at church went smoothly, and this advent has been by far the lowest-stress holiday ever. We've been doing the same Christmas eve service as long as I can remember - a presentational service of scripture and and carols, always featuring some high-quality 'special' element and always highlighting some very spectacular technical snafu. The guest artists (and, unrelatedly, whatever I happen to screw up) are different every year, but it's always readers, candles, short sermon, no communion, Silent Night.

Every year I say, without much hope, "We should do something different. We should go outside! We should have, like, a bonfire!" I know it's hopeless, and annually I am humored that it's a fine idea, really, such an interesting and creative thing to suggest, but in the light of these 50 insurmountable issues, we really can't pursue it. And I sigh and nod, and work on creative ways to tweak the traditional plan, and quietly daydream about my hopeless Christmas bonfires.

So last night, as I stood beside my Christmas bonfire, holding a candle and singing Silent Night, I was pretty happy.

I'm sure I'll write more about it later - I'm scared that I'll seem pleased with myself, which is not the case. I am thrilled with our staff, our congregation, our volunteers, the events, even the weather and the phase of the moon. I'm pleased because the way I imagined it was sort of the way it turned out. Sort of.

Now, some actual bullet points:

best turkey ever ! My brother and his wife volunteered to do all the Christmas dinner cooking. Honestly, I would have been happy just to have someone other than me throw a pizza on the table, but as it turns out, we had ACTUAL FUN and ended up with a totally delicious dinner. AND it only took 2 hours! (In the oven. It took many more hours to spatchcock it, brine it, chop herbs, plus that whole 'toasting the fennel seeds' thing.) THIS
is a great recipe. Make this turkey! Or better yet, have your brother make this turkey!

plus, cleanest kitchen ever. I have no idea what possessed him, but my brother - having spent the whole day cooking - then washed a mountain of dishes and cleaned my kitchen. As we all know, anytime anyone cleans anything in my house, it's a Christmas miracle. So that was awesome.

A lovely day with the grandparents.

My child has done many charming things over the last couple of days, including:

wildly dancing in a circle in the living room, shouting 'Merry Christmas!' over and over, to the sound of the Russian Dance from the Nutcracker.

On Sunday, we went out to the stable to meet the live nativity animal guest stars - 2 pygmy goats, a donkey and a couple of deceptively sweet-looking alpacas. After hanging out with the for a while, I was packing Ian into the car, and he CRIED! Actual TEARS! And cried out of the car window, "Bye, animals! Sniff!"

However, on Monday night, the animals were not the main attraction. Eric and Ian were shepherds, looking very cute in their homemade tunics and curtain-tieback belts.

Eric to Ian (excitedly): "Come on! We have to lead people to the Baby Jesus!"

Ian: (so excited that his teeth are clenched; shouting at the top of his lungs:)SANTA CLAUS!! IS!! COMING TO TOWN!!!!!!!!"

Eric: No, not Santa, Baby Jesus!

Ian: (practically swooning): SANTA!!!!! CLAUS!!!Of course this took place in front of about one-third of my congregation. Not me, of course - I was bringing up the rear. I cannot believe I missed it.

Christmas–even on the wrong day, even with the wrong stories surrounding it, even with a lot of pagan ritual attached to it–celebrates the entering into the world of the person who changed the world forever. From that time forward religion turned inward. Everything we could know about God was revealed in its entirety within us, not within a temple or on a mountaintop. It took us a long time to understand this. St. Augustine tried to explain it, and he got most of it right, and then others carried it deeper, and then we got to the 21st century and most of the ways that Jesus turned the world upside down had become . . . commonplace, not attributed to Jesus at all.

Perhaps that is how he builds the kingdom, by effacing himself as the builder.

I don't know if I agree with this completely ('revealed in its entirety within us'? I know the rationale, but it still makes me a little itchy) but it's thought-provoking and well-put.

Joe Bob Briggs in the Door.

Do you know what I have to do? What I have to start doing?

What I have to (ugh, shudder) DISCIPLINE myself to do regularly?

I have to start sleeping. I have to start sleeping more, and more regular hours, or I am going to lose my mind.

No amount of vitamins or good wholesome homecooked food or drinking sufficient water or even journaling is going for prevent it - any of those could forestall it, some briefly, some for longer.

A few weeks ago, husband and I (YES I blame my husband, please shut up) started staying up. Just long enough to post; oh, just let me finish this contract. Oh, let me knit just a few more rows. Oh, look, it's one o'clock.

(And of course, this is another way in which being a parent has broken me, along with my broken internal thermostat and various feminine/hormonal areas of discussion, plus this weird dowager's hump which has misplaced itself to my damn FRONT, above my belt, thanks a lot...

one o'clock used to be a good time to go out. Or move from one bar/party/venue of some sort that was seeming a little tired to a cooler one.

Oh, just picture me, running down Charles, tipsy, working the bi-level haircut, wearing navy shorts, a couple of tank tops, flats, numerous chandelier earrings, and a gigantic men's white dinner jacket with a shawl collar. Occasionally, tatted lace gloves. A small, rotating cloud of fabulous gay boyfriends in tow.

Yeah, your friends don't dance, and if they don't dance, well they're no friends of mine.

Well, snap out of your revery, friends, here's what 20 years will get you: black sweat pants, white socks, singing songs from the Jungle Book at the top of your lungs, as you pull out of the Chik-Fil-A in your hybrid and head for the Wal-Mart. You pray that, if you can jolly up your kid sufficiently, he won't throw a Defcon 3 tantrum when you try to slide his little legs into the shopping cart.

For this, you need your sleep.

(There aren't actually very many songs in the Jungle Book. It's kind of half-assed, as a musical.)

BUT speaking of musicals, the kid arose from his nap yesterday to find me watching On The Town, and he was RAPT, utterly RAPT with EVERY MINUTE. He literally stood motionless staring at the screen for 15 minutes. He doesn't do that with Elmo. (Most musicals do not keep up the insane breakneck pace of On The Town, which is more like an operetta/dance recital than a regular MGM musical. High Society, for example, did not sustain his interest. Although, when Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly sang True Love, he did stand close to the screen and say
"SINGING?????!!?? Is SINGING??? People SINGING??" Yes, baby. A movie about people singing.

It seems he cannot believe his good luck, to get born into a world where you can watch movies about people singing.

And I know just how he feels.

living in the past

Jethro Tull_04
Originally uploaded by nikorimages

I am very sorry to have not taken this picture - we saw Tull on Monday night, a very good show after a very good Thai dinner in Rockville.

The boys played beautifully. I had quibbles (a few) with the staging and aesthetic choices, but the playing, the sound and the hall were all excellent.

Old Ian voice was quite grim for the first hour, and to the sound ops credit, it wasn't prettied up by processing. He was exerting tremendous effort to squeak out his vocals - up on his toes, tension visible in his arms and hands as well as his neck. A little subtle Joe Cocker action.

His voice warmed up quite a bit in the second hour. His flute playing was terrific, and he's massively energetic, never laying back for a moment. (Is it good, to be putting out so much, or bad, to be hogging the spotlight every second? Whatever - no one can accuse him of taking it easy, either way.) Martin Barr was exactly perfect, as always - a tiny bit antiseptic for my taste, but I can only imagine that Old Ian requires exceptional dependability from the rest of the band so he can show off.

I suspect he's kind of an ass, Old Ian.

We did not hang around to tell him we had named our son after him.

(Not exactly. But kind of.)

( Yes, I am serious. Ian is, in a roundabout way, named after Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull. It's actually a pretty good story. Short, too. )

from this lovely blog
via jen lemen

via Ravelry.

Ecclesiastes 10:19

having survived Advent One (only just barely) we're having church part 2 - watching, yes, I admit it - EXtreme Makeover, Home edition. No kidding - we are members of the Church of Ty. (Yeah, so the reverend's been in a little trouble lately, which I think is a minimum qualification these days.)

I am disgusted with this trend in TV (old hat by now) to shower expert help and material goods on 'deserving' broke people - they took in a houseful of foster kids! He coaches the underfunded team and tutors his players! She started a literacy program! Lets....give them stuff! They'll probably cry! It'll be great TV! Think of the goodwill! (Plus our sponsors will GIVE us all the stuff as promo, so it won't even cost anything.)

Even Queer Eye fell into this icky pattern in the last season or so. Oprah does it, and Extreme Home Makeover is the worst. And kind of the best.

We are powerless to resist its pull. It was Eric who started referred to it as church, but we both get some weird cathartic effect from watching it. Tears are hardly uncommon. There's a fairly formal liturgy - tale of the family, meet the family, demolish the old way of life (watch the family mourn and celebrate the demo in the same moment), gather the helpers, assemble the new life, conceal and then reveal certain bits of information...welcome home.

There are ritual phrases and actions. There is vile commercialism. There is the shameless promotion of the Disney corporation. It's the worst sort of appeal to sentimentality. It's gross.

And in one way - pretty much exactly one way - it's beautiful. There is a lavishness - a ridiculousness - to the giving. They give a sick kid medical treatment - and a new home. And in the new home, the sick kid has her own room. And the room has a huge professional mural. And a custom-designed, hand-built bed. And a library full of books. And a store's worth of toys. And some new clothes. Maybe a flatscreen. Teenagers routinely get musical instruments, multimedia setups, Joe Montana's helmet. And maybe a pickup truck. Maybe tuition.

My uptight northeastern Protestant-ness is a little weirded out by the lavishness, toys, the x-wing fighter bed, the TVs. Tuition? Mortgage payments? Medical treatments? All those things are great uses of Disney's money - they're things that will really make a difference, change the course of a family's future.

The themed bedrooms, though, seem wasteful and wrong. This is a needy family - does this little girl really need a princess bed?

Well, she doesn't. Nobody does. Nobody needs a flatscreen, or a whole new wardrobe, or more than one guitar, or all those toys.

But how beautiful is it - how precious - to keep on giving? Past the need? To completely bury the need under a pile of delight and color and silliness and music and giggling? To tie a hundred balloons to it and drape it in a bright orange mink coat?

There's a story I read somewhere, and I'm sad that I can't remember it properly - it's about a man in medieval Europe who gave ridiculous, lavish gifts to the poor. Warm clothes, and oh by the way some emeralds. Not just basic nutrition, but exotic gourmet feasts. Art. Bags of gold.

When people chided him about his ridiculous - even stupid - generosity, he would smile at them and say "Won't you be embarrassed when you get to Heaven, and see Jesus wearing your worn-out castoff boots? Your charity?"

Not that Jesus won't love you anyway, or let you in.

But that's what I think about. During church.







A feast is made for laughter, and wine makes life merry, but money is the answer for everything.

I am freaking out just a little about tomorrow's service.

Because, when I was in the office on Friday, I put things (props, media etc) in places where I wouldn't lose them. And today, since I am at home instead of at church (physically, at least - I don't think there's been a moment in the last 10 years when at least part of my brain, a few neurons, haven't been at church) I cannot picture precisely where each of those valuable, irreplacable items is, cannot picture the cd with the speech on it nestled lovingly in the slot where logic would dictate that it indeed is.... Urrgrggh.

Get me a benidryl and a tumbler of gin. I'm going to bed.

the second-best photo I took this year:

for the best one, go here.

grocery marketing sucks

what on earth would possess you to attach this sticker to a food product? Honestly.

They were good, though.

the dumbest blog entry ever

the guy on pushing daisies is really really cute. Or in some mysterious way riveting, because he isn't that cute, looks-wise, and yet I cannot bring myself to look away.

And it's an annoying show! At least intermittently. It's got Kristen Chenowith, who, despite the fact that Aaron Sorkin thinks the world of her, despite her Tony-nominated work in You're a Good Man Charlie Brown is routinely the most annoying person in the entertainment industry.

On the other hand, Mike White's in this episode, always a plus.



The pie guy on Pushing Daisies is an actor named Lee Pace.








He may be even more fascinating than this guy:


Jake Weber, the husband on Medium.




Honest to God, I don't watch that much TV. It's just the Advent run-up, and I've got nothing left but the List of Boys Who Are Cute (Not Exhaustive.)

o hi. i m in yr chrch, critiqng yr sermon

okay, so by popular demand, I'm going to write about my experience delivering my sermon on Sunday.

I really wanted to take time and write in my real journal (you know, that paper and pen business, where I write the stuff that I don't want googled) but I did not take that time today - I spent most of the day playing in the leaves and feeding the seagulls with the kid.

By the way, the kid is leaning English from TV, like the mermaid in Splash. He walked up to me yesterday and said "I'm a love machine!"
(There's a commercial for a party game, see, and that's the phrase everyone is figuring out. And it's on cable, so if you watch 20 minutes of something, you'll see this damn commercial 4 times. )

But I did want to capture it, my experience from yesterday, because it was really really good. It was a pleasure. And I want to point out that, at this moment in my professional life, one cannot take that for granted.

This is how I have come to preach. Of course I do announcements, and I get to introduce communion pretty frequently. It's clear to me that that's the most valuable thing I can give people; as it happens, on top of all the beautiful and significant things that it really is, its also a wish-fulfillment thing for me, since 'priest' was the very first thing I ever wanted to be. Even when I got older and wanted to be other things - novelist, television producer, set designer, college professor - the 'priest' thing never really went away, but was always unattainable. (So when I wanted to write a great novel or get a Tony award, I was, in fact, 'settling'.)

Anyway, I have ended up in a job where I get to do a priestly function, and help train and equip other lay people to do it, and that's pretty much the best thing I can imagine. I get the best of all worlds, really - sharing Jesus with people, and getting paid for it, and not having to navigate a professional religious hierarchy. (I'm a cradle Epsicopalian, as I constantly mention, and the polity of 'my' people is damned daunting, on every side.)

So I was asked to do a God In The Movies, and I picked this radically inappropriate movie, because it was the only movie I could think of that I could get excited about - the only current movie that I had seen that was dense enough, rich enough that there was anything to be gained by discussing it.

But it was a tough choice, because our congregation has shown itself sensitive to rough language in our God in the Movies movies. And Little Miss Sunshine is distinguished by some exceptional language. I mean - with good reason. It's not lazy writing, or added in for contrived effect. It's excellent dialogue for revealing character - I personally wouldn't change a word.

But many of those words that I wouldn't change are words that our congregants have told us they do not want to hear in church.

So there was that. Plus there's the whole gayness part - one of the characters is gay, and is doing everything he does in the movie as a result of a badly broken heart. Last year, when one of our staffers discussed a movie with a gay character, it derailed some people entirely - they fixated on what the filmmaker was saying about gayness (admittedly, a major point in that movie, though far from the focus of the sermon) and were unable to concentrate on anything else about the movie.

The heroin subplot - I think I mentioned it in my first draft, after which it went to BackspaceLand, never to be heard from again.

That all sounds like I was walking on eggshells. I wasn't - mostly. I would be lying if I didn't admit that I had lots of misgivings about this movie, and this sermon, for this crowd at this church. I tried to bail on this movie 3 times - I could always talk about Kiki's Delivery Service! I'm sure I could say something insightful about Stop Making Sense! - but the pastors encouraged me to stick to my original thing, and that seems to have turned out to be the right decision.

I was able to relax BECAUSE my very very good friend Michael took many hours to rip the commercial dvd onto a Mac, and edit down the scenes for me in iMovie, and pull out the sound in places where the sound really needed to be removed. That enabled me to talk over sections, so people could get a feel for the movie without having an hour-long sermon; it also allowed us to get all the ticklish parts out before the day, so that I didn't have to be up there hoping that the booth crew could get the dvd paused or muted at EXACTLY the right time. (Not that they're not capable of it - I have really good people in the booth, and I have to say we've done a great job in this series. But it was so so so so great not to wonder.

I feel like I should have thanked people in the sermon - especially Eric, for plowing though those early drafts, and for writing me a 'hook' which really made it come together; and then also Micheal, and Patsy and Sarah for the encouragement. I feel like I should have had an acknowledgements page.
So maybe this is it.

Anyway, I was nervous - I was really well-prepared, and it had not occurred to me that I would feel nervous on Sunday morning, but man. Was I ever. Plus the Godfather was there, and Mrs. Godfather, who is no slouch in the sermonizing area. (I believe my loving Christian greeting to my good friends was "Holy crap, Brian's here." Yes, I said it out loud. I couldn't help it, it just jumped out of my mouth like a frog.)

And people completely swamped me with hugs and high fives and kindness - This is the part that I wanted to record in my private journal, because I know how it sounds. (which is to say, either embarrassingly immodest - Why yes, I am awesome, thanks for noticing - or like I think people were 'just being nice' about my substandard work.)

I think it was pretty good.

And it's not every day that you have a big crowd of people standing around telling you that you're awesome.

So - if there's any way I can have this without becoming a complete ass - I'd like to keep that day inside me for the rest of my life, please.

Thanks for asking.

If you want to, you can watch my sermon here.

Because I took the afternoon off, but Russ Dulaney, who's a major unsung hero at Cedar Ridge, did not. He shot, edited and uploaded the talk already! While I was eating onion pakoras and taking a nap. So, go Russ.

It's about half an hour long, and it makes a decent amount of sense even without the movie clips.

I am pleased. Also exhausted.

Hey!
I joined Ravelry! I have no idea what I'm going to do with it, except maybe track down someone who wants to sell me some discontinued Lion Micro-Spun. (This is my best-loved discontinued yarn of the moment. It's what the dinosaur is made of.

Speaking of the dinosaur, I spent a good deal of this holiday knitting away at the freehand, top-down rugby-striped brontsaurus in the round. I have been lovingly paring decreases o.n the torso. (I went a little crazy with the increases and the short rows and now have to take drastic action to keep it from turning into some demented beachball with a sock sticking out of it.)

ACK! By this time tomorrow I will be DONE PREACHING my first official grown-up big-church sermon. I think it's good, and yet I want to barf a little.

Here's a classic Betsy concern: I don't know what I'm wearing! (to preach, I mean. I know what I'm wearing now.)

It must be the night after thanksgiving, because we are home watching White Christmas. We do this every year (more than once, usually) and in fact I think I blog about it every year (I have some recollection of a comments discussion with Stacie, focused on Rosemary Clooney's midnight blue gown in the engagement party scene.)

Hooray for us, we survived Thanksgiving.
4 weeks til Christmas.

I am down to about the solar plexus of my knit dinosaur.

My husband is googling patents. He is looking at a monkey-shaped camera bag.

I don't think he'll be doing any of the Christmas shopping.

greetings from a darkened, silent motel room in southern maryland.

If anyone has any ideas about how to make cheap travel with a toddler suck less, please tell me.

Aside from the mild but annoying deprivations associated with sharing a motel room with someone who goes to bed at 7, we're having a lovely trip.

I got to listen to most of Turkey Confidential on the trip down, which we really enjoyed. (I'm a little in love with Lynn Rosetto-Kaspar.) This had the added advantage of dazzling my husband with my cooking knowledge, as I shouted out the totally correct answers to the callers' questions - precisely the same answers as the assembled food experts, but a moment earlier. I totally rule at Home Ec.

(Wow, there's a sentence I never would have expected to write.)

After the ridiculous Officers' Club buffet (excellent desserts, by the way, as always), we stopped at the Cedar Point beach to let Ian run off some energy (to little avail, as it turned out, but it was fun and relaxing. There's a playground there; plus, in the 70 degree weather, we were able to slip off our shoes and walk down to the bay.

My brother - the man who can clean a kitchen like Rosie the Robot Maid on the Jetsons - can also skip stones like a world-champion stone-skipper. It was totally amazing.


I'm about to launch a campaign to get my husband to change the TV channel to anything other than THE FANTASTIC FOUR (to which I say AU CONTRAIRE.)

My husband: Hey, ask Ian what a turkey says.

Me: Okay. Hey Ian, what does a turkey say?

Ian: Gobble gobble!

Me: Hey, good job! Isn't that cute!

Ian: (clears his throat, as I have interrupted him. He squares his shoulders, looks me in the eye and says:)
Gobble gobble, don't eat me.