What year would be complete without my, having spent the entirety of December complaining about Christmas, filling you in with what the fictional fat bastard brought me? Well last year I didn't and that year certainly seemed complete without it.
As you might remember I'm rather fond of bacon and egg breakfasts on the weekend. I've finally perfected the art of poaching an egg, which is the only civilised way to eat one. I've also, as part of showing by example, perfected the art of cleaning up the frying pans used *before* I sit down to eat. With a modern teflon frying pan, a modicum of hot water and a paper towel the entire job can be done in a few seconds.
That blinding speed presumes that the teflon aforesaid hasn't been scratched and generally abused. And, you guessed it, in this household the abuse has been plentiful. We seem to go through a new set of pans about once a year!
This absolutely flabbergasts me! How is it possible that a frying pan can suffer so much abuse? Easy if, given the choice between a plastic spatula and a metal one, that the metal one is always chosen.
The other way is to cook something in em, let the remains congeal and then attack with steel wool. The latter approach seems to be Andrews preferred method. Hence the 'show by example' aforementioned.
A few weeks ago Sonya asked me if I had any desire for Christmas. Apart, of course, from the obvious one of cancelling it. That particular choice denied me I asked for a couple of teflon frying pans, one small for the eggs, one large for the bacon.
Wish granted in the shape of not one, not two but three brand spanking new teflon frying pans. As I opened them, knowing full well what lay within the wrapping, I told em all (Sonya included) that these were *my* frying pans and death be the portion of anyone unwise enough to touch! The family know I mean it!
This mornings bacon and eggs were a pleasure. And the ease of the cleanup almost as pleasant.
How sad!
Showing posts with label Bah Humbug. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bah Humbug. Show all posts
Friday, December 26, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
I don't often lose the will to live
but it certainly happened this week!
You already know I hate Christmas with a passion; methinks I've flogged that particular horse to death and beyond.
I think I've already written about Heino and his opposite obsession with this time of the year though I couldn't find it in the scant few minutes I allotted to the search. Whatever. Heino and I are polar opposites where Christmas is concerned. Indeed, a couple of years ago, when expatiating at length with my wife on the subject of my hatred of Christmas aforesaid she suggested 'next year why don't you go spend it at Heino's'. She, of course, didn't know about Heino's obsession. He and his wife still chuckle over that suggestion.
Thus, each year around this time I confidently expect a package from Australia, containing seasonal fripperies and I was not disappointed. It arrived yesterday, containing a kangaroo decked out in a festive hat, now hanging on the tree my family *will* insist on installing inside the house. Thousands of years of human history trying to get *out* of the trees and into a house and now we have to bring the damn trees in with us?? What's up with that?
There was also a tie with that fat bastard Santa's face and LED's for eyes that light up when one squeezes the correct location on the tie. It plays a sickeningly tinny rendition of 'silent bloody night' and I'd sooner be hanged with a real rope than wear it!
Then the crowning glory. A Santa hat with 'I love Christmas' embroidered on the white band. A letter included requests a photo of me wearing it. Perhaps mate, perhaps, if I drink enough on Thursday! But I don't think there's enough alcohol in the world for that to happen.
So far so sickening but not nearly enough to sap my will to live. Nope, that had to wait until after dark and Sonya donning the Santa hat. Somehow or other she managed to trigger it and that's when she discovered that the 'I love Christmas' is picked out in tiny little LED's that twinkle. She came racing down the stairs to show me and that's when the thought of shucking off this mortal coil seemed mightily attractive.
But only momentarily. I don't think Heino'd take kindly to the thought that he'd pushed me over the edge!
Merry Christmas mate. And merry Christmas all you poor celebrants. I still say 'Bah Humbug'!
You already know I hate Christmas with a passion; methinks I've flogged that particular horse to death and beyond.
I think I've already written about Heino and his opposite obsession with this time of the year though I couldn't find it in the scant few minutes I allotted to the search. Whatever. Heino and I are polar opposites where Christmas is concerned. Indeed, a couple of years ago, when expatiating at length with my wife on the subject of my hatred of Christmas aforesaid she suggested 'next year why don't you go spend it at Heino's'. She, of course, didn't know about Heino's obsession. He and his wife still chuckle over that suggestion.
Thus, each year around this time I confidently expect a package from Australia, containing seasonal fripperies and I was not disappointed. It arrived yesterday, containing a kangaroo decked out in a festive hat, now hanging on the tree my family *will* insist on installing inside the house. Thousands of years of human history trying to get *out* of the trees and into a house and now we have to bring the damn trees in with us?? What's up with that?
There was also a tie with that fat bastard Santa's face and LED's for eyes that light up when one squeezes the correct location on the tie. It plays a sickeningly tinny rendition of 'silent bloody night' and I'd sooner be hanged with a real rope than wear it!
Then the crowning glory. A Santa hat with 'I love Christmas' embroidered on the white band. A letter included requests a photo of me wearing it. Perhaps mate, perhaps, if I drink enough on Thursday! But I don't think there's enough alcohol in the world for that to happen.
So far so sickening but not nearly enough to sap my will to live. Nope, that had to wait until after dark and Sonya donning the Santa hat. Somehow or other she managed to trigger it and that's when she discovered that the 'I love Christmas' is picked out in tiny little LED's that twinkle. She came racing down the stairs to show me and that's when the thought of shucking off this mortal coil seemed mightily attractive.
But only momentarily. I don't think Heino'd take kindly to the thought that he'd pushed me over the edge!
Merry Christmas mate. And merry Christmas all you poor celebrants. I still say 'Bah Humbug'!
Friday, December 19, 2008
The morons were out in force today
at the office that is.
I'm not quite at the four months in the new job. That anniversary happens to be on Christmas day. How apposite I don't think considering the hatred I have for that one day of the year (and for the entire rigamarole leading up to it).
Robbie the quiet for the first couple of months; one has to learn who's dangerous and who's not. Then the dropping of the guard, the inevitable misjudgement and then the lapsing into a kind of comfortable feeling with the people one shares ones working life with.
By now they're well aware of the distaste I have for Christmas. They don't understand it any more than you do but they surely know about it.
Of course, with the festive season rapidly approaching and with internet access it didn't take em long to find a website of incredibly vapidity. I honestly don't know the URl but a google search for 'Elf yourself' might find it. For myself, I would rather dip my hand in molten sulphur than search for it let alone provide the link here!
The idea is that one takes a photo or three of people one knows, uploads it and superimposes the face on an elf. Then one gets the incredible pleasure of watching these familiar faces doing a line dance or a disco dance.
Incredible pleasure it certainly seemed to be today; I thought the woman I share my office with (or who shares hers with me - I came later) was going to wet herself as she shrieked with laughter at the sight of a few of our colleagues thus superimposed on the elves aforesaid.
Another week and it's all over for another year. Roll on boxing day!
I'm not quite at the four months in the new job. That anniversary happens to be on Christmas day. How apposite I don't think considering the hatred I have for that one day of the year (and for the entire rigamarole leading up to it).
Robbie the quiet for the first couple of months; one has to learn who's dangerous and who's not. Then the dropping of the guard, the inevitable misjudgement and then the lapsing into a kind of comfortable feeling with the people one shares ones working life with.
By now they're well aware of the distaste I have for Christmas. They don't understand it any more than you do but they surely know about it.
Of course, with the festive season rapidly approaching and with internet access it didn't take em long to find a website of incredibly vapidity. I honestly don't know the URl but a google search for 'Elf yourself' might find it. For myself, I would rather dip my hand in molten sulphur than search for it let alone provide the link here!
The idea is that one takes a photo or three of people one knows, uploads it and superimposes the face on an elf. Then one gets the incredible pleasure of watching these familiar faces doing a line dance or a disco dance.
Incredible pleasure it certainly seemed to be today; I thought the woman I share my office with (or who shares hers with me - I came later) was going to wet herself as she shrieked with laughter at the sight of a few of our colleagues thus superimposed on the elves aforesaid.
Another week and it's all over for another year. Roll on boxing day!
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
The 2009 White House Christmas tree
As you well know I detest Christmas[^]. Since moving to the US it's become worse of course; they *do* overdo it here. Actually, the rot sets in with Thanksgiving (which holiday I have little quarrel with) but that marks the real commencement of the insanity. It becomes well nigh impossible to enter a supermarket without being importuned for contributions to this charity or that. Indeed, one can't even enter without the incessant ding-bloody-ding of bells from Santas little helpers, strategically set up right in the supermarket entrance.
Heck, they even ding about in front of the Wal-Mart up the road from the office!
I note that nowadays they'll accept credit and debit cards. Bang goes another excuse, one that's served me well over the years, of not carrying any cash. Patently one can't be entering a supermarket without the wherewithal to pay and they consider themselves entitled to siphon off more cash. I suppose I'm just going to have to brazen it out with the truth now; I don't give to organised charity and there's an end of it.
And then we have the morons who attach a couple of fake antlers to their cars, one on either side of the front doors. Doubtless they think it looks cute. Frankly I reckon it'd look cuter if they attached a couple of dessicated dog turds but that's just me!
This evening, driving home from work and listening to the news on the radio, I heard an item that took my breath away. Apparently there's rivalry as to which state shall provide the Christmas tree that stands in the grounds of the White House. And apparently New Mexico has provided the tree twice whilst Arizona hasn't yet supplied a one. And apparently this has upset more than a few of my fellow Zonies. But fear not, for it seems that the 2009 tree will come from this state.
Phew! I'm glad they got that settled.
Heck, they even ding about in front of the Wal-Mart up the road from the office!
I note that nowadays they'll accept credit and debit cards. Bang goes another excuse, one that's served me well over the years, of not carrying any cash. Patently one can't be entering a supermarket without the wherewithal to pay and they consider themselves entitled to siphon off more cash. I suppose I'm just going to have to brazen it out with the truth now; I don't give to organised charity and there's an end of it.
And then we have the morons who attach a couple of fake antlers to their cars, one on either side of the front doors. Doubtless they think it looks cute. Frankly I reckon it'd look cuter if they attached a couple of dessicated dog turds but that's just me!
This evening, driving home from work and listening to the news on the radio, I heard an item that took my breath away. Apparently there's rivalry as to which state shall provide the Christmas tree that stands in the grounds of the White House. And apparently New Mexico has provided the tree twice whilst Arizona hasn't yet supplied a one. And apparently this has upset more than a few of my fellow Zonies. But fear not, for it seems that the 2009 tree will come from this state.
Phew! I'm glad they got that settled.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Rudolph, the red nosed schmuck!
I reckon they got the last line of that revolting Christmas song wrong. Instead of going 'you'll go down in history' it should be 'the biggest schmuck in history'.
Long time readers won't be surprised to hear me repeat that I hate Christmas with a passion. Newer readers can go read what I wrote about it in Decembers 2004 and 2005.
It just amazes me how people I would consider reasonably sane at any other time of the year can so lose all sense of dignity at *this* time of year.
It reminds me of the similarly disgusting spectacle one beholds when someone fronts with their new baby. By any reasonable standard you'd have to totally disagree with the parents and assert that the newborn looks like it was beaten with the ugly stick. But not a bit of it. Instead of politely agreeing (whilst privately disagreeing) that said newborn is the most beautiful thing on the planet most people, in my experience, lose any sense of aesthetics and strive to outdo the doting parents.
The parents can be forgiven, especially the mother. She's carried this thing around for the best part of a year and faces the uphill task of cleaning up after it for at least the next two decades; can anyone blame her for striving to find some redeeming feature that will justify the effort? As for the proud fathers, they're just embarassing the way they strut about as though they'd just done something no one else in the world could ever do!
Like *that* was ever a difficult task!
And then, faced with the newborn aforesaid, most people forget that they once spoke the proud language of their forefathers (whatever that language may be) and descend to the most disgustingly silly noises imaginable. And not, sad to say, only when faced with a newborn. My wife, when dealing with her grandson of eighteen months, resorts to such subterfuges as throwing a blanket over him (good sense there!) and then exclaiming 'where's Ryan?' in a tone of voice suggesting that she really doesn't know where the poor bastard is!
Hmmmmm I sometimes have grave doubts about my wife!
But back to Rudolph. Think about it. Here we have this poor innocent (so far as we can tell from the song) red nosed reindeer being put upon in a most shameful fashion by the other reindeer on the grounds that he has a red nose! Kind of like being the red haired kid at school. Or, as I was, the kid who isn't interested in sport!
And then one foggy winters eve these exclusionist reindeer, realising that they're up the proverbial creek without a paddle, turn around and schmooze up to Rudolph. For the entire year he's been the outcast because of that damn nose but *now* they need him. Hypocrites! And Rudolph, schmuck that he is, goes along with it! I bet come the end of Boxing Day it's back to the status quo and that red nose is once again a target of ill natured abuse!
What a schmuck! I bet you can guess what I'd have said to them if I'd been Rudolph. But I don't use that kind of language in my blog!
Long time readers won't be surprised to hear me repeat that I hate Christmas with a passion. Newer readers can go read what I wrote about it in Decembers 2004 and 2005.
It just amazes me how people I would consider reasonably sane at any other time of the year can so lose all sense of dignity at *this* time of year.
It reminds me of the similarly disgusting spectacle one beholds when someone fronts with their new baby. By any reasonable standard you'd have to totally disagree with the parents and assert that the newborn looks like it was beaten with the ugly stick. But not a bit of it. Instead of politely agreeing (whilst privately disagreeing) that said newborn is the most beautiful thing on the planet most people, in my experience, lose any sense of aesthetics and strive to outdo the doting parents.
The parents can be forgiven, especially the mother. She's carried this thing around for the best part of a year and faces the uphill task of cleaning up after it for at least the next two decades; can anyone blame her for striving to find some redeeming feature that will justify the effort? As for the proud fathers, they're just embarassing the way they strut about as though they'd just done something no one else in the world could ever do!
Like *that* was ever a difficult task!
And then, faced with the newborn aforesaid, most people forget that they once spoke the proud language of their forefathers (whatever that language may be) and descend to the most disgustingly silly noises imaginable. And not, sad to say, only when faced with a newborn. My wife, when dealing with her grandson of eighteen months, resorts to such subterfuges as throwing a blanket over him (good sense there!) and then exclaiming 'where's Ryan?' in a tone of voice suggesting that she really doesn't know where the poor bastard is!
Hmmmmm I sometimes have grave doubts about my wife!
But back to Rudolph. Think about it. Here we have this poor innocent (so far as we can tell from the song) red nosed reindeer being put upon in a most shameful fashion by the other reindeer on the grounds that he has a red nose! Kind of like being the red haired kid at school. Or, as I was, the kid who isn't interested in sport!
And then one foggy winters eve these exclusionist reindeer, realising that they're up the proverbial creek without a paddle, turn around and schmooze up to Rudolph. For the entire year he's been the outcast because of that damn nose but *now* they need him. Hypocrites! And Rudolph, schmuck that he is, goes along with it! I bet come the end of Boxing Day it's back to the status quo and that red nose is once again a target of ill natured abuse!
What a schmuck! I bet you can guess what I'd have said to them if I'd been Rudolph. But I don't use that kind of language in my blog!
Saturday, December 02, 2006
The Importance of Research
With *that* time of the year fast approaching I was indulging in my usual rant about Christmas and all it stands for. My wife asked, 'how is that I ended up married to such a Bah Humbug'.
'Simple' I replied, 'you didn't do your research!'.
'Simple' I replied, 'you didn't do your research!'.
Saturday, December 24, 2005
If there's one place you don't want to be
it's in an American airport in the week leading up to Christmas. If the crowding and the delays don't get you the carollers will. Yesterday, at Dallas Love Field, they had not one group of carollers, not two, but three groups, all poisoning the atmosphere with note perfect renditions of such pap as 'Silent Night', 'Winter Wonderland' and 'The little drummer boy'.
I admitted last year[^] that I dislike Christmas intensely. Admitted? I practically shout it from the rooftops :-) My opinion hasn't changed. This year I've put the family on notice that any attempts on Sunday to 'jolly' me into the Christmas spirit will have exactly the opposite effect. Let well enough alone; I'll attend and keep quiet but don't expect me to join in with the saccharine.
Returning home from Dallas was a long winded affair. Given the date I made sure I was at the airport well before departure time; three hours to be exact. Checked my suitcase in and was handed a standby security pass. Standby??? My ticket was booked and paid for on December 12th! When I asked the check-in person I was told that most likely all the other passengers had printed out their boarding passes over the internet and I, as the poor bastard lacking a printer on the road, was one of the last to confirm an intention to travel.
To say that this annoyed me somewhat would be an understatement.
So I whiled away two hours until the gate should be staffed and I could petition for a seat. Not a bad two hours as it happened; I smoked outside, watched planes take off and land and enjoyed the never ending spectacle of people. I neither confirm nor deny the presence of a couple of cuties :-)
At the end of the two hours I was the first in line at the counter and I was fortunate enough to get a boarding pass. Group C of course. Another hour to wait. I wish. My flight out of Dallas started at about the time it had been scheduled to land in El Paso. In other words, an hour and a half late. Given that I'd booked a set of flights with a one hour wait in El Paso this made me somewhat apprehensive about the connection. I needn't have worried. The plane to take me from El Paso to Phoenix was still on the ground in Albuquerque!
Delay piled on delay. In total, it took me 10 hours to travel from Dallas to Phoenix; arriving just in time to catch the traffic gridlock at Sky HarboUr airport.
But I have to tell you; that smoke when I emerged onto the South kerb at the airport made the whole thing almost worthwhile!
I admitted last year[^] that I dislike Christmas intensely. Admitted? I practically shout it from the rooftops :-) My opinion hasn't changed. This year I've put the family on notice that any attempts on Sunday to 'jolly' me into the Christmas spirit will have exactly the opposite effect. Let well enough alone; I'll attend and keep quiet but don't expect me to join in with the saccharine.
Returning home from Dallas was a long winded affair. Given the date I made sure I was at the airport well before departure time; three hours to be exact. Checked my suitcase in and was handed a standby security pass. Standby??? My ticket was booked and paid for on December 12th! When I asked the check-in person I was told that most likely all the other passengers had printed out their boarding passes over the internet and I, as the poor bastard lacking a printer on the road, was one of the last to confirm an intention to travel.
To say that this annoyed me somewhat would be an understatement.
So I whiled away two hours until the gate should be staffed and I could petition for a seat. Not a bad two hours as it happened; I smoked outside, watched planes take off and land and enjoyed the never ending spectacle of people. I neither confirm nor deny the presence of a couple of cuties :-)
At the end of the two hours I was the first in line at the counter and I was fortunate enough to get a boarding pass. Group C of course. Another hour to wait. I wish. My flight out of Dallas started at about the time it had been scheduled to land in El Paso. In other words, an hour and a half late. Given that I'd booked a set of flights with a one hour wait in El Paso this made me somewhat apprehensive about the connection. I needn't have worried. The plane to take me from El Paso to Phoenix was still on the ground in Albuquerque!
Delay piled on delay. In total, it took me 10 hours to travel from Dallas to Phoenix; arriving just in time to catch the traffic gridlock at Sky HarboUr airport.
But I have to tell you; that smoke when I emerged onto the South kerb at the airport made the whole thing almost worthwhile!
Sunday, December 26, 2004
A grinch ought not to
receive gifts but he does :-)
As a long time fan of The Lord of the Rings it came as no surprise that the 4 disc extended version of The Return of the King was under the tree (wrapped in Grinch wrapping paper - strangely enough, all of my gifts were wrapped in that paper ).
There were also two treasures. The first was The Royal Hunt of the Sun[^]. Yikes - what a URL. Wonderful great love it movie. I've just finished watching it after a gap of about 20 years. I'm still impressed by the way the soundtrack (in the first encounters between the Incan speakers and the Spanish speakers) (the Spanish is actually English but let's not quibble) does a cross fade between what I assume is meant to be Incan and English. I'm not expressing it well. But the movie avoids the clumsiness of assuming that everyone speaks the same language without resorting to sub titles. Those scenes start with the Incans speaking Incan, the Spanish speaking English; and in a few seconds of cross fading the Incans are speaking English. I'm still not expressing it well; you'll have to see the movie. But I wish you luck. The DVD is out of print; it was on my Amazon wishlist and my wife tracked down a copy on the secondhand market.
The second treasure is Barfly[^]. Well, perhaps it's not a treasure but it is a movie that I really enjoy.
As for the day itself? It was perhaps a little less painful than it could have been. The 'unwrapping of the presents' (why am I reminded of Gormenghast?) was mercifully short. In part this was because Morgan, the 16 year old, was less of a bossy boots than in previous years. In part it was also because the number of 'stocking stuffers' was markedly reduced. When you're dealing with a 20 year old, a 16 year old and a 13 year old one tends to go for fewer items where each item costs a bit more.
But the buggers do listen. Amongst my presents were two bottles of Malt Vinegar and two bottles of real Australian Rosella Tomato sauce . As I said to them at the time, if anyone in Australia gave a bottle of Tomato Sauce as a Chrissie pressie the recipient would look at them and think 'you cheap bastard'. But here in the USA it was a whiff of heaven. Indeed I grossed Morgan out by dabbing malt vinegar behind my ears. I said it was to keep the teenage girls away . I'm not sure she bought it.
We also had a drama. Sometime during the night the water main broke. Our apartment is three level. The floor of the room I'm sitting in as I type this is about 5 feet below ground level. To my left is the living area - at ground level. Above that are the kids bedrooms. Anyway, the windows of the rooms on the lowest floor are at ground level (which suits the cats just fine I might add). Just outside the ground level windows is typical Arizona desert with a small depression. Enough scene setting. At 11:30 our neighbour knocked on the door and told us we had a small lake behind the apartment. We took a look and sure enough there it was. See my third image gallery over there <--- for a pic. Tomorrow I'll take (and add to the gallery) a picture of how it looks normally.
Our neighbour (whose apartment wasn't in the least threatened as far as I can tell) was out there with a sledgehammer knocking a hole in the cement kerb to let the water drain out. He had and has my thanks! He didn't actually succeed in creating the hole; that honour went to my eldest step-daughter Shelby's boyfriend Matt.
Look at the tree in the picture, centre frame. See the high water mark? That was where the water was about 5 minutes before I took the shot. The second photo shows Matt being a dag!
Thus passed noon!
At 4:30 PM all was in place for Christmas dinner. A rather large ham (I fear I'm going to be eating ham for a month) plus a few dishes that I, an Australian, don't understand. How on earth can one marry ham with marshmallows? Americans, it seems, can achieve that feat without even batting an eyelid . Worse, they seem to enjoy the experience! Americans are strange people! But I did manage to hold my own - I shocked the buggers by mixing Keens Extra Hot English Mustard with Malt Vinegar (a chrissie present) and smearing it on my ham. Delicious.
After dinner we played scrabble. I won even after giving Andrew and Morgan (the younger two) a freebie by pointing out that the letters A C N E could be placed on a triple word score. At 10 PM I'd had enough and anyway, Chef! was starting on PBS followed by the Red Green show.
One of the least painful Christmases I've endured. But I'm sure I'll never get to the point of actually looking forward to Christmas.
Bah Humbug!!!!
As a long time fan of The Lord of the Rings it came as no surprise that the 4 disc extended version of The Return of the King was under the tree (wrapped in Grinch wrapping paper - strangely enough, all of my gifts were wrapped in that paper ).
There were also two treasures. The first was The Royal Hunt of the Sun[^]. Yikes - what a URL. Wonderful great love it movie. I've just finished watching it after a gap of about 20 years. I'm still impressed by the way the soundtrack (in the first encounters between the Incan speakers and the Spanish speakers) (the Spanish is actually English but let's not quibble) does a cross fade between what I assume is meant to be Incan and English. I'm not expressing it well. But the movie avoids the clumsiness of assuming that everyone speaks the same language without resorting to sub titles. Those scenes start with the Incans speaking Incan, the Spanish speaking English; and in a few seconds of cross fading the Incans are speaking English. I'm still not expressing it well; you'll have to see the movie. But I wish you luck. The DVD is out of print; it was on my Amazon wishlist and my wife tracked down a copy on the secondhand market.
The second treasure is Barfly[^]. Well, perhaps it's not a treasure but it is a movie that I really enjoy.
As for the day itself? It was perhaps a little less painful than it could have been. The 'unwrapping of the presents' (why am I reminded of Gormenghast?) was mercifully short. In part this was because Morgan, the 16 year old, was less of a bossy boots than in previous years. In part it was also because the number of 'stocking stuffers' was markedly reduced. When you're dealing with a 20 year old, a 16 year old and a 13 year old one tends to go for fewer items where each item costs a bit more.
But the buggers do listen. Amongst my presents were two bottles of Malt Vinegar and two bottles of real Australian Rosella Tomato sauce . As I said to them at the time, if anyone in Australia gave a bottle of Tomato Sauce as a Chrissie pressie the recipient would look at them and think 'you cheap bastard'. But here in the USA it was a whiff of heaven. Indeed I grossed Morgan out by dabbing malt vinegar behind my ears. I said it was to keep the teenage girls away . I'm not sure she bought it.
We also had a drama. Sometime during the night the water main broke. Our apartment is three level. The floor of the room I'm sitting in as I type this is about 5 feet below ground level. To my left is the living area - at ground level. Above that are the kids bedrooms. Anyway, the windows of the rooms on the lowest floor are at ground level (which suits the cats just fine I might add). Just outside the ground level windows is typical Arizona desert with a small depression. Enough scene setting. At 11:30 our neighbour knocked on the door and told us we had a small lake behind the apartment. We took a look and sure enough there it was. See my third image gallery over there <--- for a pic. Tomorrow I'll take (and add to the gallery) a picture of how it looks normally.
Our neighbour (whose apartment wasn't in the least threatened as far as I can tell) was out there with a sledgehammer knocking a hole in the cement kerb to let the water drain out. He had and has my thanks! He didn't actually succeed in creating the hole; that honour went to my eldest step-daughter Shelby's boyfriend Matt.
Look at the tree in the picture, centre frame. See the high water mark? That was where the water was about 5 minutes before I took the shot. The second photo shows Matt being a dag!
Thus passed noon!
At 4:30 PM all was in place for Christmas dinner. A rather large ham (I fear I'm going to be eating ham for a month) plus a few dishes that I, an Australian, don't understand. How on earth can one marry ham with marshmallows? Americans, it seems, can achieve that feat without even batting an eyelid . Worse, they seem to enjoy the experience! Americans are strange people! But I did manage to hold my own - I shocked the buggers by mixing Keens Extra Hot English Mustard with Malt Vinegar (a chrissie present) and smearing it on my ham. Delicious.
After dinner we played scrabble. I won even after giving Andrew and Morgan (the younger two) a freebie by pointing out that the letters A C N E could be placed on a triple word score. At 10 PM I'd had enough and anyway, Chef! was starting on PBS followed by the Red Green show.
One of the least painful Christmases I've endured. But I'm sure I'll never get to the point of actually looking forward to Christmas.
Bah Humbug!!!!
Friday, December 24, 2004
I'm a grinch!
which term I had never even heard of until fairly recently. (When you're 50 5 years ago seems fairly recent :-) ).
But I have to say that I am. I don't like Christmas and haven't for about 30 years. I'm not a believer so Christmas doesn't have that particular significance to me.
Our receptionist turned up at the office three weeks ago wearing a pair of reindeer antlers! She smiled sweetly and expected me to be overcome with a spirit of festiveness. I was more overcome with a feeling of WTF! I told her my middle name was Scrooge and she giggled a little and then said, with apparent seriousness, that she'd never met anyone with such an unusual middle name. I have to confess it took me a few seconds to realise she was serious! For the record, my middle name is Clyde.
So why do I dislike Christmas? Actually, why do I hate the damn thing?
It's partly family related. The world + dog trumpets Christmas as a family time. I happen to not much like my family. The old proverb about you choose your friends is true here... I like my youngest sister and I have a lot of respect for my mother; for the rest of the bunch.... Some of you might have picked up the odd whiff of my wishing I was back in Australia rather than here in the US but I assure you, that whiff, whilst quite real, isn't because of my family. It's much more that I miss my best mate and I miss the places...
But it goes deeper, much deeper, than family. Christmas is the time when one has to endure mind numbingly boring songs, carols, advertisements, childish lighting displays and people who try to jolly one up and seem to take it as a personal insult when they learn that one doesn't share their enthusiasm! I'm very enthusiastic about the Operas of Philip Glass and John Adams but I don't take it as an insult if you don't share my enthusiasm! Let us not even start on the Nativity Scenes. And I have to say that the stuff that passes as music this time of year has, to my tastes, as much relationship to real music as a dead dog has to architecture. If I have to listen to the 'little drummer boy' or 'silent night' or 'frosty the snowman' one more time I'm going to puke!
It's impossible to walk into a supermarket (here or in Australia or France) without being assaulted by the mindless pap intended to alert the forgetful consumer that this is Christmas and it's time to open your wallet.
And then comes the day itself. One is expected to sit there and ooh and aah over every frippery and watch with rapt attention as one present after another is unwrapped and the lucky recipient fakes surprise and enthusiasm. Worse, one is expected to play this act oneself. Woe and betide the person who is more interested in reading a book than playing this mindless game! Well thank you but I have better things to do with 4 hours of my life than to sit around like a moron watching you play the game.
So I'm a grinch and damn proud of it.
But I have to say that I am. I don't like Christmas and haven't for about 30 years. I'm not a believer so Christmas doesn't have that particular significance to me.
Our receptionist turned up at the office three weeks ago wearing a pair of reindeer antlers! She smiled sweetly and expected me to be overcome with a spirit of festiveness. I was more overcome with a feeling of WTF! I told her my middle name was Scrooge and she giggled a little and then said, with apparent seriousness, that she'd never met anyone with such an unusual middle name. I have to confess it took me a few seconds to realise she was serious! For the record, my middle name is Clyde.
So why do I dislike Christmas? Actually, why do I hate the damn thing?
It's partly family related. The world + dog trumpets Christmas as a family time. I happen to not much like my family. The old proverb about you choose your friends is true here... I like my youngest sister and I have a lot of respect for my mother; for the rest of the bunch.... Some of you might have picked up the odd whiff of my wishing I was back in Australia rather than here in the US but I assure you, that whiff, whilst quite real, isn't because of my family. It's much more that I miss my best mate and I miss the places...
But it goes deeper, much deeper, than family. Christmas is the time when one has to endure mind numbingly boring songs, carols, advertisements, childish lighting displays and people who try to jolly one up and seem to take it as a personal insult when they learn that one doesn't share their enthusiasm! I'm very enthusiastic about the Operas of Philip Glass and John Adams but I don't take it as an insult if you don't share my enthusiasm! Let us not even start on the Nativity Scenes. And I have to say that the stuff that passes as music this time of year has, to my tastes, as much relationship to real music as a dead dog has to architecture. If I have to listen to the 'little drummer boy' or 'silent night' or 'frosty the snowman' one more time I'm going to puke!
It's impossible to walk into a supermarket (here or in Australia or France) without being assaulted by the mindless pap intended to alert the forgetful consumer that this is Christmas and it's time to open your wallet.
And then comes the day itself. One is expected to sit there and ooh and aah over every frippery and watch with rapt attention as one present after another is unwrapped and the lucky recipient fakes surprise and enthusiasm. Worse, one is expected to play this act oneself. Woe and betide the person who is more interested in reading a book than playing this mindless game! Well thank you but I have better things to do with 4 hours of my life than to sit around like a moron watching you play the game.
So I'm a grinch and damn proud of it.
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