Day of Thanks Humor

I love this one.

Enjoy the holiday, everyone.

Cook.
Drink.
Feast.
Sleep.
Cheer.
Shop.
Sleep.
Feast.
Decorate.
Shop.
Sleep.
Drink.
Drink.
Drink.

Flying Squirrel

So I promised NoDak Mark I would blog about my adventures from last Friday, November 18th. This was the day of our annual office retreat in which we did all sorts of team building activities. We travelled off campus to another college campus who had a department which focused on corporate team building programs.

The morning was spent with flow charts and sniffable markers - I favored the black licorice smelling one. Mmmmmm, Ouzo. Then we broke up into teams and built bridges from newspaper and masking tape, strong enough to hold a gallon of water. We also made a historical chart of the progresses our office has made in the last ten years. We bonded. We bickered. We laughed.

After lunch, we moved to the Fieldhouse and participated in a low ropes course. Again, more team building but this time, we had to physically challenge ourselves, safely of course. I had a blast. We had to climb stairs that were wide enough for only one foot - blindfolded, relying on our teammates to catch us should we fall. We had to move the "cup of life" across a volcanic pit by way of swinging on a rope and landing on a platform, while the entire group had to remain on the platform at all times. And then we participated in the Flying Squirrel. You put on your harness, strapped yourself to a pully, placed a red helmet on your head and allowed your teammates to hoist you 75 feet up into the rafters. You were suspended there by a few trusting souls. It was fun. And scary, especially if you are like me and afraid of heights. But regardless, I trusted my coworkers, allowing them to pull me up in the air as a screamed like a fool and held onto my head. I don't know why I did that other than I felt the need to hang on to something and the only thing I could hold onto was my red helmet! (yeah, picture that, it's exactly what you are thinking.)

It was a great time and I'd do it again. That evening, when I arrived home, I stepped once again out of my element and went to our local YMCA and played basketball with my husband and son. Sure, I played ball back in the day, but I've aged since then, and I'm not exactly my limber 16 year old self anymore - and I did this in front of a lot of people. My experiences earlier in the day gave me the gumption to do this, and I had fun, and I didn't care if I looked stupid.

Then I took it even further and took my 7 year old ROLLER SKATING on Sunday afternoon. I laced up my skates and hit the floor with wild abandon, laughing hard at my wobbly legs and unsure footing. After an hour I was out there boogying to Gwen Stefani, The Pussycat Dolls and Gorillaz' Feel Good Inc.

And I didn't fall down. Until....

...the last 15 minutes of "open skate", I was cut off by a little peanut, this kid no taller than 3 feet, who was weaving in and out of the "oval flow of skaters" and in my attempt to avoid crushing him, I spun around backwards (a feat I dared not attempt earlier) and almost had it, until I lost my balance and went down, hard. My knees took the brunt of the fall, but then I got a face full of floor too. It wasn't pretty, but it sure was funny. See my previous posts about falling. I love seeing people fall. I was the star, baby, the star. I entertained quite a few adults with that move, not to mention a few snot-nosed kids who disrespected their elders by laughing. It was a good time, and I'm going to do it again. Who knew roller skating was such good exercise?

And as a result, I saw into the future. There were sure a lot of future mobile home owners of northeast Ohio there. It was a vision.

Good times, people, good times.

Tantric

Tantra: Any of a comparatively recent class of Hindu or Buddhist religious literature written in Sanskrit and concerned with powerful ritual acts of body, speech, and mind.

Sanskrit: An ancient Indic language that is the language of Hinduism and the Vedas and is the classical literary language of India.

Ok folks, I'm talking about the post-grunge rock band, Tantric, who got their name from a secretary or girlfriend of a member of the unnamed band at the time, who was spewing on and on, naked, about the glories of tantric sex.

Yesterday, while travelling home from work, I heard "Astounded" on the radio and I was awash with fond memories of the band's first and self-named album. I remember the day I bought it. It had to be summer 2001 and it forever remains the CD which gets tons of play during the summer months. Along with a few others, it's my summer CD.

The history of this band is very confusing. Three members of the band, Days of the New, formerly known as Carbon-14 and then Dead Reckoning, formed Tantric with a new lead singer, replacing Travis Meeks with Hugo Ferreira. Different versions abound - Meeks fired his former bandmates, the three bandmates set on their own - in any case, Tantric was formed by three long-time friends from KY and a new lead singer from Detroit. Today, apparently, you can see Travis Meeks on A&E's hit show, Intervention, as he battles his addiction to crystal meth - thus, shooting Tantric back into the spotlight - in a very round about way.

Looks as if I'm having some sort of musical memory lane thing going this week with my blog. Jefferson Starship, Carly Simon and now Tantric. At least I've progressed to music from the new millenium. I can't tell you how much I love this CD. It's definitely one of my favorites. I will admit that I never purchased any of Tantric's later releases, probably because my musical tastes shifted to DMB and other folk-like jam bands and individuals. So, with that being said, I'm going to proclaim Tantric as one of my "If I Had My Own Theme Music" choices - Astounded.

All you stupid fuckers walk around astounded and drowning.

What more needs to be said?

(and as a sidenote, how many of you are scratching your head wondering, "What the hell is she talking about?")

My work here is done.

That 70's Girl

I was a young child during the 1970s and I feel what was offered during those days went unspoiled on me. Not until I reached my "mature" years did I realize what I missed. My childhood memories are good ones. I was a happy child. I loved life, I loved my bike, I loved basketball, I loved chasing my older brother's friends hoping that I would indeed catch up to them, because my childhood loins believed I was in love with each and every one of them. Those were happy, happy times. I think when I reached the age of 6 or 7, I somehow became painfully shy and turned into a wallflower. I was afraid of my own shadow. I eventually outgrew that but I sometimes wonder what event in my young life shifted me from a happy outgoing child to one who was afraid of everyone and everything.

Maybe it was the black snakes that used to burrow into the foundation of our 100 year old farmhouse during thunderstorms. Oh yeah, there's a story there.

Anyway, a while back, I picked up a CD collection of tunes from the 70's. I can remember hearing all of these songs on the AM/FM radio in the Chevy station wagon we always seemed to own, model after model, year after year - or in the driveway while my dad washed the car and I shot hoops, rambling on and on about things so unimportant. My dad was always good for listening to JMR and her silly 8 year old girl stories.

One song that takes me home is Miracles by Jefferson Starship. I had no idea what the song was about back then, probably because it was edited for airplay, but also because I was a naive little kid. Today when I hear it, I ache and smile all at the same time. I love the fluidity of this song, the amorous lyrics and the call-and-response style of Marty Balin and Grace Slick. Unfortunately, we don't get to hear these classic songs unless we are downloading them to our iPods or doing some late night grocery shopping.

I can remember my grandfather giving me my first clock-radio. He had sold his beloved Isaly's diner in town and went to work at Montgomery Wards, most likely to earn some additional social security. My clock-radio was damaged so he was able to purchase it for 50 cents. That radio is still being used to this day by my dad in his workshop. It doesn't keep time, and some of the knobs are missing their covers, but it still works and the reception still comes in crystal clear. I heard many o'good 70's tunes on that radio. Fond memories.

When my husband and I would go on mini-road trips with our then 3 year old son, who was only good for about 3-4 hours in the car, we'd always play the 70's collection. Joonya became quite fond of Carly Simon's You're So Vain. I used to brag that I had the only 3 year old who could recite You're So Vain verbatim. We'd get such a charge when that little voice would bellow from his carseat..."I want to hear Clouds in the Coffee." And then he'd sing along with so much enthusiam. He didn't care if the lyrics were right, he just wanted to sing. While Carly was singing:

Well, you're where you should be all the time
And when you're not, you're with
Some underworld spy or the wife of a close friend
Wife of a close friend

Joonya was singing: Wife of the postman, wife of the postman

I would damn near die laughing. The music of the 70s has served me well, and now I see that it's serving my son well. I can only hope he'll treasure these memories like I have.

What I did on Veteran's Day

So I had Friday, November 11th off from work in honor of our veterans. Yee haw. I had grandiose plans for the day. I was going to clean my house. I'm not talking surface cleaning, I was going to get out the Hoover Steam Cleaner and shampoo the carpets. I was going to tackle the junk closet, the one closet where everything ends up in a heap. I was going to reorganize the tupperware cabinet. I was going to disect the pantry and put it back together in an organized fashion. I was going to divide and conquer.

Yeah.

Instead, I plopped my ass down on the couch for several hours and renewed my love for The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. I forgot how damn funny that show is. I also forgot how infatuated with Jon Stewart I am. And I forgot how I absolutely adore funny men. Swoon.

I also was introduced to Butch Bradley on Comedy Central. I imagine Butch is widely known on the comedy circuit, but this was the first time I saw him. I hadn't laughed like that in such a long time. Here I was, in my sweats, glasses, hair all a'touseled, snuggled up on the couch under a blankey, watching Butch and laughing so hard I was crying - all by myself. Do you know how therapeutic that is? That was the best damned Veteran's Day gift anyone could have ever given me.

Around 3 p.m., I managed to "pick up" the downstairs of the house so that I didn't look like a total sloth for when the fam got home around 4:30. It did me a world of good to sit there and laugh like a loon alone in the house, soaking up any and all moments of silence and peace. I busted ass on Saturday to make up for my comedy vacation I had on Friday, only to have the house destroyed on Sunday by family, friends and dogs. I didn't care. It was fun. My 3-day weekend was immensely enjoyable.

And seriously needed.

So my warmest thanks to all the veteran's of this great country who have served us proudly. I truly mean that, despite how I spent my day. I told MacFucker last week that Veteran's Day actually means something to me now. As it should.

No, no, I'm not dead. I just feel that way.

So I'm on Plan B. I figured I'd be able to catch up on my blogging this week but that hasn't happened, as you can clearly see.

I just have too much going on in my so-called life right now. Work, home, kidling, spousal unit, you know...the typical. So once again, blogging must take a back seat, as many things have.

I shall return, hopefully, with some stupendous material. All work and no play makes JMR a very dull girl.

Dull is right.