Re-launched, but still slightly under construction. :-)

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

MMmm. Sammich.

I am eating a sandwich from New Moon Cafe, out of which I expected a better vegetarian option. Grilled veggies and cheese - hard to mess up! Unless you are a restaurant so new that you do not yet have: a credit card machine, bags, to-go cups, straws, trained employees or phones that work better than cellphone reception in Siberia. This sandwch tastes like two onions had a party, got too drunk to know better, had unprotected sex, and then had little onion babies on my damn sandwich. Plus, it's dry. I said "no mayo," not "remove all moisture from the earth's atmosphere and hide it away while the dough is baking, resulting in bread that resembles a slice of baked mud."

Geez. $6 for this.

Meh. The hummus is decent, and the bagel chips are great.

Sunday, August 20, 2006

A New Meaning for "Pickpocket"

So the editor of the parenting publication was talking to one of the advertising people. It seems that there is a discussion about whether or not certain terminology should be used to describe body parts to children. The former parenting editor was a stickler for using proper words for genitalia, and the current editor doesn't agree and uses a pseudonym for someone's "lady business."

"Well, my grandma used to call it her pocketbook," the ad rep said. "And she used to tell us, 'Never let anybody go in your pocketbook.'"

I can only imagine the confusing conversations in that house when she was looking for her keys.

Saturday, August 19, 2006

Family Ties

When I think back upon my parents' activities when I was growing up, there are a few constants: books, books, books, crossword puzzles, and popcorn. I swear, for the first five years of my life I thought my parents' heads were made of paper. They were always reading something: newspapers, books, magazines, you name it, and there was popcorn just about every night. There still is. You can set your watch by the ding! of the microwave oven going off on my father's nightly bag of popcorn.

In fact, my recognition that appliances don't come as wallpaper in a home was the addition of an air-popper that my parents bought. It was in the years before microwave popcorn, and it was a noisy behemouth of a machine that took up a lot of counterspace but had this little grate at the top into which you put a pat of butter that would slowly melt and drip over the popcorn as it popped. A fan at the bottom blew the popcorn throught a spout into a waiting bowl.

Damn, we loved that thing. If we were playing in our rooms, and heard the takkatikkatakkatikkatakkatikkatakkatikkatakkatikka of kernals falling into the metal bottom of the machine, we'd come running for our smaller bowlsful. And also, to make sure that they didn't put too much butter. Cholesterol has never been a concern for Dad.

We muched it, lying on the carpet in front of the TV, enjoying Special Network Presentations of "My Fair Lady," "The Sound of Music," "Gone With the Wind," "Mary Poppins," "Barefoot in the Park," and "The Wizard of Oz." This was, of course, before HBO, VCRs, video rental stores, DVDs, Netflix, and, finally, YouTube. It was still the heyday of the movie theatre, and these presentations were a total treat. Sunday nights it was the Disney presentation of the week, Friday nights brought "The Muppet Show," but most of the time it was movies we waited for. Lots of them were in black and white, such as "To Kill a Mockingbird," "National Velvet," and "It's a Wonderful Life."

Last night, the Imperial Theatre unveiled its new marquee. At a cost of $250,000, it didn't come cheap, but it was specially designed to look like the theatre's original facade, but with an incredible high-tech twist. All-in-all, it is a fantastic addition, and we wanted to be there for the unveiling.

Outside, there were Model T's and other antique cars lined up along the street, which had been closed off for the evening. A crowd gathered outside, and mayor Deke Copenhaver gave a lovely speech. Emerson goggled at everything from her stroller as Scott moved around the crowd, interviewing folks for WGAC news. After the crowd counted down from 10, the curtains dropped and the marquee flashed on and - oh, it was perfectly beautiful. Everyone admired and applauded the effort, then streamed inside for the festivities.

Polite and smiling young ladies with "cigarette girl" boxes around their necks greeted us with boxes of free popcorn, and sodas were complimentary at the cash bar. Inside, silent films from Charlie Chaplin, the first performer to ever grace the Imperial's stage, played while an organist rocked the Wurlitzer. We met and chatted with dozens of people we knew - friends and family, commissioners and candidates, media and PR, and just plain folks. We wrapped purple and green glowsticks around Emerson's ankles and I wheeled her stroller down closer to the front of the theatre so that she could see the screen.

She was entranced. She sat with her popcorn box in her lap, stuffing her face and refusing to share with me (she pulled the box away and squealed "NO!" every time I tried to take a few kernals), utterly engrossed in Chaplin's many failed attempts to get his drunk self up some stairs to bed. I watched her, watching the screen, and shot sapphire bullets of pure love at her (I'd have hugged her but she'd have thought I was trying to get her popcorn). I reveled in the hometown feel of the whole event and then realized what Emerson reminded me of.

Kicked back in her chair, goggling at black and white movies, hoarding popcorn, she looked totally like my dad.

And that is awesome.

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

I work in 1970.

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

This man has never heard of sexual harassment laws, and now he has defiled one of our editors' cell phone. And also, he was doing this while one of our reporters was attempting to conduct an interview. You can hear her at the end say, "I'm trying to talk to someone!"

Monday, August 14, 2006

We Don't Need a Boat

The newest craziness? Scott wants to BUY A BOAT.

Apparently his uncle, who lives on the lake, something something I wasn't listening and it will be less than $1,000 total. I'd rather pay off the damn car first, we only have a couple grand left, but he's all into this idea.

I just don't think he's going to use it as much as he thinks he is by himself. He was arguing that he could go fishing and we could eat the fish, and the boat would pay for itself in fish savings! Isn't that amazing!

No. It's not. It's a boat.

Scott and Chris have vowed to use it all the time, and his grandfather, and yeah, right. All I know is this: IF (big if) we decide to buy this fiberglass vessel to hell, Emerson is not going near it.

Friday, August 11, 2006


One of the nice places about where I work is that almost everyone has a great sense of humor (those who don't generally keep their mouths shut), and we delight in making each other laugh. So when I saw a remote-controlled whoopee cushion at the drugstore, I knew we could put it to good use.

My partner-in-crime taped it under the publisher's chair with packing tape before she left work last night. We had a meeting scheduled with him at 10 a.m., and about 15 minutes into it, a soft "plffffsssss" drifted up from behind him. One of the editors, sitting on my left, covered her face with her hands, shoulders shaking. One of the designers, sitting on my right, chortled. He stopped and looked at us.
"What?" he asked.
I couldn't hold it in anymore. I covered my face with my spreadsheet and laughed out loud. My two-coworkers were already ahead of me.
"What are you laughing at?" he asked, grin askew.
"PLLLLFFFT! PLLFT! PLFT! Plllffff...."
The editor is crying now, I'm holding my stomach, and the ad assistant and another designer, who are across the room with the remote, have joined into the laughter. His face turns a little red, but he laughs out loud.
"What do you guys think, that I'm sitting here farting?"
We erupt in rolling laughter as they set it off again.
"Where is that coming from?!"
He looks under his desk. As he bends over, they set it off again. He quickly stands up.
"Y'all are so juvenile!" he laughs.
We laugh even harder. My stomach hurts and he's right. It is juvenile. It's also damn funny. He looks under the desk again, and around it, as disgusting noises follow him. He spins his chair around, and sits back down, grinning. They set it off again, and he leaps up and turns his chair over.
"God, you taped it to my chair?! You guys are so stupid!"
He struggles to remove it while they keep up a constant strain of noises I haven't heard since summer camp. When he does, he turns it over in his hands, examining it. He flicks the off button and I pick it up and push the button one last time.
"I just turned it off!"
"No, that was just for the remote."
"There's a remote?!"

Yes. And it will be used much more in the future.

Thursday, August 03, 2006

Either Very Old, or in Desperate Need of a Copy Editor