This reminds me of the National Lampoon graffiti artist post-it, which I can only paraphrase:

Meant to write “Clapton is GOOD.” Hope there’s been no inconvenience.

Last night, just before I closed the family store, I heard two people talking by the half-price ornament display. I heard a man’s voice deep and gruff and a woman’s light and inquisitive, and where they were browsing I couldn’t see them. I was reading Digby because 40% of my nephews were running around next door and I was too tired to contemplate exploding space dinosaurs. So the people were browsing. I was reading. I heard the man’s voice behind the Thymes display not ten feet from me, so I looked up to greet him. He was about 5’6″ and kind of squarish. His shoulder-length hair was bottle blond. He was wearing a yellow and black Catholic school girl outfit and a Hello, Kitty! backpack. My one and only thought, upon seeing him, was, “I hate plaid.”

This morning, I awoke in darkness as usual. A light rain fell outside. Instantly, I regretted having to leave the coziness of my bed for the crappiness of getting ready for work. Siobhan, no mincer of words, reminded me yesterday that the 180 Days project was already in shambles.

Siobhan: Three weeks and you’re fucking it up. A new record!
Tata: It’s New Brunswick. Don’t get that on your shoes!

Well, you wouldn’t want that, would you?
And speaking of what you don’t want, did you know you can get paranormal restraining orders? You sure can! Who’s bugging you? Bigfoot?

No longer fear the woods! Take a hike without harassment.

Why, I would like to take a hike! And so can Santa, that bastard!

Spend your holiday free from elfin magic! Every year like clockwork he waits until you’re asleep, breaks into your house, and leaves things lying around.

No whammies…no whammies…For the his and hers matching recliners –

God
Never fear The Lord’s wrath again! In the fire of his jealousy the whole world will be consumed, for he will make a sudden end of all who live in the earth. …except you.

We have a winner! I mention this because I’m being haunted by the ghost of Richard Viguerie, which foregoes usual paranormal parlor tricks like dripping blood, flies and showing up uninvited to formal dinner parties for sending creepy and hilarious email.

While many conservatives, libertarians, and fair-minded people of all political persuasions are still disappointed at the Fox News Channel’s (FNC) exclusion of Ron Paul from the January 6 debate in New Hampshire, we are relieved that their January 10 debate in South Carolina will include all of the candidates.

In New Hampshire, Ron Paul finished just 2,111 votes behind Rudy Giuliani. It is possible that if Congressman Paul had been included in the debate, he might have gotten at least 2,200 more votes. So, FNC may have affected the outcome of the New Hampshire primary. That’s something a news organization should never do.

Seldom have I come closer to wetting myself. In life, Richard Viguerie corrupted the public discourse but now that he’s haunting me, a treehugging pinko, he’s hilarious. Fox isn’t a news organization. It’s an organ of propaganda for Viguerie’s baby the Conservative Revolution. Flying Spaghetti Monster, even the living know that!

I’ll take today’s picture this afternoon, when things may dry out a little. New Brunswick makes its own gravy. I guess all that is obvious.

Tuesday

I woke up an hour and a half bfore the alarm. My skin felt prickly. It was as if someone stood by my closet door, but no one did. Eventually, I got up, read my email and used the portable exercise cycle contraption Pete gave me during the December Gift-Giving Extravaganza. Then, at a time when I should have been jumping into the shower and running away! away! away! to work, I started breakfast. Just before 7:30, I called the office and left a message.

Tata: Good morning, Helen! I bet you’ve noticed I’m not there! I’ll be along soon. I was doing fine until I started cooking breakfast, then I was cooking breakfast, then I was still cooking breakfast and, inexplicably, after that I was continuing to cook breakfast. There’s enough for six linebackers in my kitchen! I’ll be there in a little bit, and boy, will I be full!

Half an hour later, Helen was listening to her messages when I arrived. Breathless, she pointed at me and laughed until I walked away, away, away. My PC made noises like angry bees all day, which excited the unnamed university library’s IT department.

One of my co-workers and I are on the same sleep schedule. I know when I’m up, she’s up. When I’m sleeping, odds are good she’s sawing a log. She mentioned she hadn’t slept much either.

Tata: I was up before 5.
Lenore: Me, too.
Tata: You would think that would make me early for work but no! I was not! I got up and made breakfast for six people who weren’t there. There’s still toast in my toaster! So I was late.
Lenore: Don’t you know I sat on the edge of my bed this morning and said, “Gerald, I’m going to turn over a new leaf and start eating breakfast,” but I didn’t! Next time you’re cooking you call me.

We often dress alike without prompting.

Wednesday

It’s finally light out before I start the car in the morning. Yesterday, as I walked to the parking lot, I was stunned by the pinks and golds of the sunlight just barely above the rooftops as overhead, woolly gray clouds gathered. The first drops of rain landed on my windshield as I put the car into drive and made my embarrassingly brief commute straight at a rainbow that appeared to be anchored just south of New Brunswick. During the walk from the lot to the library, I was dumbstruck by the size and clarity of the rainbow over the city. As I stood there staring the clouds burst open and I was soaked, but I laughed all the way to the front door. My PC sounded like it was straining to take off.

Today

I often say that when I leave the house I forget one thing I need, always at least one thing. This morning, I had to go back for my bookbag and the leftover toast. I’m having soup for lunch and this toast will taste wonderful, soaked in broth. I’ve been assured that when the dying part kicks the bucket my hard drive will not melt. That might be true of other people’s PCs but not mine. We don’t know what will happen.

We used to be a lot older.

This is Mom. Isn’t she pretty? She sure is. That’s her great-grandson looking mighty photogenic. For the sake of clarity, let’s call him “Spanky” – or, as Daria pronounces it, “‘Panky”. Try it out: Hey, Panky, let’s go get tattoos! or Panky, that’s my walrus! I like it. So there we have Mom and Panky. When I was a kid, I calculated I’d be 36 at the turn of the millenium and I recall feeling horrified that I’d be SO OLD! Now, Sophia Loren is gorgeous after 70. It’s a different life than it might be if we didn’t expect to live long enough to know and love our great-great-grandchildren, which privilege brings with it an increased responsibility to our present and our future.

On the other hand, since my life expectancy is about another forty years it’s pretty embarrassing that I haven’t planned – say – dinner. I’m working on it!

This week, Pete and I are packaging jams and jellies we made for shipping. I feel nervous for our glassy little darlings as they travel to Arizona, California and Cape Cod, but go they must, to be followed out of the nest by others in a day or two, to California, Utah and New Mexico. We have family in these places. Some recipients will see the significance of what we’ve done. Some will make toast and wield a spoon with abandon. We cannot say which is which, but one never can, which is half the fun. Merry Joyous SolstiKwanzHanukkaMas to everyone; to all, a Happy New Year.

This morning, I was thinking of wayward and lovely Isadora Duncan. You will note that baby had the temerity to not be born when I wanted him to, which of course sets the tone for a lifetime of scandalous public behavior. Personally, I suspect he’ll arrive on the 18th, if only because that would inconvenience me terribly. Rejoice! The banks are packed and the stores mobbed; the madding crowd will render me predictably homicidal. But, you know, it is better to give than to receive and I won’t be changing any diapers, so I’ll suck it up and sally forth. This kid might pick my nursing home. I should invest, don’t you agree?

Some days, I sit down to write with a topic or a conversation in mind. On those days, blogging is utterly effortless. Oh, look at me, I think, I’m a natural! Blogging is my life, and I’ve revolutionized the way words can be used to describe my wonderfulness. You will be pleased to learn there are other days, when staring at the blank Blogger screen humbles me properly and if that doesn’t do the trick there are yoga poses specifically designed tame the rampaging ego. My teacher smiles when she says, “And now, Ta’s favorite: the seated forward bend.”

We can’t really gauge our true size in the world. We can’t. We overestimate our importance and understimate our potential; we march like giants and crawl as infants do. What are we and what are we doing? What are the effects of our actions? We cannot tell. This, like brevity, is the soul of lingerie. I mean, what else explains the persistence of boy shorts in the wardrobes of women with womanly hips?

Astrologically, today is a very special day. We don’t have to talk about the constellation – oh, tee hee already! – of signs, portents and other crap; suffice it to say, I’ve told Miss Sasha that today’s the day I’d like a grandbaby. It would be convenient for me. I’d like to get started on the project of both spoiling the little guy rotten and dressing him like Joey Ramone. Heaven knows I’ve been patient, but even my patience has its limits.

Well, it’s lunchtime and I’ve got dinner plans. Let’s hope I don’t have to make a stern phone call before tea.

This morning, everyone in the tiny cul de sac by the Raritan River believes that I am a hand-painted moron. I suppose I am. I mean, you absolutely haven’t lived until you’ve ducked out for a bottle of wine and locked your keys into your motor vehicle with the engine running right in front of your apartment, and all you can say is, “How is that even possible?” There’s also this:

Tata: Are you going to break into my car?
Tow Truck Dude: No.

He reaches into a tool box and grabs a hammer.

Tata: I am not using that on my JerseyChickMobile.
TTD: Well, I don’t want to break your windows!
Tata: Then DON’T, crazy man.

To be fair, the Tow Truck Dude would probably say you hadn’t lived until you’ve driven the wrong way around a roundabout to be greeted by an ice-scraper wielding little old lady with a ladder over one shoulder, blurting out hot ones like, “This isn’t even the FUNNIEST problem I’ve had all day,” and “If you’d arrived ten minutes later, my legs would’ve been flailing out that living room window.”

Yesterday, I walked out of the unnamed university’s library and into the maelstrom. The sky overhead boiled, a raging, filthy gray, while off to the north: tranquil blue. I marveled for a moment at the almost comical angle the light took across the streets and through the trees.

“Things just haven’t been the same since someone dropped that house on my sister,” I said. Then I drove to the orthodontist. Speaking of driving, my favorite road trip ever puts it in gear every Monday night on the Science Channel, as three brainy characters drive around, checking out green technologies other brainy characters have brainly geared up. Look at this amazing episode guide:

Deep Fried Diesel
Monday, November 19 at 10pm et/pt
Get in the van with Chris, Nobu and Micah as they convert their diesel guzzling bus to run on pure vegetable oil, learn to make bio-diesel and explore cutting edge hybrid vehicle technologies.

Human Power
Monday, November 26 at 10pm et/pt
Nobu, Chris and Micah get the solar tech lowdown from California solar pioneers, install a panel to their bus, build a bike out of bamboo and then head to Oregon test drive the The Human Car.

Sun Power
Monday, December 3 at 10pm et/pt
Chris, Nobu and Micah battle veggie engine trouble on the road to exploring solar concentrators, micro-hydro power generation, state-of-the art lighting alternatives and solar ovens.

Dirt Rules
Sunday, December 16 at 3pm et/pt
Big trek to the Mid-West where Micah, Chris and Nobu install a floating wetland made from recycled bottles, see how to turn food waste into methane gas, learn about urban agriculture, and build a green roof on their green bus.

Last night, Pete and I watched Human Power and Dirt Rules. The floating island thing looked brilliant. I totally want to install some in the Raritan River and claim them in the name of France. Earth worm farming is great, great stuff and I’m utterly inspired by the green roof technology. Plus, our hosts are utterly charming at every turn. They helped me put my finger on what’s bothering me about the public discourse regarding energy: the American public is waiting for oil companies and utilities to solve this problem without any public involvement. The public is used to going about its business, and fully intends to do so now.

This is not the ad that makes my skin crawl but it’s from the same agency and certainly the same campaign. BP – now “Beyond Petroleum” – and DuPont want you to know they’ve partnered up to head off an oil-based Apocalypse, and your consumer future is secure. There are so many things wrong with this I’ll stick to one little sticky point: the oil companies are the major beneficiaries of the Iraq War. Not us. Not the Iraqis. The oil companies. You can say that by extention we benefit when things go well for the oil companies but that’s like saying if your drug dealer’s rolling in it your future of shooting up is secure.

The thing Invention Nation gently points out is that the oil companies cannot offer a solution to America’s oil problem unless they get out of the oil business. I don’t see anyone rushing to do that, do you? Nope. The solutions to our energy problems will come from people and businesses who see the future clearly. The solutions will come from people like you and me, who see that this addiction corrupts and contorts, and we want to be free of it.

Dick Cheney doesn’t get the ruby slippers if you don’t give them to him. They’re yours. You have the power. What will you do?