I Have Problems

Okay, there are many people who have more problems than I do, like the fella I'm about to tell you about, but as you will see, I do indeed have issues.

You may recall that a while ago I mentioned a co-worker who insists that moon and June do not rhyme. I may not have mentioned at that time that said co-worker also collects (and talks to) Beanie Babies, wears bow ties with sandals, socks, and shorts (all at the same time), has a baby face, sings like an angel, and is a grandfather in his 60s. He's a very nice man--the kind who would never hurt a fly--but he's also the kind of person whose whimsical nature seems a little put-on to me, and there are few things that drive me crazier than forced whimsy.

So he bugs me, which makes me feel bad because I know he's really a good person.

Anyway, he stopped to chit chat this morning, and happened to mention that the university's ILL Department was able to find a book for him that he hadn't been able to track down anywhere, no matter how hard he tried. He was so grateful when he went in to pick up the book that he hung around to give praise to the librarian, who then--to humor him and maybe get him to quit embarrassing her, I bet--asked about the subject of the book. He told her the book was about Denny Dennis, known in the 40s as "The English Bing Crosby." "Oh," sniffed the librarian, "Didn't he abuse his kids?"

At this point in the story, my co-worker stopped to take a deep breath. He had tears in his eyes. He leaned over mile file cabinet to hide his face in his hands. When he was strong enough, he said, with shaking voice, "That woman is an asshole. Bing Crosby did not abuse his children. I know the truth."

Well. Oh, dear. What to do with this crying man child? I said, "You know, I have a grudge against that library--they won't give me a job!" We sort of commiserated there a bit, and then MY PHONE RANG, so he wandered away. THANK GOD!

So then I quickly jumped online to see just how hard this book would be to find. BECAUSE I CARE, for some reason. I don't care about the British Bing, but I had to know what was giving the crazy co-worker so much trouble. Turns out it's out of print, but readily available if you have a bit of cash. Why do I care? I suppose because I have a Master's Degree, dammit, and must use it whenever the situation presents itself.

I have problems.

Potterific

The Boy and I saw the Half Blood Prince movie today (I am dork enough to have scheduled a vacation day from work for it), and while there are a few problems/issues, I think it's the best one since Prisoner of Azkaban. We'll see it again at the drive-in with my mom this weekend, and I may see it once more on my own.

My GOD are those kids cute!



I seriously heart Luna.

The Hypocrisy of Disco

I picked up The Hypocrisy of Disco thanks to Badger, and I have to agree with her overall assessment. I almost didn't bother, because I was afraid the book would be too much like The Glass Castle, which put me off memoirs for a long time, but Clane Hayward never offers up any sort Poor Me feelings the way Jeannette Walls did.

Hayward is completely matter of fact about her childhood, even though there was a lot of sadness involved. She often didn't have enough food. She was regularly filthy. She realized once later, when an uncle's girlfriend was washing her hair, that no one had touched her lovingly or tenderly in a very long time--that's the saddest thing for me right there. My parents were super-young when they got married, and spent a lot of time living as super-young people in the late 60s and early 70s did (there are plenty of snapshots to prove it), but my sister and I always knew we were loved. Yes, there was plenty of alcohol and more than a few illicit substances involved in their Harley driving, Big Brother & the Holding Co. lives, but my parents held our hands, held us while we slept, kissed our sweaty heads, and made us bathe. Sure there was macrame and wheat germ and whiskey in my tea when I was sick, but I had a home and parents who loved me and took care of me when I was sick.

Did I sometimes wish we were more normal? Sure. I wanted to be "straight" as much as Hayward did--but reading this book makes me realize how close to straight we actually were. It's a good book, and sometimes a fun book, and I feel enormous respect for Hayward.

And now I want to go hug my kid and call my parents.

Pin a Rose on My Nose

Guess what I just did? I pre-ordered a book for my dad . . . FOR CHRISTMAS! Which means that I also just created the annual Christmas Spreadsheet, including a list of people to whom I'd like to give gifts, ideas for those gifts, purchase (or knit) date, and amount of money spent/pending so I can keep a sort of budget.

Line my eyes and call me pretty! (And then enjoy this picture of a lemony good Christmas tree from a few Phipps' exhibits ago.)

Does it Still Count?

C and I just wished one another a happy 14th wedding anniversary. We figure that since neither one of us regrets the marriage (who can regret years of happiness, plus the extra special bonus gift of The Boy), we might as well acknowledge the day happily. True, we aren't married anymore, but sometimes I think we like each other more than many married couples do. Hmm . . . maybe he'll even buy me something shiny for our 20th? He *does* like shopping, and he has great taste.

I have been doing very little lately, which is okay by me. I'm working on a delightful summer cold, I think, and tearing through Sookie Stackhouse novels. I think I'm on the 5th, and I have the 6th ready in my bag in case I finish while I'm away from home. I'm also listening to the newest Maisie Dobbs book, Among the Mad. I'll buy the novel once it's out in paperback, because I like the series very much, but it's making for a good listen--an excellent knitting companion.

I am working on a sweater for my mom. I abandoned the socks I started for The Boy, because I am incapable of dealing with those tiny freaking sticks and the wretched string--it takes too long, and I guess I'm much too impatient. Maybe someday. The sweater is going well, though. Here's a pic of the back. I have about three more inches of stockinette to go before I move along to arms.


I had to figure out how to do a provisional cast-on for the hem, which I think looks great. I found the pattern on the Mason-Dixon Knitting site. I have their first book, and I love it, and this pattern seems pretty lovable so far--it's called The Perfect Sweater, and if it works out, it could be my new best friend. We'll see. I promised The Boy I'd make him a Harry Potter-style scarf in his school colors next.

Speaking of The Boy, he's at a soccer camp at his school every morning this week. The school is just about three miles from our house, in a very nice neighborhood. There is another very nice neighborhood between ours and the school's. I have been letting The Boy leave camp, walk into the middle neighborhood for lunch, library, browsing at the store that sells video games, etc. He calls to keep in touch, but he pretty much has free reign. I'm comfortable with it, and glad he feels comfortable doing it--he's going to be in 7th grade, after all, so he's not a little kid anymore.

Do you know, though, that there's only one other kid in his grade who's allowed to join him? One kid was allowed to go on a school trip to the rain forests in Costa Rica for two weeks, but he's not allowed to spend an unsupervised afternoon roaming his own neighborhood. I just don't get it.

Success!

I used to watch Dexter, the good little mad scientist, on Cartoon Network all the time, and I've never felt more like him than I did as I surveyed my new floor on Saturday. Behold:





I still need to get the quarter-round stuff and paint the baseboards, but it's SO NICE! It's pretty and clean and makes the room so much better!

My parents came down Saturday, and my dad brought a portable table saw which helped enormously. Even giving the break for grilled sausages, potato salad, regular salad, iced tea and brownies, we were still finished in four hours. Awesome.

RIP

This is how they'll look in my head, forever and always.