Writer's Block Sucks, Man

FAIR WARNING: This probably won't be funny. Like, at all.

A little more than three weeks ago, I married my very best friend. Those of you who were there know that when he declared his love for me, it was breathtaking. I literally stopped breathing, I'm pretty sure. I don't remember exactly what he said (sorry, honey) but I remember feeling completely and utterly awash in his love for me. And then I remember thinking how incredibly lucky I am that this brilliant, funny, driven, talented, stunning, beautiful person had decided to pledge his life to me.

There's something that has always been true about Troy and me. He plans ahead, he works methodically, and I...procrastinate. So, we both knew that we had to write these declarations of love, you know, sometime before the ceremony. To Troy, this meant that he should sit down a few weeks in advance, work through what he wanted to say, get it down on paper, edit a little, and be ready well in advance. He's so good. To me, on the other hand, this meant no rush, no worries...it'll get done, it always does. (This is, incidentally, how I write everything--I sit down right before it has to be done, spit it out, and it's usually pretty good. I know that sounds conceited, but I'm leaving it out there.)

I should tell you that in the week or so preceding my wedding, I was crazy busy and crazy stressed. So many wedding related things went wrong, and I felt all the weight of that on my shoulders because I was the one who had planned this wedding start to finish. Just me. And I was quickly becoming convinced that if so many things were going wrong, it must be because I had done a bad job. And I wanted so badly to create a perfect day for Troy and I to celebrate our commitment with the people we love--I didn't realize until I was walking up the lawn toward the love of my life that the day would have been perfect no matter what I did. Handily, the day was perfect in every way, and I'm quite sure that had nothing to do with my prior preparation. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The point of my obnoxious complaints about my stress level pre-wedding is this: I had left writing my declaration of love until that week. Bad call. I sat down so many times that week to write, and...nothing. Worst (and only) case of writer's block I've ever had. And suddenly, it was Saturday--the day I was getting married--and I still had nothing. I told myself I could still make it happen, write something that adequately expressed my insane, overwhelming, all-consuming love for the man I'm spending the rest of my life with. Turns out, all I could think of were the 1,000,012 little things that make me love him. The little, every day things that make up a life and a love and a marriage. I couldn't come up with anything near grand enough for this monumental occasion. (This is distinctly out of character for me; I'm usually pretty good with prose.)

So, I made myself some notes and told myself that when I was up there, I would embellish with beautiful words. And then it started. I was blissfully happy as I walked toward him. Our awesome officiant read the words I had written for our ceremony and my throat started to tighten. My wonderful sisters-in-law read the passages we'd selected and I began to tear. Then when Troy started to speak.....I lost it entirely. Then it was my turn, and frankly, we're lucky I was able to speak at all, lucky that I remembered how to read, because I was so overwhelmed with love, so excited to be standing next to the love of my life, and so thrilled to be marrying him--I had lost control of almost all my faculties. So I read the words I'd put on my little card. Told Troy and all our loved ones that I love him because he makes me eat vegetables (because it means that he wants to me to be healthy and live a long time with him). Told him I love him because he drives hours on snow-packed roads to come get me when I'm afraid to drive any further (because it means that he's utterly dependable and will do anything for me and has a wonderful family who will drive with him so that there's someone to drive my car back). Told him I love him because he's so easy to look at (because I still get butterflies when I see him). And then at the end, I managed to get it together a little bit and tell him that I feel entirely and utterly safe with him and that I have no doubts whatsoever about how happy I will be spending the rest of my life with him. But it wasn't the beautiful, eloquent speech that I had assumed I'd make.

Part of me wishes that I'd been able to write the speech I'd imagined in my head. But the other part of me knows that what I said couldn't have been any more real--it was the result of the very real and intense way in which I experienced this whole process of wedding. And while I find myself wishing that I had said something half as beautiful as what Troy said to me (he had the whole place in tears), I wouldn't change a thing about that day or our incredible ceremony, or the incredible man whose steady eyes boring into mine were the only thing that kept me from falling down the porch steps we got married on when he declared to the world that he thinks I'm amazing. Fancy that.

Nashville is Under Water

I've been gone for a while. I'm sorry about that, though I'm sure you all have other things with which to entertain yourselves. I wanted to take a step away from my usual random thoughts and tell you a little bit about what's going on here in my adopted city.

First let me say this. I love Nashville. It's a beautiful city full of wonderfully kind, generous, open hearted people, even though some of them are the weirdest drivers I have ever encountered in my entire life. This light has been red for too long. I'm just going to go ahead and go. Oops, that car is coming directly towards me. I'll reverse. Still red? Ah, I'm just going anyway. ::facepalm:: That aside, this is a cultural melting pot with some of the most interesting people I've had the pleasure to meet, and it's a musical mecca which is a joy. The city is alive and quirky and awesome.

This past weekend we got more rain than we've ever gotten. Ever. Period. Full stop. Almost 14" fell in the city over about 36 hours, and it was more than that if you were measuring from different locations in the metro area. Because we didn't exactly design our rivers, creeks, etc. all that well, they drain into each other. Flash flood warnings started coming early in the day on Saturday, and when one creek flash flooded, it drained into a body just a bit larger, and the water levels kept going up, until each river in the area (there are multiple rivers in Nashville for my desert homies who are confused by that concept) was about 10-15ft above flood level. And each river, as it drained, emptied itself into the largest river, the Cumberland, which winds through the entire town. The flash floods, the vast amounts of rainfall, the rising water levels....these were a recipe for a disaster the likes of which we have never seen here.

Nor did we really expect to. You don't really have "Nashville" and "grab your galoshes" in the same thought. You don't think of us as potentially waterlogged. But, at least 19 people are dead, and as the waters recede, they are finding more bodies. People died as they sat on the interstate, unable to go anywhere, and unable to escape the fast moving flood. People died as the waters trapped them inside their homes. People died trying to save others. It's heartbreaking, and I don't actually know any of those people.

I have friends whose cars are literally missing. They floated away and can't be found. What do you put on that insurance claim? I have friends who have lost everything. They left their homes with what they could carry, and in most cases with their pets, and they left quickly. Most of the stories I'm hearing at work indicate to me that at one minute, things were fine, the next they looked down and had water rapidly rising around their ankles. How do you even decide what to take with you at that point?

For anyone wondering, I'm perfectly fine. Everyone close to me is fine as well, though some of them are dealing with some pretty severe damage and some still can't get home because the water hasn't gone down yet. We're extraordinarily lucky. I live about 12 blocks from the river (the big one) and it flooded its banks by about 5 blocks...that left me a 7 block cushion and a really good view of the devastation of Nashville's tourist and entertainment industry. The Grand Ole Opry, Opryland Hotel, Opry Mills Mall...under 19 feet of water. For all intents and purposes they are destroyed. The heart and soul of much of Nashville's economy is devastated, and we have no idea how much time and money it will take to come back. According to early estimates, this might be the costliest non-hurricane natural disaster in American history.

Google us. Find out what happened. Because the national news services gave us about 15 minutes and then moved on. I'm not sure why. I have a sneaking suspicion that people who don't live here have no real idea that this city has been hit hard at its heart. But as someone said, we are Nashville. We'll come back. We generally take care of ourselves and each other. You could see it over the last few days when we were without power, down to one water treatment plant, and people could still canoe the streets--there was no looting. None. When the mayor asked us all to cut our water use in half, people actually made a concerted effort to do so, and a lot of probably did so at some cost to personal hygiene. I mentioned this already, but people died to save each other. They threw their belongings out of their boats and off the backs of their jetskis (yes, people were travelling by jetski) in order to make room for their neighbors and their neighbors' pets. This was an absurd few days. But it was a testament to this city.

So Nashville is under water, and we're going to need help. I'm not sure how we're going to get it since no one outside of Nashville really knows what's happening. But spread the word. This is a remarkable place, and we'd love to welcome you with open arms as soon as we can get back on our feet.

If you're outside of Nashville, and you want to help, click here.

If you're in Nashville and you're looking for ways to help this article has some good resources.

You're not friends with celebrities.

Here is my public service announcement for the day:

You are not friends with celebrities. You don't know them personally. What they do on a daily basis, how they behave in their personal lives, their individual choices--these have no affect on you.

I want everyone to really think about this one. Cogitate on it with me. Because I'm getting more than a little confused by the number of people who seem personally wounded by things done by people they have never met.

Let's take an example. If my friend Glenda (she's fictional, so as to protect the innocent) was dating my friend Vincent (also fictional), and Vincent was cheating on Glenda with every woman with a nose that he could get his hands on--I might be understandably perturbed. Because I know both Glenda and Vincent. I consider them friends. I thought I understood Vincent, and trusted him to carefully guard the heart of my dear friend Glenda--but instead he cavalierly stomped all over it. I'm hurting for Glenda, I'm incensed on her behalf, and I'm also upset that I was duped into believing that Vincent was an honorable guy (the only kind I really like to be friends with, the shady ones are annoying). Vincent, Glenda, and I have shared pizzas, wandered the mall, spent countless hours talking and bonding over our mutual distrust of all things related to Fox news. But suddenly, that's ruined, and it's unpleasant (possibly for the best really, because I sound like quite the annoying third wheel).

ON THE OTHER HAND. If Tiger Woods is married to his wife (whose name I actually don't know and I'm not going to bother to look it up because that will only contribute to the madness that is this entire phenomenon), and he ends up cheating on her with lots of women (again, I don't know the specifics and I'm not going to find them out)--I might be...completely and totally UNAFFECTED. My life will not change a lick if Tiger dies his hair purple, if his wife runs over all his golf clubs with an orange golf cart that he bought her for their 5th anniversary, or if they get divorced. I don't care. And neither should you. Unless Tiger and Tiger's wife (what is her name?!) are your Vincent and Glenda, I have no earthly clue why this should make you feel anything other than a passing, "Oh dear, well isn't that too bad." Because on a basic human level, it is too bad. It's a bummer that we do bad things to each other. But unless you're planning to go on a crusade to eliminate marital infidelity (and I do think there are other crusades you should go on first), I'm not sure why you're so disturbed, why you're distressed that Tiger Woods isn't the person you thought he was--you didn't know him anyway.

If everyone's rancor was due to the actual fact of the infidelity, then every unfaithful spouse would be getting a lot more news coverage. News stations would be pulling divorce records and tracking down the parties involved to ask them how they could possibly have done this to all of us, and asking for public apologies. But obviously that's not happening, and it's because we don't care so much about what celebrities are doing....we care about the fact that they're doing anything at all where we can see them. And it's especially thrilling if we can get them to rehash it for us publicly, and maybe tearfully apologize. Because standing at that podium, with all those microphones, it seems like they're talking directly to us.

This point is especially obvious when you consider that we are now in the business of creating our own celebrities whose lives we can know more about than we know about our friends. All the ridiculous reality shows on television--where we follow entirely random people around in their daily lives, people who have done nothing to gain celebrity other than be in the appropriate place at the appropriate time and get "cast" in their own lives--these just feed our belief that people on television, in movies, and in the media should have lives that are open books. And somehow, we've come to think that simply knowing details about a person's life means we know that person and thereby have rights to some sort of opinion on everything they do. Which is, of course, patently absurd.

So I beg you to keep the following in mind:

1) You do not know Tiger Woods and the fact that he cheated on his wife has nothing to do with you and, I daresay, has not had any detrimental affect on you whatsoever.

2) Ryan Seacrest and the girl on American Idol this season who can actually sing--yeah, you don't know them either and whatever random drama was going on between them was very likely staged so that people like you would talk about it at work for days on end. It's annoying and you should stop. Because whether Ryan Seacrest is actually mean to the contestants is pretty irrelevant to your life.

3) I can't think of any other ridiculous celebrity stories, because I haven't seen E!, MTV, or VH1 since I graduated from college. And the only news I can stomach is NPR, and they're pretty light on the celebrity news.

4) Oh! I LOVE my office for inspiration. Someone just started discussing Sandra Bullock and where she's going to file for divorce. It doesn't matter since she's not (I'm fairly certain) divorcing anyone in my office.

Save your righteous indignation for when people you know do crappy things. It'll seem more authentic. And that way, Vincent will really get the tongue lashing that's coming to him...poor Glenda doesn't have the heart to do it herself in her state.



N.B. I'd like my readers (all 2 of you) to know that the "you"s in this post are the universal you and not directed at any of you in particular. Also, if you actually do know a celebrity, you can disregard. Kthanks.

Weddings are a conspiracy by the postal service.

Okay, for anyone who's missed the memo: I'm getting married. To Troy. We've talked about him a bit. He's pretty great. Anyway, that's nice, but not really the point. The point is that I've discovered several things during the process of planning a wedding, and one of them is that weddings are AWESOME for the postal service.

Let's think about it. We send out save the dates. We send out invitations. We send out registry information cards. We send out shower invitations. We send out rehearsal dinner invitations. We send out bridesmaid luncheon invitations. We send out day-after brunch invitations. We send out thank you notes for the many many gifts, including the ones that are mailed to us. And despite the fact that we live in an electronic age, where everything from college applications to pizza orders are done online, we are vehemently opposed to sending any of these things out electronically. Because it would be RUDE.

And here's my question: how can a method of communicating something be inherently rude or polite? I mean, sure, if I invited people to my wedding by saying, "You. Wedding. December 1. Be there or I'll punch you in the throat." That would be rude. Because you should never threaten people with violence in order to make them come celebrate your nuptials and buy you a present. Poor taste. But what exactly is more or less polite about a beautiful invitation that makes clear that a couple values you, your friendship, and your presence at the beginning of their marriage either on paper or on your computer screen? Is it because you feel special that they spent an average of $700 on their invitations (that's the average amount a couple spends, but trust me when I tell you that the really nice invites can run up to $9 PER INVITE)? Does spending money on the invitation mean you care more about the people you're inviting? What about the care you have for the trees you're killing and the resources you're wasting on invitations that people will literally throw away in very short order? If you got an email with an attachment that was an image of a beautiful invitation and it contained a hyperlink that allowed you to click yes or no--what exactly would the problem be?

I understand that there is a problem. There is a reason that no one is doing this. I've heard the "some people don't have computers or internet" excuse--but we're rapidly running out of steam on that one. My step-grandparents, who are *ahem* not spring chickens, were among the FIRST people to use my wedding website and were again among the first to RSVP electronically. My parents receive more emails from my mema than from anyone else. They've got a computer and they know how to use it, and what's more, they DO use it all. the. time. Anyone ever seen myparentsjoinedfacebook.com? It's the 21st century, people. We have computers in our wristwatches, our cell phones, our dashboards, and everyone is using them. The parents on facebook thing is really not a problem for me, but is totally a topic for another day.

Each of the invitations to each of the wedding-related activities are supposed to be printed on paper and mailed. Because it's polite. And I've heard the "woe is me" tales from those who have received these invitations in electronic form. Here are some of my favorites (all things I have actually heard or read from real people):

If you send an electronic invitation you're not spending any money, which means you're asking me to get you a nice gift when you didn't put forth any monetary effort yourself.

Umm...ok? Because it's not even remotely possible that I have a limited budget and decided that instead of putting $1000 toward paper invitations I decided to spend that money on an open bar or a delicious entree choice that you will undoubtedly enjoy more? And I was actually not aware that I was sending wedding invitations in an effort to elicit from you the most expensive wedding gift possible. I thought I was inviting you to my wedding so that you would 1) know that I'm getting married and when; 2) know that you have been an important part of my or my fiance's life; and 3) know that it would mean a great deal to one or both of us if you shared in our joy on the day that we publicly commit our lives to each other. But maybe that's just me.

Things done online are inherently less formal than things printed on paper, so if you send me an electronic invitation, I will assume that means your event is informal.

Well that's just silly. You can apply to Harvard online. You can apply to work for the President online. And when I say "can" I really mean "should"--I've been working in admissions for a while, and I'll tell you that we take someone a lot more seriously when we receive their application online because it's neater and easier to read, and it doesn't give us more paper to keep track of, which is just annoying. So you can't convince me that there's anything inherently formal or informal about the internet.

Electronic invitations are impersonal. I like to picture the bride and groom sitting around a table with their families, addressing each invitation, and telling stories about the people they're inviting and why they've been important parts of the lives of the bride and groom.

That's not going to happen, first of all. Personally, I had a little team of girls who helped me with my invitations, and that was great--we sat and chatted and then we had dinner together. It was lovely. BUT, most brides that I know spend night after night feverishly sitting at their kitchen table working on their invitations until they're so sick of them they want to puke. I was a lucky girl to have lovely people helping me. But I did my save-the-dates and my rehearsal dinner invitations all on my own, the stuffing, the addressing, the stamping, the sealing. It's not fun, it's not personal, and it doesn't promote positive associations with the people to whom the little envelopes are being sent. And explain to me how receiving an identical physical invitation to every other person on the guest list is somehow more personal than receiving an identical electronic invitation? The difference is that with the physical one, someone has to write your name and address, but with an electronic invite, they only have to type in your email. Both of which are specific to you. And about the only personalization the invite is getting. And I'll be real with you. A lot of brides pay people to address their invites for them. So I'm missing the personal touch in all this.

Really, I don't get it. But SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE has us convinced of these things. There must be some sort of outside force, because I refuse to believe that there are so many people in the world who are just blindly and illogically obsessed with unfounded rules about what is rude and what is polite. And I believe that force is the United States Postal Service. I mean, come on....who benefits from this, except for them? Stationery companies can always transition to electronic media and make you pay them for their designs--a lot of them are already doing it. But the postal service--they'd be in even deeper sh** than they currently are if everyone suddenly discovered that it's perfectly acceptable, much easier, and way cheaper, if we just do all these wedding-y things electronically. So they go around making sure we all firmly believe that we would be the height of impudence to even consider e-viting people to our weddings, showers, rehearsals, and brunches.

And I have bought it. Hook, line, and sinker. I am utterly terrified of being considered ill-mannered, and there is more than one person in my life who I fear would be truly offended if I violated any social mores. And I really don't like upsetting people or causing them to think badly of me. I even paid extra for postage so that I could have the pretty wedding stamps instead of buying stamps in the amount I actually needed--yeah, the postal service loves me. Since I got engaged, I have mailed more things than I have mailed in my entire life. And there's no end in sight. I'm on a couple of wedding blogs and there are long, detailed conversations about which stamps to use and whether it's worth it to spend more on postage in order to use the envelopes you REALLY like. So yeah. Weddings are a conspiracy by the postal service. We're keeping them in business, and I firmly believe that if not for the income generated for them by weddings, postage would have gone up to way more than 44 cents by now. You're welcome. ;)

Abba Wrote a Song About Me

Well at least I'm pretty sure it's about me. I mean, who else could they possibly have had in mind when they wrote Thank You for the Music in 1977 (and released it on an album creatively titled "The Album"...Oh, Abba...), 9 years before I was to grace the earth with my presence? Abba is wise. They saw me coming.

Let's break it down, line by line, and you'll see what I mean.

I'm nothing special, in fact I'm a bit of a bore.

Ok, that one they got wrong. Clearly I delight everyone with whom I come in contact with my unique wit and overwhelming charm. And with my modesty, which is so pervasive as to fill up whole rooms. No really. But, you can't blame Abba--we don't technically speak the same language and we come from different cultures, so it's possible they just don't understand me.

When I tell a joke, you've probably heard it before.

Well, that's true but it's only because I have a horrendous memory when it comes to what I've already told you and what I haven't. Let's be clear, I'm not much for "joke" telling, I'm more of an "amusing anecdote" kind of person, and while I have them to share in unlimited supply I often forget to whom I have told which tale of hilarity. For this, I offer many apologies, and I ask only that you listen politely on the 2nd and 3rd tellings, laughing at the appropriate junctures, and wait until I am re-telling for the 4th time to inform me that you've heard this one already. Thanks.

But I have a talent, a wonderful thing, 'cause everyone listens when I start to sing.

Yes, I'm really really good at demanding attention. And, I have an unfortunate habit of singing at inappropriate times. In the line at the grocery store, in my cubicle at work, at parties....songs just pop into my head and I start singing them. It's a complusion and I can't seem to really control it at all. I also do a lot of singing at appropriate times--with my voice teachers, in choir rehearsal, at karaoke bars. But I have to be honest and say that if this is one of those "which came first" questions--the inappropriate or the appropriate singing--I'd have to say it was the inappropriate. I showed a certain proclivity for singing at weird times starting a very young age--but we'll talk about that shortly. Needless to say, I'm guessing my parents were hoping that putting me in choirs and voice lessons would give me an outlet and I'd stop singing all the bloody time. Oh well. ;)

I'm so grateful and proud, all I want is to sing it out loud.

That's basically true. I'm grateful to my parents for supporting my singing habit so staunchly, grateful to Troy and my friends for continuing to put up with it (especially to Troy--I mean, I love all of you, but none of you have to share a 650 sq. ft. condo with me and the songs I get stuck in my head). And I'm proud because (and I'm being perfectly frank here) I don't think all the money and time spent on this habit in my youth was wasted. I'm not half bad. And, in fact, mostly what I want is to sing it (to be read as "everything") out loud. I look forward to driving by myself so that I can practice in the car. I spend HOURS memorizing new songs by listening to them on repeat while reading the lyrics very carefully. And I love showers because the acoustics are so good.

Let's skip the chorus for now...it shows up several times and we'll get there shortly.

Mother says I was a dancer before I could walk, she says I began to sing long before I could talk.

I've heard stories along these lines from both my parents for a long time. So I'm pretty sure they're true. Okay, perhaps not literally true--"before I could walk" and "before I could talk" are just used for dramatic effect and embellishment to make a point. I started dancing and singing really early. This not-quite-accurate-but-still-reflective-of-something-that-actually-happened line makes me even more certain that this song is about me. Just ask Troy...I embellish all the time and drive him nuts. ;) Anyway, I have pictures as proof of how ridiculously early I started dancing "for reals" (aged 2.5) but I'm quite certain there was some pretty spastically wonderful dancing happening before my training kicked in. And apparently, I was not a crier as a baby--I didn't wake up in my crib and cry to alert my parents to my current state and my desire to be attended to. I woke up in my crib and sang until my parents noticed me. I believe the mornings went something like this:

Parents: (hearing Mary singing) Good morning, Mary.

Mary: Hi! Do you wanna sing a song?

Parents: Well sure, sweetheart. (They were very accommodating.)

Parents and Mary: *sing until parents decide there's something else that should be happening*

Don't lie. You are totally hoping that's what your kid does to wake you up instead of wailing like a banshee.

And I've often wondered, where did it all start? Who found out that nothing can capture the heart like a melody can? Well whoever it was, I'm a fan.

A fascinating question and, in fact, one that I have pondered on occasion. Turns out, I'm not alone. Darwin wondered what could have possessed man to go from producing sounds purely for utility to producing them for pleasure (ie. music). In The Descent of Man, and Selection in Relation to Sex (not very pithy with that one, was he?): "As neither the enjoyment nor the capacity of producing musical notes are faculties of the least use to man...they must be ranked amongst the most mysterious with which he is endowed." There are a variety of theories as to why we might have developed the drive to make music--the one I like is a compilation of other theories and goes like this: Our ability to make music is a side effect of our abilities to do other things like speak and make vocalizations in response to emotional stimuli (animal vocalizations). Our perceptual and cognitive abilities sort of accidentally make us respond emotionally to music. But that doesn't really answer the question WHO and WHERE? We're not really sure, because early humans weren't very practiced in self-awareness and they didn't think to make a note in the cave wall when they first discovered a pleasant little ditty. There is a theory that it was no earlier than late homo erectus (about 500,000 years ago) because there is fossil evidence that it was then that humans developed a larger thoracic vertebral canal which is linked to greater breath control, and thus the ability for complex vocalization. (Wow...nerdy much? I'm done now.) Seriously though, not sure where it started or with whom, but I love it.

I've been so lucky. I am the girl with golden hair. I wanna sing it out to everybody--what a joy, what a life, what a chance!

In all seriousness. I am outstandingly, disgustingly lucky. I won't go into details as to why, but I will say that it has very little to do with my hair color (especially since my betrothed and I can't seem to agree on what color my hair is). I am annoyingly happy with my life when I ignore certain unfortunate things that are only temporary and really not all that important--possibly a contributing factor to all the inappropriate singing. Well. I'd probably just sing sadder stuff if I was bummed all the time.

And on to the chorus:

So I say thank you for the music, the songs I'm singing.

I do. Thanks prehistoric singing dudes.

Thanks for all the joy they're bringing. Who can live without it? I ask in all honesty.

Ok, I think we're getting a little ahead of ourselves. I'm not at all certain that my random singing of random songs no one has heard of brings all that much joy to anyone but me and I'm decently sure that a lot of people could live without it.

What would life be? Without a song or a dance what are we?

Ohhhhhh, you don't mean live without MY singing in particular. You meant songs and dance in GENERAL. Well that's a horse of a different color. Yes, indeed, what would we be? I'll let Nietzsche sum this one up for me, because I've gone on long enough already. He said, "Without music, life would be a mistake." Agreed, Friedrich.

So yeah. Clearly, the song is about me. Anyone else have any songs written about them? Because it's pretty awesome.

There are Zombies in Our Midst

I can't take credit for this particular thought. It was in a conversation with my father that somehow included the best Star Trek line ever ("No, I'm from Iowa, I only work in outer space."), cat dander, and, finally, the total and utter insanity that is the modern day Tea Party movement. It was my dad who compared them to Zombies. Now let me tell you why.

I heard a story on NPR this morning, the purpose of which was to compare today's Tea Party to the original. This was a bit jarring since there's um...no comparison. They're not comparable. Disturbingly, there seem to be very few Tea Partiers who are aware of that. They truly, firmly, and honestly believe that they are reviving the values that founded our country. What they fail to understand (or remember from their 4th grade history books) is that the Boston Tea Party was not about opposition to taxation. The colonists understood and appreciated the contract made with one's government that required taxes to be paid in exchange for the protection and services government provides. Their beef was the fact that they were being taxed by a government in which they had no voice. Everyone say it with me now: "NO TAXATION WITHOUT REPRESENTATION!"

There is, however, no convincing Tea Party members of this. When the President of the Massachussetts Tea party had the discrepancy between her goals and the goals of the original Tea Party pointed out to her, she said, "I don't believe that." The TEA (Taxed Enough Already) Party claims that the Obama Administration taxes us too much and that all that money should remain in the pockets of individual Americans. A position they are well entitled to...other than the fact that the Obama Administration has cut taxes for 95% of Americans through tax credits and the like. Madame President's response to that pesky fact? "Well, I don't believe that." Well, as my convictions require me to support your right to believe whatever the hell you want, that's alright, but I hope you don't mind my pointing out that you're delusional. There are plenty of things that are true that I'd prefer not to believe, but given my fairly firm grasp on my reality, I'm forced to accept them. Some examples, in case you're curious:

• Sarah Palin actually was elected to public office. By Americans. And COULD have been Vice President. As in, second in line. *shudder*
• A lot of people actually do play Farmville on Facebook.
• Working out needs to be done regularly and you know...for the rest of my life. Sigh.
• People are genuinely upset about Tiger Woods' infidelity...because it clearly affects them deeply and will alter the way they live their day to day lives. Or not.

There is absolutely no reasoning with Madame President. If you told her that President Obama issued an executive order naming that sport with the orange balls, and the baskets, and the wooden floors "basketball", she'd disagree with him. She and her companions have abandoned rational discourse and replaced it with blind hatred and opposition to anything and everything having to do with the current administration and the current Congress. They. Are. Zombies. We can't get them back. Whoever they used to be...they're gone. They will never be convinced to meet us in the middle, to compromise on anything, to work with anyone who doesn't expressly agree with them on everything. As my father said: They're like the zombies in every other movie that came out in the last 10 years (Sidenote: could we not think of a new plotline? Really? A bunch of people in one location get infected with something. Turns them into zombies. We quarantine them. Then, like utter idiots, we go in to make sure they're all dead. Whoops! They're not. Cue deathfight with zombies. Score! Hit after hit at the box office. Anyway.). They've been infected, they can't be cured, and all we can do now is try to contain them and prevent them from infecting anyone else.

American education has to be better. How have we managed to educate generations of people who think that you can demand tax cuts and deficit reduction at the same time? Who demand tax cuts, dammit! from a president who passed one of the biggest tax cuts ever in his first month in office? Who are blithely unaware of the basis on which our country was founded and who SERIOUSLY can't even remember the adorable rhyme we all learned (let's all say it again! NO TAXATION WITHOUT REPRESENTATION!)? Who are more than willing to drag brave patriots down to their level in a fairly disgusting and transparent profit-hording endeavor ($500 a plate at their convention? Mmmm... dry chicken.)?

So. There are zombies in our midst. I think we should be afraid of them. Even if you're on board with with basic premise that taxes and big government are bad (you would not be unreasonable to feel that way, we just may disagree on the definition of terms), I submit that you should be terrified of anyone who refuses rationality and reason. Let's all get together and make sure they don't bite and infect anyone we like....no....make sure they don't get to anyone else.

My Cat Gets Mad When I Use His Toilet

There's something very strange about my cat. Scratch that (ha). There are several somethings that are very strange about him. But perhaps topping the list is his proclivity for peeing in the toilet. The human toilet. The only toilet in our very small, 1 bathroom home. Let me start at the beginning.

When we (read: I) decided to get a cat, Troy was (understandably) trepidatious about the introduction of the delights of a litter box into our daily existence. I, on my soap box, refused to have an outdoor cat and I detailed the dangers of doing so. We were at a bit of an impasse until, in my kitten search, I came across a picture of "Tangle" (sidenote: what the hell kind of name for a cat is Tangle?). A teeny, tiny orange tabby with an unspeakably large head and similarly sized ears. Eyes the same color as his orange fur added to his adorable charm. Troy was immediately sold, as was I, and we immediately started rationalizing our way out of the litter box debacle by claiming that we would toilet train our kitten. I've seen it on YouTube, how hard can it BE?!

We finally passed muster with the rescue group (Do you currently have any cats? Why not? Did you cause their premature demise through your own ineptitude? Do you hate cats? Oh you DO have cats? So you have no time to devote to this new cat, do you? We're just kidding, here--have a kitten. Bastards.) We picked up little Tangle (whose name was changed to Hermes as soon as his foster mom was out of earshot) in the parking lot of a Dairy Queen (class-y), and started the long drive home. We were in love. He crawled around on Troy for a while, then promptly curled up on Troy's shoulder and started purring very loudly. Nothing quite so therapeutic as a cat purring. Troy is a big believer in handling the crap out of cats when they're young so that they're comfortable with it when they get older--I'm not sure Hermes needed this training, because his favorite place to be seemed to be "as close as possible to you" but it turned out that it was a good idea on that particular car ride, because of....the discovery.

Hermes was covered. Covered. Crawling. With fleas. **shudder** I've always had indoor animals, and always lived in a place where insect infestations weren't a huge concern (except for moths...anyone? anyone?), so this was new and very disturbing territory for me. In true form, I panicked and Troy remained calm...we took the little flea bag into petsmart, got a little advice, and got the appropriate accoutrement for eliminating the "problem"--gag. Upon his arrival in his new home he was rushed to the bathroom and given a bath, for which he remained completely, 100%, stock still. God bless the little guy. Fleas eliminated, we proceeded to settle into a new routine with our very small, cuddly roommate.

We had initially planned to jump immediately into the toilet training (yeah, that whole story was a tangent--sorry, happens). But as it turns out, being completely infested with blood sucking parasites for most of the first 6 weeks of your life has some negative effects on your health--this is an important safety tip for those of you who were considering some kind of infestation. You're welcome. Anyway, little booboo was pretty sick, and spent a great deal of time in and out of the vet's office when he was first home with us, and that whole toilet training thing...we kind of, well...forgot. BUT...kitten poo smells god-awful, and eventually Troy just couldn't take it anymore, and insisted we start the training process. So, we got our supplies (available on Amazon, along with everything else you'll ever need), and we began. At first, he was a star. When we started, he had no problem with the idea of a litter box on the same level as the toilet....however, the next step was to convince him that a small hole in the middle of his litter box was totally COOL man. He was pretty sure, however, that it was not at all cool, and he was not having it. He diligently stood atop the toilet and pushed all his litter into the miniscule hole, in an attempt to fill it before he would use the litter box. Of course, this didn't work and all the litter ended up in the bottom of the toilet (really good for your plumbing, in case you were wondering). He then promptly used the floor. Awesome.

After several months of this, with no change, we gave up. And then a year went by. We moved across the country. We bought a lovely home, with a lovely bathroom, and we moved our little family into it. We upgraded Hermes' litter box to the Booda Dome Clean Step (best. litterbox. ever.) in a delightful color and we were very pleased. No odor, very attractive, we weren't looking to change his bathroom routine. And then, sitting in the living room, I hear Troy yell from the bathroom while he's brushing his teeth, "Holy shit!" Extra plaque buildup? I wonder. That can be very unsettling. Then: "Hermes is peeing in the toilet!" *insert that weird record squeaking to a stop sound here* He's WHAT?

Sure enough, there was the little angel, squatting on the edge of the toilet, peeing directly into the bowl. He now does it all the time. And now for the thought that I asked you to entertain in the title of today's post: he has started to get mad when I use his toilet. He sits outside the door, meows plaintively, and when that doesn't work, he starts to throw himself against the door. When I open the door, he races in and jumps onto the toilet and stares at me challengingly, as though to say, "MY toilet. And don't you forget it." Then sometimes he uses it, so as to really stick it to me, for good measure.

So there you have it, folks. Food for thought. My cat gets mad when I use his toilet.