Like sand through the hourglass...

Wow. This is a time-killer for the creative!

Ten pounds fatter

I can't stop eating chocolate. Have you tried those Lindt Extra Dark Truffles in the black wrappers? Ahhhhhhhhh. Have you tried Harry and David's Coffee Chocolate Truffles? Ohhhhhhh.

Over Christmas...

"Allison, shut up!" was Megan's response to my gentle proddings to wake up. She's just lucky I wasn't able to sing her my rendition of "Hit Me Baby One More Time" by Britney Spears.

Santa left us an Xbox and the game Dance Revolution. Never in my life have I seen so much flailing and convulsing. Dad wants to use it in place of a treadmill to get his heartrate up.

Steph bought me the Sufjan Steven's album Illinois which I've been listening to all day. It's beautiful but crazy in a I-feel-like-smoking-pot-and-staring-at-a-wall way. My favorite track so far is No. 3 "Come On! Feel the Illinoise!" but No. 16 "They Are Night Zombies!! They Are Neighbors!! They Have Come Back from the Dead!! Ahhhh!" comes in a close second. Thanks, Steph!

On average, my sister Rebecca goes through one roll of toilet paper every three days.

Although neither of my parents drink coffee, my mom bought a 12-cup coffee maker because she knew my 4-cup just wasn't going to cut it. We drink so much coffee there was a pot on at all times.

My dog Zeke gave my dad some dog clippers to make up for us using my dad's hair clippers on the dog. Dad said he was going to keep the dog clippers for himself since his were already contaminated with dog hair.

My mom loved that I gave her the first two seasons of Remington Steele on DVD. Now I fear that's the only thing that'll be on in my house for the next few months.

-----------------

Track of the Day: "John Wayne Gacy, Jr." by Sufjan Stevens
"And in my best behavior
I am really just like him
Look beneath the floorboards
For the secrets I have hid"

Christmas

I love Leslie Harpold's advent calendar. Every day contains either a holiday recipe, a link, or a tradition explained. But what I love most of all are the Guest Memories. I don't have any particular memory associated with Christmas except for the Infamous Log Candle*. When I was a kid, we had multiple Christmases, one at one set of grandparents house, one at the other, and one of our own. It was awesome! Then my family moved east and we've been celebrating Christmas without the extended family ever since.

Every Christmas morning for as long as I can remember, we've stumbled out of bed, woken up our parents, and gotten into our stockings. Somehow they were always laid out for us, full of candy, books, lotion, oranges, and sometimes pantyhose. These goodies are from Santa who, in his infinite wisdom, even knows our pantyhose size. Over the years, a few of these events has changed...most notably the time we wake up now has shifted from 7 a.m. to... oh, whenever Megan gets her lazy butt outta bed. Coffee takes precedence now as well. We sit around and argue which of our homemade stockings is best.

Breakfast is eaten next while showers are taken and clothes are changed. We used to have cinnamon rolls every Christmas morning but that has also evolved into having something less time-consuming to make. Muffins and grapefruit or whatever is available. Dad inevitably gets out the video camera and sets it up on a tripod. Never have we watched a single recording of us opening gifts, but that doesn't stop Dad.

I forgot at what age I began enjoying the giving more than the receiving. But now, the exciting part is watching my family open the gifts I bought them. Especially the stupid gifts, like last year's Whoopass Sauce for Dad. I gave my friend Mike a t-shirt this year that said "I'm a Sexy Black Man" on it and I could hardly wait for him to open it. I'd been giggling about it for weeks. I'm such a dork.

By the end of the morning wrapping paper is strewn everywhere and we sit around for a few minutes and stare at our newly acquired booty before Mom jumps up to get dinner ready. This is the first Christmas in our new house and I'm all excited we'll get to eat dinner in an actual dining room.

By far, the best part of Christmas is being able to spend it with the people you love. You're probably sick of hearing about how much I love my family, but it's true. I rarely feel it so much as I do over Christmas.

* Log Candle Episode: I posted about the Log Candle a few years ago, but it's now among the clutter of my text archives. Here's an excerpt:

But the most interesting gift I've ever seen given has to be the log candle my youngest sister Megan gave my mom for her birthday one year. Yes, that will go down in Barnes Family History as the Oddest Gift Bestowed. You may ask, "What is a log candle?" Good question. It was a piece of wood resembling a log that had a small circle cut out of it where a candle was placed. Ugliest thing ever. I'm not sure if Megan was shopping and that ugly thing called out to her or what. But she actually spent money on it. And, who knows? My mom may have actually liked it. It was hard to determine her response over the sound of my raucous laughter and ridicule. I can really be a jerk. I believe it was regifted to me for Christmas five years ago before it vanished off the face of this earth.

What a bizarre gift? Who wants a log with a candle in it?

On caring

The Shape of Days is my new favorite.

...If your parent, child, or best friend -- or hell, even pet -- lay in a hut in Nigeria dying of starvation, would you just sit there and express outrage? Or would you have your fat ass on a plane to Lagos soonest? That's the difference between "caring" and caring.

Frog guts. Everywhere.

Seven

A few weeks ago, I watched the documentary Murderball about the quadriplegics who play wheelchair rugby. It's an amazing documentary, deserving of the praise it was bestowed by the critics. I was astounded by the vigor and strength that the athletes had for the game, but more than that, I was pleasantly surprised that the documentary captured not only the fierceness of the game but the character of the players. I've never seen anything that was more successful at attempting to convey what it feels like to have a spinal cord injury.

Try as I may, I can't ever explain fully what it feels like to suddenly have everything you've known your whole life taken away in an instant and replaced with something dysfunctional. There is a part in the documentary where the camera follows a fresh injury, a kid who fractured his neck on a motorcross bike. He spent months in rehab and he was excited to able to go home. When he got there...when he looked around and saw the modifications to his bedroom and bathroom, you could see on his face in that second that realized his old self was lost forever. It took a moment for it all to sink in. That although remnants of his old self were all around him, he was a completely different person. And that's when I had to hit Pause and grab a Kleenex. I remember that moment.

Being in a rehabilitation hospital sheltered me from reality. I wouldn't call my stay there easy. But I was there with other people who had spinal injuries like me. (Most of them were young black men with gunshot wounds, but I just chalk that up to the area I live in.) I remember one older man in particular. Mr. Nage. Months earlier, he was sleeping in bed with his wife. He woke up and was cold so he stood up to close the window. He lost his balance and fell back over the bed onto the floor and fractured his vertibre on the way. Paralyzed. Everyone has a story.

Therapy included having other people stretch my muscles, sitting on the edge of a mat to work on balance, practicing rolling over, practicing writing, and a variety of other exercises most babies can do more skillfully. I was so excited to leave that horrid hospital, but I wasn't prepared emotionally to face the home I lived in...where every room and wall held a memory. It was home but it wasn't comforting.

Now, seven years later, the memories still get to me and I still struggle to not compare myself to others. Every day I'm reminded that I have limitations. My body won't let me forget. I can't get over this and there is no end in sight. It wasn't supposed to be for 7 years! Yet despite it all -- the leg spasms, the swollen feet, the doctors, the height disadvantage, the expenses, the pain, the inconveniences, and the things I miss like crazy -- I continue to be immune to the depression I want so badly at times to sink into. My own happiness continues to surprise me.

Please wish me and my wheelchair a happy 7-year anniversary!

~ December 20, 1998 ~

-----------------

Track of the Day: "So Far Away" by Staind
"This is my life
It's not what it was before
All these feelings I've shared..."

Pointing out our differences

Morgan Freeman on Black History Month:

"You're going to relegate my history to a month?" the 68-year-old actor says in an interview on CBS' "60 Minutes" to air Sunday (7 p.m. EST). "I don't want a black history month. Black history is American history."

Freeman notes there is no "white history month," and says the only way to get rid of racism is to "stop talking about it."

The actor says he believes the labels "black" and "white" are an obstacle to beating racism.

"I am going to stop calling you a white man and I'm going to ask you to stop calling me a black man," Freeman says.

---------------

Track of the Day: "Hemorrhage (In My Hands)" by Fuel
"She cries her life is like
Some movie in black and white
Dead actors faking lines, over and over and over again she cries..."

Roundhouse kick to the face

Ha! I was just watching the tail end of Walker, Texas Ranger on TV the other night. So when I saw this reposting of a post on 40 Chuck Norris statements over at Ramble Strip, I had to laugh. Some are too funny:

Chuck Norris once roundhouse kicked someone so hard that his foot broke the speed of light, went back in time, and killed Amelia Earhart while she was flying over the Pacific Ocean.

Chuck Norris built a time machine and went back in time to stop the JFK assassination. As Oswald shot, Chuck met all three bullets with his beard, deflecting them. JFK's head exploded out of sheer amazement.

Chuck Norris sold his soul to the devil for his rugged good looks and unparalleled martial arts ability. Shortly after the transaction was finalized, Chuck roundhouse kicked the devil in the face and took his soul back. The devil, who appreciates irony, couldn't stay mad and admitted he should have seen it coming. They now play poker every second Wednesday of the month.

Those aren't credits that roll after Walker Texas Ranger, it is actually a list of people that Chuck Norris roundhouse kicked in the face that day.

Let's make it racial, okay? Kanye?

Have I mentioned how much I love Jay Nordlinger's Impromptus column?

In America, everything turns racial, and the racialization of Hurricane Katrina was one of the sickest things about that tragic event. So we should be especially interested in this story, from CNSNews.com, and highlighted by The Drudge Report:

Statistics released by the Louisiana Department of Health and Hospitals suggest that fewer than half of the victims of Hurricane Katrina were black, and that whites died at the highest rate of all races in New Orleans.

Liberals in the aftermath of the storm were quick to allege that the Bush administration delayed its response to the catastrophe because most of the victims were black.

Yeah, no sh**.

I doubt these findings will get much play, nationally, because the Legend of Katrina is already established, and that legend says: Blacks suffered the most, and the Bush administration didn’t care, because blacks are black.

Mom's trying to kill me

Mom made rice crispy treats yesterday with marshmallows that were over a year old. The marshmallows really didn't melt down that well. It had the consistency of taffy so when the rice crispies were stirred it, it was kind of like rolling a chewed Starburst through sand. So Mom improvised and made rice crispy balls. Almost similar to the original, but rock-hard. I ate one and almost lost a tooth. It took me 10 minutes to chew. It takes less time to chew a piece of leathery steak. But, those of you joining us for Christmas, don't worry. Mom has deemed them unfit for public comsumption, and encouraged me to eat as many as possible. The second batch was much better.

Don't stand so close to me

I think my new boss looks a little like Sting. Maybe it's just me. It's too bad though 'cause I'm really not crazy about Sting, his wife, or his music. I wish I had a picture of him.

------------------

Track of the Day: "Bullet and a Target" by Citizen Cope
"What you done here is put yourself between a bullet and a target..."

Movie Review: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

This movie was awesome. Great acting from the kids. Great special effects. The oldest boy who played Peter was cute. He's going to be a heart-breaker when he gets older. I'm not sure how this movie got away with just a PG rating. I had to cover my eyes in different parts and I'm 27.

I don't know what I can tell you that a thousand other reviewers haven't already. Oooh, I know! I thought the fawns in this movie were hot! I'm not normally attracted to fantasy/sci-fi creatures, but dang! Mr. Tumnus! It must be the ears.

I obviously need a boyfriend.

---------------

Track of the Day: "Best I Ever Had" by Vertical Horizon
"Nothing's quite the same now
I just say your name now
But it's not so bad
You're only the best I ever had..."

Movie Review: Born Into Brothels

So this isn't really a movie; it's a documentary. Still, it's good. It moves quickly. I've been on a documentary kick lately. Next is Mad Hot Ballroom.

This was about a young photographer who spent some time in the Red Light District of Calcutta, India. While there, she noticed the massive amount of kids who lived in the brothels whose mothers were prostitutes. She reached out to the kids by offering them a photography class. She gave each child (10 - 14 year olds) a camera and taught them lighting and composure. Using several of the kid's photos, she was able to take them to New York to auction and use the money to help the kids. One by one, she tried to find bording schools for the kids to get them out of the situation they were in.

At the end of the documentary, it lists the children and what became of them. A few of them made it out of the brothels to bording schools, but several others either dropped out or were pulled out by their mothers. What's really sad is that the biggest obstacle to many of these kids getting education is their parents. In a life where you're a daughter of a third-generation prostitute, you don't have many career options. A "working" woman or girl helps bring in more money. Education doesn't put food on the table or hash in the pipes.

------------------

Track of the Day: "Be My Escape" by Reliant K
"And this life sentence that I'm serving
I admit that I'm every bit deserving
But the beauty of grace is that it makes life not fair..."

Getting your best bargain

I ventured out for a little Christmas shopping yesterday and, let me tell you, it's a zoo out there. I got some good bargains, but I think I'll be doing everything I can online...in my slippers.

Speaking of bargains, let me tell you a story. Everytime I hear or speak the word "bargain" I think of my younger sister Becky for she knows the true meaning of the word. Back when me and my sisters were little, we all shared a room. A really big room with a loft and a huge walk-in closet and a double vanity. See, my parents designed and built the house themselves, so they conveniently arranged that all the chaos would be contained in one large room. Steph and I slept in the loft while Becky was below us. We must have been 7 and 8 at the time while Becky was either 3 or 4.

What child actually goes to sleep when they're told? Not us. And the fact that the bunch of us were in there together didn't encourage slumber. We would play our dad's Peter, Paul and Mary records. One night Steph and I were awake and noticed that Becky was too. We leaned over the loft railing and Steph asked Becky if she was interested in a bargain. "A bargain?" Becky asked. "What's a bargain?"

I couldn't tell you what was going through Steph's mind at the time, but she quickly replied, "It's when you take a tube of toothpaste, twist the cap off, and SIT ON IT." Becky just sat there in her bunk bed. "Do you want a bargain?" Steph repeated.

Becky nodded and went to the sink where a tube a Crest was ready and waiting. Sure enough. She twisted off the cap, set it on a plastic red kiddie chair, and plopped down on it. I'd like to tell you I was simply a witness to this spectacle, but I chimed in, "That was the best bargain ever, Becky! Again! Again!"

Mom must have heard the peels of laughter because just as Becky was on her fourth or fifth bargain, Mom burst through the door to find toothpaste all over her and Steph and I in bed. "What are you doing?!" asked Mom, as if there was really going to be a rational explanation for what she saw. "Getting a bargain," replied Becky in a Duh-Isn't-It-Obvious tone.

I don't really remember who got in trouble for all this, but I remember a lot of yelling.

---------------

Track of the Day: "Every Season" by Nichole Nordeman
"Even now in death you open doors for life to enter
You are Winter..."

Fattie McFat

In the past 30 years, obesity in kids has tripled according to this Forbes article. If this trend continues, the next generation of children will be sicker and live shorter lives than any previous generation. Experts blame this fatness on food marketers.

"There is strong evidence that television advertising of foods and beverages has a direct influence on what children choose to eat," said Dr. J. Michael McGinnis, senior scholar at the IOM [Institute of Medicine]. "The dominant focus of food and beverage marketing to children and youth is for products high in calories and low in nutrients, and this is sharply out of balance with healthful diets."

The article goes on to say that if the food industry can't get their act together, Congress needs to step in with legislation.

This is kind of scary. Now I'm against fat kids...I mean, childhood obesity...just as much as anyone, but the libertarian in me seriously balks at the mere mention of pushing the federal government into having any say what we feed our kids. Must it really come to that? I know this seems like a crazy thought, but shouldn't parents have some responsibility over the health of their children? Here's a few good ideas I thought of all by myself:

1. Turn off the TV so kids can't spend 5+ hours being exposed to food marketers.
2. Feed your kids more vegetables. Don't let them eat whatever they want.
3. Be like my mom and make your kids play outside.
4. Get rid of those infernal video games.
5. Don't give your kids soda. It only makes them crazy.

Of course, there will always be chunky kids (I say that as a former chunky kid...You should see my fifth-grade picture) and kids with slower metabolisms, but there's also a difference between chunky, big-boned, and obese. I just think the main point I'm trying to make is that it's important for parents to set and model good eating habits and an active lifestyle for their kids. Just because they make Twinkies doesn't mean your kids have to eat them. I think every parent already knows this. I guess it's easier to just give them the Twinkie.

For real, though. I'm going to have to find my fifth-grade school picture.

---------------------

Track of the Day: "Fools In Love" by Inara George
"Fools in love, gently hold each others hands forever
Fools in love, gently tear each other limb from limb.."

The Christmas Pajamas

I thought this was so funny, I laughed for at least a whole 60 seconds after reading it. And then I called my mom in and we both laughed again. It's the picture. I totally think we should start doing this every year.

Oh, the weather outside is frightful...

It snowed for the first time this winter. Unfortunately, it didn't snow enough to merit any school closings or even stick to the main roads, but just enough to create widespread chaos during rush-hour and long lines at the grocery store. People around here are nuts. I don't see how anyone could feel the need to run to the store to stock up on bread and milk when school didn't even need to be cancelled. It's not like they're going to run out of bread in the span of 12 hours. I blame the media.

I've discovered the Hallmark Channel. Here I thought the only channels in my cable package were the 4 big networks plus E!, a bunch of PBS's and News Channel 8. Turns out I get Hallmark too. I feel like I won the lottery. Did you know you can watch a sappy, sentimental Christmas movie at 9 p.m. EVERY SINGLE DAY? It's the little things in life...

-------------------

Track of the Day: "Crazy" by Mercy Me
"How can I learn Your way is better
than anything I'm taught to be?..."

Wouldn't want the demons to get you

I've never been one to offer up a blessing when someone sneezes. So after my friend Beverly's 20th sneeze the other morning, she called me on it. "Don't you even care to bless me after I sneeze?" she asked.

"It's superstition," I relied. "You don't need blessing. Does it bother you that you don't have my blessing?" Of course, that's not the real reason I don't say the magic words after someone sneezes. It's just that I don't think about it. I don't acknowledge a sneeze any more than any other bodily noise. Growing up, that wasn't really an area my parents put any emphasis on so it didn't become a formed habit.

The custom of blessing those who sneezed started long ago when sneezing was thought to be a symptom of a plague. According to Wikipedia, there are several superstitions behind "Bless you":

• "Bless you" was meant to ensure that the sneezers heart would continue beating as sneezing stops it. This is what Beverly says, but I have my doubts that our hearts actually skip a beat when we sneeze. It seems unlikely.


• Sneezing expels demons or evil from your body and "bless you" keeps it from re-entering your body. If this is the case, my mom sneezes the biggest demons out of her and with such violence, especially when she is cleaning or unpacking dusty boxes. What's even worse is when she sneezes in the car or another enclosed place. I don't like her demons spewed out of her at that quick rate of speed.


• "Bless you" prevents your soul from being stolen by Satan when it is accidently sneezed out of you. Just the idea that a soul is not securely fastened to a body kind of worries me a little because I sure don't want to be bumping into Beverly's loose soul when I'm drinking my morning coffee. And I want her to take it with her when she goes. Don't be leaving that just anywhere.


• Sneezing is good luck and "bless you" just acknowledges that. If that's the case, sneezing is the most disgusting sign of luck I've ever seen, especially when it involves partially chewed food, saliva, or snot.

These days, "bless you" is simply a polite reaction to a sneeze, because I seriously doubt when I sneeze, my coworkers are concerned about my health (although they don't want me to breathe on them). To Beverly's disappointment, I'll most likely continue to ignore all bodily noises unless I hear a particularly loud and obnoxious sneeze, fart, or burp, in which case I'll yell, "The demons! The demons!" and take cover under the nearest blanket.

-------------------

Track of the Day: "I Close My Eyes" by Shivaree
"You're mine tonight love when I close my eyes..."

Getting in the spirit

Wooo! The comment spammers were out in full force this weekend. I haven't seen spam like that since...well, when I checked my email.

God bless the people who go all out decorating during the holidays. I've remarked before about the spirit of the people in my new neighborhood. Well, here's more proof from the people across the street: (Click it to see it larger.)

And this is only one side of their house. You should see the other side. When I leave my house to go to work every morning, I look up and it hits me. "BAM!" And if I somehow happened to forget overnight that Christmas is in just 20 days, with one look my memory is strongly jogged. At night they have flood lights on it so I don't miss any of the joy. Honestly, it puts our house to shame. We have a strand of blue lights on the bushes and a big blue ball of lights hanging from the porch. We might as well string up beer cans and toilet paper.

Happy December 1

Internet's down. Don't expect much for the rest of the week.