Happy Post-Thanksgiving everybody! I hope your holiday was as festive and fun as mine. Mr. Oz and I traveled west to North Dakota to spend a few days with my mom, dad, sister and brother-in-law. Luckily, Mother Nature cooperated and our drive was smooth sailing all the way. We must have global warming to thank for the absence of snow and ice. Thanks high carbon emissions and diminishing ozone layer!! After a mere seven hours in the car, we finally hit the big city of Bismarck and made our anticipated arrival. Due to circumstances to vast and complicated to get into, we did not partake of our traditional turkey meal on Thursday. No. Instead, we did what many only dream of on Thanksgiving -- we went bowling. Yep, that's right. Your time-honored ritual of Thanksgiving bowling was in full effect. Now, I think it's been oh, let's say, a solid 8 to 10 years since my feet last hit the lanes. The first game my performance was atrocious -- the worst I've ever bowled. We are talking like a 46 or something awful. I could only laugh at myself, shrug my shoulders and order up another pitcher of Bud Light for the thirsty relatives and myself. I'm not sure what happened after that, but I crept back up and with each game I got a little better. By the fourth game, I kicked everybody's butt and scored an all tight high of 164. Seriously. It was like a Thanksgiving Day miracle people. Of course, one could say that all I needed was a little practice, ya know, work the kinks out. It might have been the Bud Light. Either way, it was super AWESOME and I'm now considering leaving my job and hitting the pro bowling circuit. Why not, right? We avoided Black Friday like the plague. Instead, the next day was spent recovering from my bowling adventures -- my right shoulder, arm, wrist and hand hurt like crazy. Then it was time to hit the kitchen and cook up some tasty vittles. Yee Haw. Abysmal Scribble made her delicious wild rice stuffing (sshhh, the secret is rosemary and dried apricots) and the ever beloved green bean casserole. I whipped up the spicy cranberry sauce and a nice little brussel sprout dish. Mom did the rest and voila, we had ourselves a feast! Grandma and my uncle Richard and aunt Brenda joined us for dinner, drinks, card playing and general merriment. We missed the rest of the family who couldn't be here this year -- including cousin Valerie who lives in Austin, TX and my baby brother Justin who resides in Washington DC.Mr. Oz gave me my Christmas present early -- a new Canon Rebel XSI -- so I could document the whole holiday extravagenza in style. I love it!! This camera is amazing and if the whole bowling circuit thing doesn't work out for me, I think I may try my hand at professional photographer. Or, maybe I'll just stick to my day job for now. The whole clan in attendance:
Not sure what you and your family enjoy as an appertif, but for us its a shot of Apple Pie whiskey, another holiday favorite:
What a fine looking table. Check out those cranberries:
Me and Abysmal:
Mr. Oz eagerly awaiting the arrival of the bird:
For many, last night may have just been an ordinary, run-o-the-mill Tuesday night. Ho hum. Watch a little House or Biggest Loser on the old tele, eat your pot pie, pop a Xanax and hit the hay. I get it. And, usually on any given Tuesday night, I'm right there with you. Well, all except for the Xanax as I prefer a double shot of Jack Daniels before bed. But, last night was different. Last night I hit the bright lights of Minneapolis for some wining, dining and Broadway musical action all courtesy of my dear friend Laura [insert applause and good vibes for Laura!]. Now, I must pause this happy tale with a wee bit of something I like to call, tough love. You see, Laura has a deep, dark secret and this evening of fun has a very direct link to this secret. Laura is addicted to Craig's List ladies and gentleman of the jury. I know. I know. It seems like it is all harmless purchases and online shopping frivolity. It's all games until someone loses an eye (did you know you could sell your eyes on Craigs List?) One night in the midst of, what I can only imagine to be, a drug-induced purchasing binge, Laura scored some discount tickets to see Wicked! Yee Haaa. And then, miracle of all miracles, she asked me to join her. Double Yee Haaaa. Now, I'm not here to judge (although I will if you ask me to). I'm just throwing out this cautionary word to all of you out there who might be struggling with your own online bartering issues. You know who you are! Don't stop cold turkey. You might slip into a coma if you cut yourself off too quickly. No. Instead, shop away. But, remember to call me and share your wares, tickets, furs, trips and other accessories you might happen to buy. It will make you feel less guilty whilst promoting positive relationships :) Tee Hee. All jokes aside. Laura is AWESOME for inviting me. We had dinner at The Melting Pot before hitting the show. I had never been before and it was pretty tasty. If you get off on participating in your own 'table side' cooking what with dipping sticks of raw meat and veg into a boiling bucket of broth, well . . . this place is for you. I highly recommend the Ying & Yang chocolate fondue. It is a delightful swirl of white and dark chocolate accompanied by glorius berries, bananas, cake, brownie, etc. YUM! Then we were off to the show. I won't get into the plot too much. I don't want to ruin it. But, I will say that the story picks up on the Wizard of Oz and paints it from the vantage point of the Wicked Witch. The songs, set, characters were great. A spectacle for the eyes and ears I say. Check it out if you can. I still have a few of the songs stuck in my head "Popular" and "Defying Gravity" to mention two of my favorites. 
So, what have we learned from this blog posting? What lessons should you take away? 1) Jack Daniels is a great night cap and allows you to effortlessly slip into a deep slumber no matter what stresses you. 2) Craigs List can be destructive, but you are fine as along as you include me on any fun purchases. 3) It's good to be Wicked!Finally, a big SHOUT OUT to Laura on her birthday. She's 36 years young and still rockin it like it was 1999! Happy Turkey Day everyone.
Been awhile, but I'm back. Back and on the attack . . . well, actually I'm not feeling much like attacking. I'm happy. It's Friday and holy, T.G.I.F. Batman! The week has been pretty intense with some major work deadlines and activities. Early mornings punctuated by some late nights have left me drained and eager for some R&R. Whew.I feel like rambling a little bit as my thoughts are bouncing around in my head. So, I'll start with a little home decorating news. Last weekend, Mr. Oz and I embarked on some updates to the townhome. Casa del Oz is receiving a small face lift. We aren't talking a major reconstruction, but more like a couple o' shots of Botox. The burnt orange walls of the master bedroom have been replaced with a soft, cafe a lait shade. It's very soothing and tranquil. We moved some of our furniture into the guest bedroom, sold our old queen bed on Craigslist and are now awaiting the arrival of our new bedroom set which includes . . . . drum roll please . . . a king bed. Whoot! It will be glorious and should definitely cure me of the doldrums incurred from our rough real estate market and nose diving economy. If you can't get to a new house, make the new house come to you, I say. I'll be sure to post the complete 'after picture' of the bedroom, but for now, here is the before:
And here is the sort of after shot:.jpg)
Whatta ya think? Remember, this just represents the new walls. It will look much better once we get the furniture, new bedding and other accessories in there. Eat your heart out Nate Berkus! I found painting to be rather therapeutic. Smoothing on a new coat of color, the squishy and mechanical sound of the roller brush, trimming the edges to a fine point -- there is both a mindless yet intensely focused quality in painting that appeals to me. Plus, there is that whole transformational aspect; out with the old and in with the new. Don't get me wrong. After working that roller for two days, my arms were sore and my back was hurtin, but it was the good kinda sore and the rewarding kinda hurt. I'm not offering up my services or anything so don't get any funny ideas.Hmmm . . . what else?I got a few new books this week. I love Amazon.com. Addiction is more like it. Among my treasures is this cool flashcard type set called "The Observation Deck -- A Tool Kit For Writers" by Naomi Epel.
It's supposed to help break writer's block and inspire a free flow of literary content. The idea is you pull out one of the flashcards. Each one has a phrase, an activity if you will, to shake things up. I just pulled a card and it says "Feed Your Senses." In the companion book the author notes how a writer should take a break and experience a moment through the senses. Go to a concert or museum. Hit a fabric store and feel the textiles. Go to a bakery. Epel writes "Visit a place of natural beauty and enjoy a sense of peace and wonder. Go where you can see, hear, smell, feel, or taste something that has been made with care, joy or deliberation." This is just one of many cards. I like it. Although I don't fancy myself a novelist or poet, I see the application for me in my everyday strive to communicate. We all get stuck in a rut. Next time I do, I'm going to grab this handy deck and see what adventure comes my way.The other book I bought is called "Dialogue and the Art of Thinking Together" by William Isaacs.
The premise is really rather simple as it focuses on the art of listening and engaging in productive communication with those around us. I haven't really cracked into this one yet, but I am looking forward to it. I figure we could all use a little help in the listening department, right? One of the things that someone recently told me is that, as humans, often do not tune out of conversations as much as we choose to tune in. If you really think about this factoid, it is fascinating. I feel like I expend a lot of energy just trying to block out the periphery noise and chaos of the world when really the bulk of my effort is concentrated on paying attention to that which is most important to me (versus blocking all the rest). It's a miracle that anything gets through my auto filter. I wonder how this explains the phenomenon of hearing an annoying song on the radio and then not being able to get it out of your head? You would think my brain would not choose to tune that in. Damn brain and its mad desire to keep the chorus of "I'm Too Sexy" by Right Said Fred ringing in my ears. AAhhhhhh!!
I've decided I have a love and hate affair going with Facebook. It took some time for me to come to this conclusion, but this weekend, it hit me like a MACK truck. Sometimes I want to sweep Facebook up in my arms and give it the most constricting and mushy of hugs and kisses. I want to ravish it, whisper sweet nothings into its ear. At other moments, I want to snub Facebook and talk about it behind its back (much like I'm doing right now). I want to push it into a locker and stuff its Trapper Keeper in there, shut the door and laugh like an evil Hyeanna while it twists and squirms for its freedom. Why such a polarized and violent reaction? Well, ladies and gents, Facebook is the Internet's equivalent of high school. And ahh, well, I still to this day have mixed emotions about high school. There were plenty of fun and good times marked, undeniably, by low moments, crushing defeats and plenty o' drama. Now, don't get me wrong. I love reconnecting with old friends. I've recently been in touch with some great people with whom I had lost complete track of. We've been doing a little chatting and reminiscing. It has been fantastic seeing where they have been, pictures of their families, joyful reuniting, etc. Then there are the mutual interest groups where I can "hang" with my peeps and bask in the glow of a happy victory (GO OBAMA!). Finally, I'm really quite enamoured with checking out who is online each time I log in and striking up random IM exchanges over the most trivial and lighthearted topics. For all of these reasons, Facebook has won my heart. But these moments are harshly contrasted by some of my very own, homespun, Facebook hate. I find myself having strange inner dialogues questioning why someone who is friends with a mutual friend has not yet 'friended' me and whether or not I should 'friend' them and what it might mean if they don't or I do or I don't. I find myself spinning in circles just contemplating it now. And then I have this inkling, small fear that I may run into someone on Facebook that I would rather not reconnect with and how awkward that would be. If they 'friend' me will I deny them? Will I accept? Facebook paralysis sets in like a venomous snake has infected me with its rigamortous inducing poison. "But, wait, you say . . . these are all just worries about things that have not happened. Live in the now, man. Be happy and deal with stuff as it comes." I agree. That is why I refuse to let my paranoia alter my habits or change my behavior. But, perception is my reality and my reality is starting to feel like I'm on the outside looking in. Like there is this inner circle of cool kids that are saying more, doing more, being more and feeling more than I could ever imagine. I get whiffs and hints of this on Facebook as well as the general blogosphere of which I just recently entered. My 'friend' posts pictures from a recent party. In these pictures, other friends are tagged hoisting drinks and performing a variety of hi-jinks of which I am not involved and you start to question the reasons why. I feel sad and hurt but not necessarily because I wasn't invited or did not attend. No. I feel wounded because Facebook smacked it in my face and made me see it and confront it in a way that I would never have had to without Facebook. And, this is where I mainly start to consider Facebook analagous to high school, because you always knew something was going on somewhere that you were not a part of and you would have to hear about it the next day at school and it would reinforce the message that you were sometimes, but not always, on the outside looking in.
Now, I'm not just trying to start a pity party here. Honestly. I had plenty to do in high school and if we are talking about cliques, I will defend myself only so far as to say that I was not at the bottom of the social food chain. Rather I would probably be classified as existing in the ethereal middling ground hovering somewhere in the concentric circles of band geek, scholar and athlete. I had several great friends, lots of good friends and got along with nearly everyone. But, no matter where my prepratory reference point lies, I still recognize this feeling . . . its the desire to matter and be wanted and involved. We can push it aside. We can grow up, get jobs, get married, rear children, have lots of fulfilling pasttimes and a solid life's purpose and dreams which bring us much happiness, but we can't escape the universal need to be needed. So, Facebook has brought all of this up to the surface. It's an online social microcosm of these mashed up sentiments which pull me in and push me away all at the same time. I kinda feel the same way about blogging. I've always been an avid journal keeper, but posting online exposes me in a way that I'm not quite sure I'm ready for. Psychologically, I may be the only one reading yet I still feel this strange vulnerability by the possibility that others could be watching. Yet, I'm the one pushing the 'enter' button. So, I ask myself, why do I do it? Why are we, as a society, doing it in record numbers? For some it may be the secret wish for microfame. For most, I believe, it is an extension, once again of our longing for our voice(s) to be heard and to matter to at least one other person, or a tiny community of believers. The need to belong pushes us to spew our ideas forth into the stew of the Internets. Blogging is the antidote to our own modern condition yet I find the chatter so pervasive, the e-noise so loud and overrun that, at times, I find it hard to focus. The feedback loop always leaves me wishing for more. More connection. More empathy. More of the more. Its never enough. When is it enough? When will we feel enough? And, more importantly, when will high school truly be over?
Spotted this in the women's bathroom at Restaurant Max in Minneapolis and wanted to share. Stinkin cute doggy pic, dontcha think? I love how one ear is up and one is down. I think I will call him Pepe Montoya and I will sing ballads and create Haiku poems heralding his adorability to the world.
On second thought, that might be a tad much for a bathroom poster.
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