Archive: November 2007

You bring out the New England in me. Stepping out into your biting wind and chilling rain makes my Connecticut blood flow ever strong, determined to not be cold yet. I am hardy, Yankee stock, and I know to put on a real coat for morning walks so that I can nonchalantly lift the hood in a sudden shower of stinging drops. Bring it on, November.

You’re that strange doorway between fall flamboyance and winter drear. One day, red maple leaves litter the sidewalk like rose petals at a wedding; the next day, they’re battered down with rain and mud. Bright leaves flutter to the pavement, exposing the stark skeletons of their parent trees. Silhouettes of branches and twigs are clearly delineated against dense, cloudy skies. How very Wuthering Heights of you, November.

You tempt me to fatten up for the long, hard winter ahead. Howling winds and gray atmospheres prick longings for steaming mugs of tea and mulled cider, preferably with a beef stew or chicken pot pie to go along for the ride. We must not forget that the holiday of food holidays, Thanksgiving, is in your territory. Turkey, gravy, stuffing, and all that is pumpkin and cranberry — plus the requisite food coma, the first step of hibernation — belong to you, November.

You don’t make it easy for me, though. Mornings like the one today make it hard to advocate in your defense that you are not that bad. There was a brief moment when I heard my alarm and thought, “Oh, wait, I can just turn it off because today is Saturday!” Just kidding, I heard you mock, and I remembered that it was only Tuesday. Not that I didn’t want to walk Ted or go to work, but they fell so far below the charm of staying in my cozy bed that you make so attractive, November, darn you.

You smacked me in the face with all you had to offer. Your biting air, icy rain, and blustery wind pelted Ted and me. Most would shy away from aggressive tactics, but not me. I am a warm-coat-wearing, thick-blooded, Puritan-minded New Englander and I can take it. Your cold slap only snaps me into alertness and spurs me on to whatever I have in front of me, so I don’t mind at all. You’re a challenge that I relish standing up to face because I can see you for what you are: merely an awkward transition stage, full of gawky adolescence and angst. I don’t love you, November, but I don’t hate you, either. You, too, shall pass.

On Saturday, JG and I spent the day with my freshman-year roommate and neighbors tailgating and watching our alma mater play Valerie’s. Much to my dismay, after five overtimes, we lost the game 62-56. Argh. I can’t even think about it without feeling the agony of defeat. I poured so much energy into those overtimes — hey, jumping and screeching takes a lot out of a girl — that I was exhausted after the fact. If we had won, it would have been worth it, but since we didn’t, I felt absolutely drained. Thus, it is time to resurrect the blurbage.

To(w)tally confusing and amusing
When we tailgate, JG and I usually park in a side lot where, if we’re lucky, we can shimmy up to a brick island and use it as a sort of patio. Then, we can spread out all of our gear without taking up another parking space. When we all arrived, the lot was basically empty, but two tow trucks came to remedy the situation. As far as we could tell, they were simply relocating cars from one lot to ours. Each truck had one car on the bed and another pulling behind, and the drivers re-parked the cars in other spots. Our whole crew watched silently, transfixed. What was going on? If the cars were parked illegally, why weren’t they being towed outright? One of our number walked over to a driver and, after a brief conversation with gesturing and nodding, he reported, “The story is … he has no idea. Someone told him to move the cars and he didn’t ask why.” Very helpful. While we found the rather violent process of shaking down the cars from the truck beds quite entertaining, the best part of the enigmatic prelude to the game was the message on the back of the truck cabs: “We meet by accident.” Love it.

Head of the slow lane
I learned how to watch football from watching the score board and asking JG tons of questions while we sat in the UD student stands on the south end zone, which allowed for zero depth perception. As a result, I am fairly well-versed in the overall mechanics of the game, even if I couldn’t tell you what a specific position does. My normal sports-watching circle is entirely fluent in football-ese, while I muddle along and translate in my head, so I am used to being one step behind everyone else. I don’t see the penalties right away and I can’t identify the players very quickly, but I can keep up well enough. Well, for the first time, as I sat with my friends, I was one of the most knowledgeable people in the row. What in the world! I pointed out which numbers on our team would most likely be big players and eventually explained how the overtime periods worked. I surprised myself when, even before the ref signaled the call, I leapt to my feet and started hollering that the Richmond receiver did not have control when he went down and to give them a first down would be a horrible call! Meanwhile, my friends just stared at me and I felt a little silly about getting so worked up. But the refs ruled it incomplete, after all!

Awesomeness never fades
During my sophomore year, I chose to stay in freshman housing as a mentor, so I didn’t really see my freshman-year friends very often. JG and I were dating and the two circles seemed to separate. We saw each other haphazardly and always on good terms, but I always kind of regretted that I wasn’t a part of their close-knit gang for the rest of college. But my friends are such cool people that they can just pick up where we left off, even if we haven’t seen each other for months and months. They’ll rub it in my face that JG and I “weren’t dating” freshman year, quote lines of HIMYM when we find out we all watch it religiously, and start off stories with, “First of all, let’s get it straight that I am awesome.” They’ll bring huge coolers of drinks, lemon-pepper shrimp to grill, and a giant cookie cake for dessert. They’ll recall how JG and I had an awesome wedding because “it wasn’t all scary and huge like, ‘I’m a wedding and I’m gonna take up your entire weekend!’” Best of all, they’ll call me RaRa, just like old times, fill me in on their amazing trip to Europe, and make the day go by in a snap. Man, I wish they lived nearer to us.

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(nudge) Sign up to be a Secret Blogger Santa by Friday!

It all began with NaBloPoMo. Which made Laurel start up the Encyclopediasass. Which inspired her to post adorable, Midwestern, C-is-for-Childhood photos on Tuesday. Which prompted the incredibly accurate hypothesis that I would like a shirt that says, “Little people are more huggable.” Which made me comment: “HA. You totally have my number and I definitely want a shirt like that! I’d even settle for a big shiny button if it says that I am more huggable.” Which started the following rapid-fire e-mail exchange:

Laurel: I think we should have a blogger secret santa exchange–then your secret santa can make you this t-shirt and send it!!

RA: YES! The thought occurred to me that that would be outrageously fun, but I am never one to suggest an idea that other people spend money for my sheer enjoyment. But now, you have confirmed it! Yes! Sorry. Am calming down.

Laurel: YES!!!! I feel like it would be a great get-to-know you thing, because even if people get someone they would have enough time to read their blog and, well, “get to know them.” I FEEL A SPREADSHEET COMING ON.

RA: Um, heck YES for the spreadsheet!!!! I am so freaking excited. Does this coincide with any of your encyclopedia entries? Maybe G for gift (this Friday)? Or is that too soon? Can I just say that I LOVE the flurry of planning? Yes, I do.

Laurel: OMG!!! I have no entry planned for G! This is sheer genius!!!

The point of this run-down of background information and flurry of organizational screeching is:

Sign up to be a

!

No, it’s not just an excuse to create a spreadsheet, although Laurel and I do love our spreadsheets. No, it’s not just a conspiracy to get me a funny shirt, but that would be a nice side benefit. It’s just a nice holiday-time thing to do. Plus, you’ll get presents! It’s fun! It’s cheap! You’ll get to know another blogger! You’ll have automatic blog fodder! You’ll get presents!

Isn’t this irresistible logic?

I see questions in the crowd…

What do I have to do?

1. Sign up by next Friday, November 16.
2. Receive notice of your lucky recipient with relevant information on Monday, November 26.
3. During the week of December 3 send along a small, low-priced/free gift.
4. Repeat Step 3 during the week of December 10.
5. Arrange for a gift (around $10) to arrive at the doorstep between December 17-25 and reveal your identity!

How do I sign up?
Send a message to Secret Blogger Santa HQ with the following information, which will be forwarded to your giver:

• Name/Alias
• Blog URL
• E-mail address
• Postal address (Street, City, State, Zip Code)
• Personal tidbits that might be helpful to the giver (optional)

What if I don’t know the person I’m assigned?
You could rely on the provided personal tidbits. You could send secret accomplices to find out what that person would like to receive. Best of all, you could scout out that person’s blog!

What the heck is a “small, low-priced/free gift”?
In the grand tradition of Secret Santa exchanges, we’re attempting to recreate the series of gifts in an online way. Share something fun or interesting, say something nice or encouraging, and/or suggest something you love. Here are a few ideas to get started:

• Fun blog accessories: badges, banners
• Links: new blogs to read, articles, retailers, YouTube videos
• Recommendations: books, movies, clothing, recipes
• Kudos: “things I love about you/your blog,” “favorite photos on your Flickr stream,” “why I loved this post”
• E-cards

How do I send something electronic without giving away my identity?
It would be great if people didn’t know who was responsible for their awesome gifts, so if you are sending something that requires an e-mail address (say, an iTunes certificate or an e-card), go ahead and enter the Secret Blogger Santa address. If you want to send along something via e-mail (like recipes or a cool blog button), send your message to the same address and we will forward it to your recipient.

What can I possibly get for $10?
If you’re crafty, get to it! A certificate to an online retailer or a subscription to a magazine would be great, too. Be creative and know that the cost guidelines are loose. It’s really up to you.

Ooh! I want to do gag/prank-like gifts!
Uh. We discourage this type of gifting so that everyone has a good time. Okay?

I don’t celebrate Christmas. Can I join anyway?
Yes, please! This is a Secret Blogger (Non-Denominational, All-Inclusive) Santa exchange! Unfortunately, all of that was too long for the e-mail address.

Did you and Laurel really plan this thing in two days?
Yes. More like an afternoon of crazy e-mails.

Is there really a spreadsheet?
You’d better believe it.

We would love to have as many participants as possible, so we hope you’ll grab a button and sign up!

When Ted started working on dislodging Octopus’s eyes, JG made the grim proclamation that we’d have to toss the toy out once Ted could get to the stuffing. Choking hazard and whatnot. The thought was a little depressing since I had pawed through more than my share of Dollar Store bins to find Octopus, but it made sense.

Only a couple of weeks after Octopus turned into a one-eyed villain, I noticed that Ted occasionally emerged from chew sessions with threads of white, wispy stuffing hanging from his mouth. I felt a lump in my throat. It was Octopus’s time to leave us. I stepped on the garbage can pedal and prepared to make a ceremonial drop. But wait — what if I simply removed the stuffing out of the head? I dug around a bit, apologizing all the while. Octopus was de-stuffed in two large pieces and I tossed the now-deflated cephalopod to Ted to see what would happen. As far as Ted was concerned, the lobotomized version was almost as good as the original since the waggly tentacles stayed intact. Still, I felt guilty, so I pulled out Bear.

Bear and Octopus were purchased during the same Dollar Store trip, but the larger toy was off-limits until Ted grew up a little. Bear is slightly out of proportion with his long legs, and he has no bodily structure. Left unattended, he does a macabre impression of a dead-man’s float, but, oh, he is so soft. I drew Bear from his hiding place on the dining room buffet (isn’t that where everyone keeps their back-up dog toys?), dangled him around a bit, and tossed him in Ted’s direction. Oh, the humanity. Ted ran over, grabbed Bear in his mouth, and shook him in a manner so vigorous that I was slightly disturbed. What kind of brutal mentality was lying dormant in my agreeable little puppy? While it took a whole month to take an eye out of Octopus, Bear’s eyes were gone in fifteen minutes. The threads of his mouth were the next to go, but the body appears to be intact so far. We’re keeping Octopus around for the pleasure of waving the tentacles around, but the reality is clear: there is a new stuffed sheriff in town.

P.S. Ted is spending the day with the vet for a routine, boy-doggie surgery, so I’m sure he’d appreciate your happy thoughts! I’m interested to see if he comes home all loopy.

Get your November Daily Dog Dose with Bugs, Rufus, Ben, Ted, and Gus!