The Danger of Trucks

My Mother is full of stories, and most of them are cautionary tales. She has one for every occasion -- drinking, dating, midget wrestling -- it doesn't matter what it is, she knows someone who has done it before, and for whom it ended badly. Her favorite story involves a set of twins, a rolled down car window, and a big truck. I could go into the details, but I wouldn't tell it as well as my Mother. Let's just say one of the twins stuck his arm out the window, and after the truck went by it became much easier to tell them apart.

I was told that story too many times to count during my childhood. My friends were told that story, my classmates were told that story, the neighbor kids were told that story, and even random kids on the street who looked like they might be "arm hangers" were cornered and told the tale. So ubiquitous was the story that every time a man with one arm walked down the street every child turned and stared, wondering if he had a twin.

Over the year the story of the boy getting his arm ripped off became a bond every child who had grown up around my Mom shared. We would tell it in unison, our voices rising and falling in the same places that my Mom's had. And the more we told it, the less she did, no matter how much we begged her. Finally, she stopped telling it at all -- or so I thought.

Today I was driving along with Luke in the backseat, when I rolled down the window to enjoy the unusually warm November afternoon. Suddenly, a small voice came from the backseat. "Don't stick your arm out the window," Luke said. "What?" I replied. "If you do a big truck could come along and smack it off."

My Mother is now reaching a whole other generation. And she is making damn sure they grow up with all of their limbs.

Hangin' Tough

Ours is a country that loves nostalgia. We treasure antiques, look forward to reunions, spend millions of money on scrap booking crap, and talk endlessly about the "good old days." There are not just television shows dedicated to remembering the past, but entire television NETWORKS. People in America don't need to worry about Alzheimer's because they can be reminded of their past just by flipping a channel.

The 80's are the most recent decade to undergo the softening glow of nostalgia. No longer are jelly bracelets, day glo skirts, crimped hair, and acid washed jeans distasteful -- they're kitschy and fun. And all the bands that were popular in the '80s? No longer are they divided into groups! You can like Metallica and Tiffany! Depeche Mode and Vanilla Ice. Gone are all the labels these bands used to carry -- metal, new wave, pop, crap -- replaced by one new overreaching label: classic rock. It was in that spirit that I found myself at a New Kids on the Block concert with my sisters Saturday night. And I had a great time.

I will admit that I fought the enjoyment for as long as I could, and was helped greatly in my efforts by many of the women there. They were decked out in their best '80's finery -- which probably fit them 20 to 80 pounds ago -- and they were LOUD. They sang, they screamed, they squealed, and they annoyed the shit out of me. I needed a beer, which in this case cost nine dollars. Yes, it may have been an '80's nostalgia show, but these were definitely 2008 prices.

I used to look this young.

There were two opening bands, Lady Gaga and Natasha Beddingfield, and we were lucky enough to only have to sit through one of them. I really hope Beddingfield enjoyed being a art of this nostalgia tour, since I don't exactly see her music standing the test of time. I mean, unless someone eventually does a "hits of shampoo commericals" revival tour.

When the New Kids took the stage the crowd primed, and they knew just how to play it. They sang, they danced, they wiggled their butts, they grabbed their crotches (that's something they probably didn't do in their old act), and they drove the crowd into a frenzy. I think the only way they could have gotten these women more excited is if they had thrown chocolate and promised half priced shoes in the lobby. I am not overly familiar with the NKOTB catalog, but I am assured that the hits were interspersed deftly with their "new stuff." Honestly there was only one part of the show that dragged, and that was when each New Kid was given a chance to showcase their "solo projects." Well, all but Jonathan. I guess he sells real estate, and that really doen't work with a crowd of thousands.

So did they...

I really did try to stay cool while they played. I just bopped my head through "The Right Stuff," and kept my eyes dry through "Please Don't Go Girl." Even that song about walking properly didn't phase me. By the time they got to "I'll Be Loving You Forever" though, I was dancing like a monkey, and practically rushed the stage when they started into "Hangin' Tough" for the encore. My 16 year old self would have been so disappointed in me.

Did I walk out of the show wishing I had been a part of the 1980's New Kids mania? No. Did I walk out humming the songs and download some of their songs from iTunes the next day? Absolutely. Did I think about getting Tara a t-shirt before I realized they were 40 bucks? Damn straight. God bless nostalgia. I just can't wait until enough time has passed so that it's socially acceptable for me to like Celine Dion. I think maybe 2191. Maybe.

The Flu: Part Two

I have the flu -- AGAIN! Luckily though, this time I am not only achy and lethargic, but also throwing up and sweaty! It's awesome! I even got to throw up at work -- TWICE! Na done of those times people were standing there looking at me! I can't lay down, because laying down makes me nauseous and causes my chest to hurt, but sitting up causes head to throb. It's like a circus of horrors, but without sno-cones. I haven't had on real clothes in almost 36 hours, my hair is so greasy I could shine my shoes with it, and I stink. Really, Sally doesn't even want to smell me, and she rolls in putrid leaves and dead things.

In other words, don't expect anything interesting on this space until at least tomorrow... In the mean time enjoy this video. It's the only thing that has made me laugh as I silently pray for death.

Sally's Annual Photo Shoot

There are few things I enjoy more than humiliating our dog. Really, it just puts a spring in my step. Of course, randomly doing so usually results in the neighbors calling PETA, so I try to find legitimate reasons to do so. Thank God for Christmas cards. This year the card required Sally to wear a top hat and scarf, two things she wasn't happy about. I was happy watching her though, and really, that's all that matters. I could go on and on (and usually I do), but I want you to share in the joy as well, so here are the pics...

The blurry hand is Ryan. He would put the hat on her head and then back out of
the frame while I took the picture. Or, at least that is how it was supposed to work.

The second Ryan took his hands away Sally would shake the hat off her head.

We had to take a break for treats.

Put all together the experience looked like this...

The final shot.

I would tell you why Sally has to be wearing a top hat and scarf for the Christmas card, but that would ruin the surprise... You'll just have to wait.

Oh, Mandy

Today is my Dad's birthday. He is 107 years old. It is also my sister Mandy's birthday, which I think she did on purpose, so she can always have one up on me. My birthday may be close to Mom's, but she went the extra mile and actually shares Dad's. And she wonders why I had to cross out the word "Mandy" on my parents Barry Manilow's Greatest Hits 8 track and write in "Libby." Just imagine what a hit it would have been if that were the title. They probably would have made it the national anthem.

My sister and I actually get along very well. When I tell that to people who knew us growing up they are always amazed, because they always assumed we would kill each other. Or at least that Mandy would kill me, but only because I had provoked her. God, how I provoked her. Growing up with someone you learn all of their buttons, and I used to push all of hers. I would steal the things she loved, and if she really loved them, I would break them. Anything she liked, I instantly hated. I didn't listen to the Cure until I was in my 20's because Mandy liked them. I made fun of her relentlessly. Her hair, her clothes, her patterns of speech; all of them were targets. I remember once she decided to start spelling her middle name -- which is Jane -- Jahyne. I don't think I let that die for years. Actually, I might start teasing her about that again.

Mandy responded to my teasing by beating the shit out of me. She hit me, she kicked me, she threw glitter glue at me, and, in one memorable incident, tossed various kitchen implements at me. There was a knife on the counter, which my friend Emily moved before she could reach it, and for that I thank her forever. I used to always feel victorious when Mandy hit me though, because I knew I could get her in trouble. Yes, I was a devious little shit.

What is weird is that while I teased Mandy, and saw her as my nemesis, I tried to emulate her as well. I remember how badly I wanted to be able to wear black, and eyeliner, and make my hair really big. Also, I wanted to be able to dance. Mandy was a club queen. She looked good moving on the floor. I looked like I was having a seizure. So, I went the complete opposite way from Mandy, so people wouldn't think I was trying to copy her, and failing miserably. I became a granola, and then a grunge kid, and finally my frumpy self. She still looks good. I was recently describing how I wished I dressed, and realized I was describing the way Mandy dresses every day. Damn her.

I don't know if age and wisdom is what finally made Mandy and I try to stop killing each other, or if it is because of Luke. After all, that kid is one of my prime reasons for living. Anyone who created something so wonderful can't be that bad. That isn't to say that we don't still have out moments. Both of us can be pretty bitchy when need be. We have risen above the scratching and hitting though, which is probably good because Mandy is much stronger, and I bruise like a peach.

So, Happy Birthday Mandy. Believe it or not, I am glad you are my sister, and I love you. And no, I didn't say that because Mom made me.

The Horror Movie of My Life

I have been going through my backlog of pictures today, looking for interesting things to post on my blog, and have come across several that can only be classified as strange, if not disturbing. I guess I was trying to be "artsy" but instead I think I only achieved "scary." See what you think.
This is what happens when you leave an onion in the fruit basket too long on a wooden cutting board. I call it "First you see the ring -- then you die -- of food poisoning."

We put up this light bulb on the front porch for the Halloween party. We wanted something that looked festive, but provided enough light so people coming up the walk wouldn't break their necks and sue us. I think we succeeded. We left it up just so we could keep the party going every day. It was only after I took the picture that I realized it makes our house look like some sort of creepy fun house where the clown from "It" probably lives.

It's easy to get sucked into taking nature photographs in Utah, I mean, the shit is all around you. I took this one while waiting for Ryan and Sally to finish fishing. I think I was going for something Ansel Adams, but ended up with a picture that is more "Blair Witch."

This is a wig shop on King Street in Old Town Alexandria. There are actually two wig shops on the street, which is strange for a yuppie shopping district, but this one is my favorite. I mean, don't you just love the female mannequin head wearing a moustache to model the toupee? And what about the doe eyed ingenue peeking up from the bottom? Fabulous. I had to have a picture of it when we were visiting D.C. in July, just for old times sake. Looking at the picture now though I wonder if I was drawn to it because of my childhood love of the movie "House of Wax."

Oh, thank god for digital photography. Now nothing is too small or ridiculous to "waste film" on. And that is probably the scariest thing of all...

Wonderful Work

My schedule is a little different this week, as I am helping out on the morning show. I have to come in a bit earlier. Unfortunately "a bit earlier" means 4am. It's all worth it though since it means I am helping out my fellow co-workers, and really, isn't that what work is all about? It has nothing to do with the fact that I am a complete push over, and will say yes to anything if it's asked while I am looking at celebrity gossip on my work computer and hoping to God that no one notices.

You may think that having to get to work at a time when most fortunate people are just stumbling home from the bar would make me grumpy, or grumpier than usual. Well, yes it does. When I had to get up this morning I was kitten kicking annoyed. I had to do something before I started on that slow and steady path that leads to the volcano of rage. I thought about all the bullshit self-help books that I had read in college, and came up with a plan: I would look for the positives of the day. I found three.

1. My Screen Saver No, your eyes aren't deceiving you, that is Marlena Evans Black, and she is holding a sign saying she wishes I were there. ME! The picture was taken at the Democratic National Convention by a co-worker who knows of my secret "Days of Our Lives" shame. I love this screen saver so much that it has lasted longer than other pictures previously on my desktop -- including those featuring Luke, monkeys, or a combination of the two. I love it so much I don't even mind that our political reporter is crowding into the picture, trying to steal some of Marlena's glory

2. Diet Pepsi I have been addicted to this stuff since college, and I don't see it getting better any time soon. I know, I know, it's bad for me, but I don't care. It's not like it's filled with black tar heroin -- although that would explain the delicious taste. I have tamed my addiction in the recent years, now I only allow myself two cans a day, three if I am really dragging. I stack the cans up on top of my television as I work as a beacon to those around me about my mood. One can means it's probably not best to talk to me yet, as I am not yet fully awake. Two cans means I am up and functioning, and most likely can be engaged without fear. Three cans means approach at your own risk, there are rough seas ahead. I haven't had a four can day since college, so I don't know what that would mean, but I'm guessing someone would end up crying.

3. Control Room Monkeys No, I am not talking about the crew (bah, dum, dum). These are little plastic monkeys placed in the control room by my friend Paige a couple of weeks ago. Each day she would hide one somewhere in the room and I would have to find it. Considering that they are each the size of a quarter, that the control room is kept just brighter than a sleazy bar, and that my eyes are slowly getting worse, it wasn't always an easy task. So, now I have moved four of them to the top of my control panel to enjoy up close during the show. Sometimes the promise of their little smiling faces is the only thing that gets me into the booth, and convinces me to stay for the whole show. I hope they bring as much joy to the other producers. I mean, just as long as they all understand that the monkeys like me best, and that they shouldn't be touched. Or if they do touch them they should wash their hands first. I don't want dirty monkeys.

There you go, the three things that get me through my days. I'm sure I could think up more, as I really do like my office and my job, but that would require being awake some more. I have to go to bed. After all, it's almost 7:30, and I have to get up at 3. Damn it.

Picture Pages

I have so many things to tell you, dear readers. This weekend Ryan and I went to this big fancy fundraiser for his school, and looked fabulous. He wore a kilt and I wore a dress that showed way too much cleavage and A FULL FACE OF MAKE-UP. No, really, I did. I even experimented with liquid eyeliner. Wait until you see the pictures! Oh, wait, I didn't take pictures... Okay, um, my friend Irinna had a baby, and it's really cute, and her three year old daughter really is darling with her sister. Damn, I didn't take pictures of them either... Well, as the weather has been getting colder I have been cooking more. I made stew and yummy pasta last week. Both dishes looked almost as good as they tasted, but I don't have pictures of those either... I don't have pictures of anything, do I?

I don't know why I don't have pictures of anything. I carry two cameras with me almost everywhere I go. Both take stills and video. Of course, one or both are usually out of batteries, and normally I forget I have them until the person/place/thing I wanted to take a picture of is gone. But that ends today. I declare this "Libby Logic Picture Pages Week"! Every post must have at least one, nay, two pictures or videos! And none of them can be cribbed from the web, no matter how funny they are, or how many monkeys washing cats they contain! I will move into the 21st century, and, by god, it will be in technicolor. Who knows what I will capture. Maybe Bigfoot shops at my local grocery store.

We'll start "Libby Logic Picture Pages Week" with two things I never forget to take pictures of -- my dog and my nephew. We'll start with Sally, resplendent on the lawn yesterday while Ryan raked leaves.

She actually wasn't the best raking partner since she kept jumping into the piles and scattering them. She also thought Ryan was attacking her with the rake, so she kept trying to bite it. I never said she was smart.

Now, on to Luke, who has just lost his first tooth. This is a bittersweet moment for our family, since we remember when he first got those teeth. It seems like he hasn't been using them long enough to need new ones. Alas, that is the case, and while he waits for the "big tooth" to come in he is having a ball sucking spaghetti through the hole, and sticking his tongue through it when his mouth is not occupied with pasta.


Wow. One post, two pictures. This blog is getting better already. And just wait until you see what else I have in store... Actually, I don't know what I have in store. My camera is still charging.

I Can't Believe I'm Writing This

I feel bad for Sarah Palin.

No, I don't feel bad enough to revise my previous opinions. I still think she is a bigoted, ignorant, hate mongering social climber, who would sell her soul to push the conservative agenda. However, I see now that see is not the worst of the Republican bunch, and that she was likely set up from the beginning to take the very big fall for the GOP. And it really pisses me off.

If you think about it, the Republican party treated her exactly as civilizations of yore would have treated a sacrificial virgin. They plucked her from obscurity, promising her she and her family fame and fortune in exchange for her pretty face. They decorated her, and began treating her like a queen, while at the same time quietly telling people not to get too attached by pointing out her flaws, but more in a "isn't she adorable way" than anything else. And then, at the height of her glory, as her head grew almost big enough to eclipse the sun, McCain lost, and they cut out her heart.

Really, I am shocked at how quickly all of the RNC analysts and pundits have turned on Palin. Carl Castle practically giggled like a seventh grade girl as he lambasted her on FOX News yesterday. Did we all know that she didn't know Africa was a continent? Oh, and didn't know the countries in NAFTA? And did you see her nails? And really, her baby isn't that cute. Well, he didn't say the last two, but it's close enough.

They aren't just stopping at calling her stupid though, they are blaming her for pretty much any mistake they can find. The clothing debacle? All her idea. She made the RNC do it. She came in, tied them up, and took their credit cards. That bully. Oh, and the plan floated by McCain to abandon the debates until after the economic crisis was solved? All her fault. McCain was just actually trying to buy her time because she was so inexperienced. I think they are going to find a way to tie her to the lack of WMDs in Iraq next.

What really makes me mad about this whole Sarah Palin thing though is how the Republicans used cries of sexism to cover up the most sexist plot of them all. During the campaign any legitimate concerns about Palin were written off as "blatant sexism." However, now that they have lost, Republicans are blaming a woman for their downfall, and the two reasons they are using are her intelligence and shopping. I'm surprised no one has mentioned her "horrible PMS" as a reason for the loss.

If I were Sarah Palin I would get my biggest moose hunting gun, climb into a helicopter and head to Washington. Then I would demand they give me Ted Stevens job. That way I could keep an eye on the sneaky bastards. And if they wouldn't give it to me? I would shoot the lot of them, stuff them and hang them all on the wall. Actually, I think I would do that anyway. It would be only fair.

The Day After

Anyone in the news business will tell you that the day after a major event is an enormous let down, and usually absolute drudgery to work. It's like having to throw a party the day after New Year's Eve, using just the leftovers that you found on the floor. Not fun. I was expecting today to be like that. I was dreading it. Soundbites peppered with the word "tonight" or "election day." Night time video that would look out of place being shown in the middle of the day. Oh, and absolutely no other news to fill in around it and remind people that the world had kept spinning despite the fact something monumental had occurred. It was not going to be an easy job, and I had to do it. But then, just as I was getting ready to commit television hara-kiri and run a bunch of feature packages, something remarkable happened: it started to snow. And it snowed a lot.

I have written in the past about the snow in Utah, and how, despite the fact that it happens every year, people always freak out about it. Today was no different. About 7am the calls started coming in. How much was it supposed to snow? How bad were the roads? Was this white stuff falling from the sky punishment for the election of a black President? Panties were in a bunge all over the valley. People started driving like idiots, either going to fast or too slow for conditions. Tree limbs started to crack and fall into the street. I really hoped no one would get hurt, but I was also really glad I had something to put in my show other than election leftovers. My weatherman (yes, under his contract, I do own him) assured me the snow would most likely be over by the time we went on air, but it didn't matter. The snow would still be fresher than any other option I had. Little did we know it would keep going.

That is one of my favorite things about weather stories. A lot of the time we have no idea what is going to happen. Yes we have Doppler, and Viper, and Tarot technology, but things can always go awry at the last minute. It sucks on days when everyone is preparing to report on a big storm that never materializes because of a "split jet stream," but when it goes the other way, it rocks. That happened today. No one told the snow it was supposed to stop before noon, so it didn't. It didn't even slow. It just kept picking water up of the lake and dumping it on the city in big fluffy flakes. And with every one of those flakes my show got better, and my mood got lighter.

After the show I came home to find Sally practically climbing the walls ready to go out and play. She loves the snow. We shook off the tree branches, dumping flakes on to our heads (well, I did, she doesn't have thumbs), and kicked and danced around the back yard. I threw snowballs for her to catch until my hands froze through my gloves. Then I took off my gloves and threw snowballs at the cats while Sally laughed.

Tomorrow there could be no news. And I will have to deal with it. But today was so good, I don't mind. A new President is coming, and a soft blanket of snow cushioned the announcement of his arrival, giving me time to enjoy it, rather than wonder what to do with it next.

Wow.

I cannot believe it. He won. Obama won. The world is changing. People are getting smarter. Birds are singing. Planets are aligning. I may even learn how to dance.

Our President.

Eight years ago I was sitting in Bill and Lauren's living room in Georgetown, eating Halloween candy, drinking beer, and dying a little each time new results were announced. I went home feeling defeated, and not wanting to turn on the television the next morning, because it would mean confirming I lived in a Republican America -- and, at that time, I had no idea how bad it would really get. The next month of arguing only made it worse, and took more of my faith in America away.

Today, I am renewed. God bless America.

The Waiting

I did not sleep at all last night. I was like a kid on the night before Christmas, tossing and turning in anticipation of the best present ever -- or a big pile of crap -- under the tree. Today has been no better. I have been distracted, edgy, slightly manic, and easily annoyed. Well, at least more easily annoyed than normal. At one point today I noticed that I seemed to be yelling everything I was saying, and giggling while doing it. Luckily, no one seemed to notice it, this weird electrical buzzing affecting everyone, or at least everyone in my life. "This could be it," we all seem to be vibrating, "we could be at a new beginning." Of course, not all of us may make it to see that new beginning, if it comes. I am pretty sure at least one person I know will spontaneously combust before this evening is out.

I came home and tried to take a nap, hoping that I would fall asleep and wake up when all the results were in, but sleep, once again, eluded me. I had to get up to check e-mail, and the news websites. I even logged on to a virtual couple of Magic 8 ball sites, asking for their exit poll results. However, the outlook there? "Not so good." Let's hope they are getting their numbers from FOX News.

Now I am making harvest soup, and fresh rolls. I have taken a bottle of good red wine off of our "reserve shelf" in the liquor cabinet. In just about an hour Ryan and I will settle on the couch for the long haul, not to emerge until it is time to celebrate -- or to make plans to move to New Zealand.

Don't let me down, America!

This is Why We Are Friends

After all my '"wah-wah-wahing" this afternoon Tara sent me the following e-mail titled "What I am getting you for Christmas."

Damn, she's good.

Time to Get Serious

I think I am having a mid-life crisis.

Well, I don't know, maybe it's not mid-life. Actually, I really hope it isn't mid-life because that would mean I am only going to live to be 68 and that would suck, especially since I now force myself to eat at least three green vegetables a week for the life extending benefits. It's definitely some kind of crisis though, and it definitely has to do with my life.

Don't get me wrong, I have a great life. I have a husband who is more wonderful than my wildest dreams, a family that is supportive, fun, and whom I really like being around, and friends who knock me on my ass they are so funny. I have a great job that probably pays me more money than I am worth, a house, a car, health benefits, and the ability to buy random things like books and wine when the mood strikes. I love it. The problem is, I have no idea what I did to get it. And I have no idea what I am supposed to do next.

I think this must happen to almost everyone. I mean, if it didn't we would all be actors, firemen, and unicorn wranglers and no one would be doing taxes, teaching middle school, or overseeing road construction. Is that the great secret that no one tells you though? That pretty much no matter what you do you're life is just going to turn out however it wants to? I mean barring any great mistakes or triumphs of will of course. I think it must be, and that must be why we laud and make movies of the week about those people who have really taken their lives by the reigns and turned it in the direction they want it to go. Or why the songs of John Lennon and David Byrne resonate with so many people.

So, what to do next? Should I take off for Patagonia? Drink more? Start writing a book? Take up knitting? Come on, dear readers, help me pull my head out of my ass. This is when you earn your money...

Just Say NOBloPoMo

This is my 300th blog post. I could make it special and announce that with this post I am beginning my part in National Blog Posting Month, but I won't do that. Why? Because I am not about to pretend I have that much to say.

For those of you "in the know" NaBloPoMo (technical term) is a challenge to bloggers to post something new EVERY DAY. Some people can do it. They write witty, urbane things every day that make me laugh, think, and marvel at their brilliance. Some can't do it, but at least intersperse their good written posts with good picture posts (which counts, but really should be seen as cheating), and still make me feel like I am a better person for visiting their blog. Of course, there are also people to fail miserably. I don't mean they don't post every day, I just mean that they shouldn't.

I have watched bloggers whom I respect begin the month with a bang, and end it with a whimper containing a series of insipid posts about their cats. And I like cats. Or they just start posting random stuff. You know, like cartoons, videos, and links to porn sites. It's less like a blog and more like an Internet garage sale. It just makes me sad, and I really never want to be thought of as sad.

Maybe it's just that I know myself too well. I know that I would start out strong, but then puss out. It's why I don't run marathons. And it doesn't even have anything to do with a lack of topics. I have a whole notepad full. It just has to do with the fact that I would feel like I HAD to write. And I really hate doing things that I feel I have to do. I never want writing this blog to feel that way. It's goes against the entire reason I started it. I needed to write something that didn't need to be done by a deadline, didn't need to follow a certain structure, and didn't routinely include the words "police," "murder," "president," or "war." It's what keeps me sane, and I can't lose that.

So, I won't be posting every day this month. I will probably come close, especially if McCain somehow wins the White House. But I know I'll take a few days off. After all, you can't force brilliance -- or logic.