To Chris and Kelli’s wedding. This is the first family wedding in quite a few years and, as Mouse also reports, most of us are a little rusty at getting dressed up. Weddings being about the only place we ever go that require looking presentable.

Yeah, grok grok grok. Ya shudda seen wha’ Ol’ Baggy wore to ol’ Grandroobly’s memorial party. Raggle-dy ol’ skirt ‘n’ tank top w’ a bathin’ suit und’rneath. Of *all* things! Grok grok. Just in case she felt like sneakin’ away ‘n’ takin’ a li’l dip inta ol’ Gitchee Gumee durin’ th’ festivy-tees. Me ‘n’ Th’ Ol’ Commander were morty-fied! Grok grok grok. Ya could even see th’ top o’ th’ bathin’ suit stickin’ up from und’rneath th’ tank top. Grok grok grok.

Just a minute. (Shut up Froog! And how did you get to know so much about women’s clothing anyway? Last I looked, your personal wardrobe was limited to a babushka and some Harry Potter glasses that washed up on the beach.) Never mind him.

I didn’t even wear shoes to my own wedding. Why the heck would anybody want to wear shoes on the beach fer Kee-reist? The Commander was not especially happy about that. “Are you *really* going to go barefoot?” “Are you *sure* you don’t want to wear some shoes?” After all those years of living amongst the Fin Family Moominbeach folk, something from the dark ages when she was a city girl working at the downtown Hudson’s percolated up to the surface and brought her sense of propriety right to the forefront. “I have raised a total hooligan!” she thought in horror. When I finally got down to the beach, the first thing I noticed was that Grandroobly was also barefoot. Obviously The Commander did not win that particular battle!

It’s okay, Mom. I won’t wear my beat up old, ratty old Tevas today. I actually do have an appropriate pair of shoes. They make me shuffle when I walk but I can endure that for a few hours. And I won’t wear a bathing suit either. I might carry a YAG bag, y’all will just have to deal. But I won’t be the belle of the ball and that’s not my job anyway. It’s Kelli’s day and I hope she has a good one! She certainly won’t be upstaged by me. GrokgrokgorkFRGOK!

P.S. I am NOT, repeat, NOT, taking any propane tanks home from this wedding. So don’t anyone even THINK about trying to foist one o’ those off on me!!! Got it?

“Moom, you are the computer expert around here.” Roight. Yaknow, life just refuses to be boring for even five minutes.

<computer_rant>Lemme see. Right now I have 5.3 Gig worth of available hard drive space left on this electronical contraption. This morning, I had about 4.5 Gig. That just could not be. So I began the arduous task of deleting old files. I would’ve kept on going except that I ran into a file that refused to let me delete it. Actually it is not a file, it is a folder. There’s something in the folder that is wreaking all kinds of havoc and I can’t see what it is. All that folder *used* to contain was a few measly photoshop files. Yeah, I know photoshop doesn’t make “measly” files. Anyway, not only can I not delete the damn thing, if I even try to *select* it in the finder, the whole schlmiel locks up on me and the spinning ball gets going and I have to sit here and wait. And wait. And wait. No, the file folder is not locked, so don’t even ask. I have tried everything I can think of. I have *scoured* every piece of documentation I can find. Nothing works. I can’t even get at it with Unix.

Except. I’m not telling the whole truth. I was hoping for an easy answer but I think I know what needs to be done. I have a disk error. I need to fix it. That means I have to find the backup drive, figure out (again) how to back up my computer, and back up my computer. Then I have to find the system disk and re-a-start the computer, booting it up via the system disk (or whatever ya call it, I hafta find *that* too!) so I can run disk repair on the hard drive. And hopefully that will work. Because if it doesn’t, it’s evident that we are operating in a failure mode here and sooner or later, my hard drive will bite the dust and I’ll be stuck up that familiar old crick while I wait for Apple to fix my drive.</computer_rant>

On top of all that, the Internet got all wonky here this afternoon for a while, so I was w-a-i-t-i-n-g for that too. I can’t win. Sigh…

Well, maybe that’s an overstatement. But it occurred to me as I was hiking vigorously along in the dark this morning that, exactly one year ago to the moment, I had been lying flat on the couch sucking ice chips and one-handedly typing an email message to a couple of friends telling them that I wouldn’t be meeting them for coffee that morning. And that’s all I’ll say. Anything more would be TMI, as The Marquis would say. One foot in front of the other and onward.

Different cast too — Karen, Val, Pengo, Lizard and maybe a few others not physically present. Here are some of the conversational bits and pieces and outtakes, not *necessarily* in any particular order:

• Brrrrrrinnnnng.
• This is the EPA. We need your help to set up a mail server.
• Rats. I shouldda left my phone *and* my computer in my vee-hickle.
• This is *not* a cowboy bar! Zzzzzzzz…..
• Apparently Grosse Point is a strange place to grow up.
• Maybe even stranger than The Planet Ann Arbor.
• Someone here is apparently a threat to gay men, but we don’t know who.
• There are no males here.
• Only Fins are here.
• We don’t have a whole lot of male Fins at the moment.
• Two of the male Fins that we do have belong to the canine species.
• The gay threat is prob’ly not at this table.
• Uh, they are sorta male.
• What color should I dye my hair next?
• Her name was Lola. She was a show girl. Doo do do do do dodoo doo, do do do do dodoo doo.
• (((((No Frooog. Sorry but you canNOT use Garage Band today.)))))
• Grok grok grok grok!!!
• You are a lizard sitting on a rock looking at me.
• Green is out. Red is so last year.
• No nude scenes either.
• You could go blonde.
• Yeah, then you could wear pink.
• Speak slowly.
• The internet is a series of tubes.
• Al Gore invented it.
• He’s married and he has four kids!
• And then his wife walked up and I knew it was okay.
• I dunno who any o’ these guys are. Except for Al Gore, of course.
• A wedding is a good place to meet a guy.
• I remember when Mouse used to eat makeup.
• No, don’t bring me food. Wilma and I will get our own.

The sky spat a little piddly bit of snow at us here on The Planet today but it was mostly gray and penetratingly cold and my brain was pretty numb, so we just spazzed around with Pooh and The Marquis all day.

What I used to do for the first five days after Christmas was go to ski school. Ski school was a volunteer endeavor to get the kids of Sault Ste. Siberia skiing. It was held at Mission Hill, a ski area just off Lake Superior, a few miles west of the Iroquois Light. We had a morning of class, then terrorized the ski hill all afternoon. We were in classes of about 20 or so: B-9, I-13, etc. “B” was beginner and “I” was intermediate and the number was our approximate age. I got my first skis when I was about 10, so I guess I would’ve been in B-10 to start out.

Our instructors would line us up on our assigned area of the bunny hill and we would slowly sidestep up the hill until it was our turn to ski down to the bottom. We learned how to snowplow to a stop, then progressed to snowplow turns. The intermediate kids did the stem christie and eventually the much coveted parallel turns. Once, to my extreme mortification, the TV 9&10 news team caught me on camera in mid-fall and broadcast it *twice*.

After a few years of progress through the beginner and intermediate classes, I was about 14 and decided I was too old for ski school that year. The Commander had a different idea. “If you are too old for class, you are going to *teach* this year.” My friend Helen and I were assigned to teach B-8. Those kids were learning skills at about a level that matched our competence for teaching. I think I learned as much about ski, boot, and mitten adjustment as they did about skiing.

I was a mediocre but very enthusiastic downhill skier. Christmas holidays and weekends we nagged our parents incessantly to drive us out to Mission Hill. Weeknight evenings, we schlepped our ski equipment up the escarpment to the Minneapolis Woods rope tow. Whenever we could manage it, we engineered special expotitions to Searchmont, Ontario or Boyne and Nubs Nob down in the northern lower peninsula.

When I got into my twenties, I got my first pair of cross-country skis and eventually migrated completely from downhill to cross-country. It’s cheaper and more accessible. I almost want to say it’s better exercise but I think that’s arguable. We used to be pretty darn tired after a long day of vigorous downhill skiing.

I love cross-country skiing and it isn’t without hills to negotiate. But every once in a while, when I see a chair-lift or watch the Olympics or whatever, I think about the days when we used to careen (or is it career?) wildly and clumsily down the hill, narrowly missing trees and cliffs and other people and whatever. And then there were those rare times when I had a perfect run, carving every turn like an expert and swishing to a spectacular parallel stop at the bottom.

Christmas did actually used to be white back in the Jurassic Age U.P. I don’t think I can remember even one year when there wasn’t any snow.

Our holiday always officially started at the Methodist Church Christmas Eve service, my favorite time to go to church, mainly because there was a lot less talk and a lot more music than usual. We sang Christmas carols, accompanied by the big old pipe organ, ending with Silent Night by candlelight. After a tour around the town to look at lights, we got to open one present before we went to bed.

Christmas morning we got up early and worked our way through all the rest of the packages. Until sometime around mid-morning, when we traveled the five or six blocks to our grandparents’ house to meet up with our aunts, uncles, and cousins, open a few more presents, and eat bacon and eggs for breakfast.

I don’t much remember what kind of stuff happened after that except that I usually got pretty bored sometime in the middle of the day, which meant that I invented wonderfully constructive activities like picking fights with my brother. Bro’, wherever you are, if you’re reading this, sorry.

It seems like most years we had a big Christmas dinner at Don and Katie’s, maybe sometimes that was at the grandparents’ house too. My uncle was a popular, busy local doc whose holiday was often interrupted by calls to deliver babies and whatnot. One loverly Christmas Day, he diagnosed *me* with the mumps!

It is not a white Christmas here on The Planet Ann Arbor or even in the Yoop as near as I can tell. Actually, gray is the appropriate color around here. I don’t care. The last few weeks have felt like a three-legged race and it’s somewhat miraculous that I managed to pull something together at all.

If you celebrate Christmas, Merry Christmas and what all do you remember from when you were a kid? Were there white Christmases?

We have a guest blahgger today, our niece Renee. Yesterday, she tried to fly home for the holidays from San Francisco and became stranded in Phoenix.

ababsurdo seems to appropriate venue through which to share that i am stranded in Phoenix and will not be in attendance at the Courtois party tonight. the first time i will EVER have missed it!

U.S. Airways / America West is the Grinch. i did my part as a punctual flyer, arriving on time and abandoning my toothpaste and deoderant (and Mouse’s Christmas present) in my checked luggage, only to have the flight delayed 30 minutes and to miss my connecting flight out of PHX by literally five minutes. the plane leaves for Detroit without me (but WITH my luggage! Mouse, your gift is circling the luggage carousel in Detroit!). me and five other Detroiters are left stranded in Phoenix. stood in the customer “service” line for five hours, to be told there are no flights available to Detroit, sorry ma’am, you will be in Phoenix until Monday. Christmas! they had me flying to Detroit on Christmas, and staying in Phoenix for three days. predictably, there were tears.

then, a friend does a simple Travelocity search and gets me a flight TONIGHT on Northwest. do we think it is a coincidence that U.S. Airways “couldn’t” find me a flight on a competing carrier? hmm…

long story longer, i’ll be home at 5am on Christmas Eve (sigh), and i doubt the Courtois party will be raging at that point. i love you all, and Merry Christmas!! my only comfort is that i’ll see some of you at the wedding!

love, Renee

If you must play Christmas music, can you please play some *decent* Christmas music? Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas does not make me want to buy things. It makes me want to storm your office, smash your sound system, and leave your establishment in handcuffs!

Sincerely Yours,
Mrs. Grinch

On the radio (NPR) today, I keep hearing this story about the lengths that Americans living in foreign countries go to provide a “traditional” American Christmas for their kids. Like, for example, how do you find a Christmas tree in India? I didn’t listen very carefully but I thought I heard the reporter say that there were difficulties finding a tree that was acceptable to the children of the family.

Acceptable tree? Kee-reist! Who’s the parent here? People, sit your kids down, look them straight in the eye, and tell them the facts. Like the fact that this Christmas isn’t going to look exactly like the ones they’re used to having back in the states. That you are in a foreign country with a range of cultures. They don’t all celebrate Christmas. Come to think of it, there are a whole heck of a pile of people in the U.S. who don’t celebrate it either.

Despite the fact that I grew up going to Sunday school, I’ve never been much of a Christian. But I know what this holiday is *not* about. It *isn’t* about decorated pine trees or billions of gifts under them. It *certainly* isn’t about crowded malls and impassible streets, congested with panicky last-minute shoppers. That said, we *do* have a tree. It’s got lights on it but no ornaments yet and I’ve been going hucklety-buck to try to figure out what gifts to give to who. It took me twenty minutes to get through the Carpenter/Washtenaw intersection today. What *was* I thinking?

What Christmas *is* about is peace and thinking about your neighbor, not to mention those who are a bit less fortunate, or those who celebrate other holidays. Although we should really be thinking about that stuff year-round. So if you are in India or someplace and it costs umpty-nine million dollars to ship a top-notch Douglas fir or whatever, why not make your own holiday. Find a way to celebrate Christmas with whatever is available. Heck, I bet you can get sparkly lights in India any time of the year. You don’t need a tree to hang them on. Why not the refrigerator or around the windows or in the garden, or whatever. And find a way to share your holiday with others in such a way that you don’t trample on *their* religion or culture.

I dunno. When I hear stuff like this, sometimes I think that it’s really the parents trying to provide their kids with perfect experiences rather than the kids who aren’t happy. I think that kids are typically open to new experiences and dealing with new people and different languages, etc. Like when my brother, at about age six or whatever, encountered a French-speaking girl about his age at a rest area in Canada. When asked by our parents how they had managed to communicate, his reply was something like, “It’s not hard to speak a different language. You just have to put your mouth a different way.”

I dunno what all I just said and I don’t have time to edit. So, for now, peace.

I had another little bah humbug rant percolating today but after I heard about the latest adventure in Marci’s always exciting life, I decided she had me beat. So I’ll write about my serendipitously wonderful Tuesday instead.

Sam the Archaeologist and I have both spent quite a bit of time with octogenarians in the last year or so. And that’s not a bad thing, so don’t any of you tough, old octo-women get your underwear in a bunch! You know who you are! What it has meant though is that we have learned to keep any plans for getting together pretty loose because a couple of times unexpected events have caused us to have to cancel. Since she lives in Atlanta, it’s hard enough from the get-go for us to get together frequently.

And then there are days like yesterday. The plan was that I would pick Sam up at Metro and drive her up to her parents’ house near Lansing. And guess what? It all worked out even more than perfectly, despite a bit of bumbling at the airport by your favorite blahgger. The weather was great — clear, sunny, and warm. The traffic was tolerable for the most part and even though we were talking a mile a minute the whole time, I did *not* miss any exits! Like I have been known to do in a similar situation, oh back in about June.

A little bit of shopping at Meridian Mall, lunch at Panera, a visit with her parents. It was all good. But what put the whole day absolutely over the edge was an hour-long ramble on the conservation easement across the street. Woods and ponds and fields and hills and a graveyard of slowly disintegrating farm equipment from the days when horsepower meant four legs. I spotted potential forts at every turn and an archaeological site to boot. I reluctantly took my leave in the mid-afternoon and rolled home on the back highways under a brilliant, low-slung, winter solstice sun. A day I will always remember.

(Oh, and Froog? What under the *sun* were you looking at when I got home yesterday afternoon?)

“So did I!”

Me and Sam the Archaeologist are sitting here in the Okemos Panera, the one with the tsunami in the toilet, reading and writing email and blahgs and whatnot.

We had a little shopping errand and I made a little progress on the kid gifts. With Sam’s help. Maybe this would all be a bit easier if I found a few shopping buddies. Other than Me, Myself, and I, that is.

Anyway, yay for Pooh Comments! Reader of the Day!

I’m sitting in the WCC Library blahgging instead of what I should be doing, which is studying. I have a huge, ugly final tonight but I don’t think I could study any more if I tried. I am just plain out of steam. So, I *tried* to do a little Christmas shopping this afternoon. And a *little* cleaning.

On the shopping front I accomplished absolutely nothing. The only thing that didn’t make it a totally wasted trip is that I ran into Linda, who I haven’t seen in a coon’s age, and we made plans to have coffee after all the chaos is over.

I have something for The Commander (and she better use it or else!) and I have something for the Grumpy Growler. And really there are only my young adult daughters left. 22 and 19. I have absolutely, positively, utterly NO IDEA what to get them!!! I cannot buy them clothing. I do not want to buy them a bunch of junk that they don’t need. I can’t think of any books to get them. I am sure they are not interested in reading about MYSQL or Coldfusion!

On top of all that, at this late date, going shopping is like running a gauntlet. Traffic jams, backups at the cash registers, incompetent clerks, you name it. I HATE shopping under those conditions. I am a USCAN shopper. In and out in short order. It is agony for me to have to stand in line and watch people slowly dredge their money out of their purses. And this year, I am just not in the mood.

Kids, any kids, not just mine, what do you want for Christmas? Parents, are you having the same problem as I am? I need to have SOME packages under the tree for them to open. Maybe I should just ask one of my Jewish friends to adopt me until it’s all over!

Okay, one more stab at studying. At 6 PM, I am on!

Maybe I’m misquoting but I *think* I remember Lizard Breath saying that eight years ago when YAG announced the auditions. And she *had* been in Peter Pan in fourth grade, as a pirate. But *this* Peter Pan was going to be in the Lydia Mendelssohn Theatre, not the Haisley School cafetorium or whatever you call it. And there was going to be *flying*. So, she and Mouse auditioned. And Elizabeth became Wendy! Mouse was a Lost Boy. The GG ran the fly ropes, as it was required by Flying by Foy that parents fly their own kids. And I was the Two Cent Orchestra, playing my own compositions in the orchestra pit, which was a lot less crowded than the last time I’d had an orchestra gig in that pit.

Most of my memories about that play are dream-like. Dark, warm, humid, foggy December days much like what we have this year of Peter Pan redux. Millions of little kids running all over backstage. Parents camping out in the green room eating smelly, heavy, greasy food. One of the Peters freaking out and trashing a dressing room. Late nights. Stressssssss.

One memory stands out vividly. Everybody was stressed out and the flyers had to stay late after the play to practice their flying. Lizard was one of the older flyers, so she always went last so the little kids could get home to bed. One night it was something like 12:30 AM when Liz and the GG got home. I was up working on the play program and when I met them at the door, she was crying and white as a sheet. I thought she was sick but she was just totally, absolutely, utterly exhausted! I just shoved Orange Baby into her arms.

After that play, I ended up on the board and eventually a paid employee of the organization. I spent many, many tech weeks at the Mendelssohn and, as chaotic as it could be, I loved it all! I quit just over a year ago. We won’t go into why, in a way, it was just time.

YAG is doing Peter Pan again this December. The cast is absolutely, totally different than the last cast. Many of the kids in this cast are probably too young to even have been in a play eight years ago. But a couple of the kids from the 1998 cast are involved with this play and one of them is The Master of The Lydia Mendelssohn Theatre stage, namely Mouse. Also known as the stage manager.

We went down there for a little while last night to give Mouse some keys. It amazes me that, even though I am no longer involved and actually quit pretty abruptly, I am still welcomed by all of the current board members and volunteers. We walked straight up the stairs to the stage, opened the stage door and walked in and no one stopped us. We dropped the keys off with Mouse, then stood back in the shadows and watched the goings on. Kids acting and flying and coming in and out the stage door and lots of shushes, etc. One of the actresses even gave me a hug. I’ve moved away from YAG but I still love it and I’ll never forget all the good times. And the bad times and the hilarious times and the kee-reist times and everything else.

So asked our coder, who had very carefully coded the text to be *black* against its light gray background. And then our graphic designer discovered that none of our once-valid pages even came close to validating. Our poor programmer lamented that he had probably received more email messages today than he had in his entire life. And then it quickly degenerated. “Is it beer-thirty yet?” “This makes me feel like throwing furniture!” Yeah, I’ll join you, especially in the furniture flinging, I certainly have a lot of furniture I’d like to fling!

I can’t believe that earlier this week, I compared the experience of putting together a web site with producing a huge play and actually rated the website as easier than the play. Can I just say that shit hit the fan this afternoon?

Sorry, I feel like a major failure today. I’m working on two websites right now (besides ababsurdo, which, as you can probably tell, I don’t *work* on, I just *write* in). One of them is my own fictional online banking application and the other is a group project to redo the website of a local non-profit. Who am I to think I can even begin to be a website developer or a project manager? All I have done since 5 AM today is sit around tethered to my powerbook debugging things and emailing back and forth with my group.

Come to think of it I wasn’t really very good at being a youth theatre guild administrator either since after six years, I finally imploded and had to just up and quit. What am I good at? What do I want to do with my life? How can I make a living? Cleaning toilets is not it, sorry. Although I am not terribly bad at that. Well, except that when I encounter toilets like the one that used to be at the Blue Earth Trading Company, I can’t even look at them without bigtime gagging. So, I guess Toilet Cleaner is out as a career too.

Will tomorrow be another day? Will it be a *better* day? Is it beer-thirty yet?

<!--- include template for document header --->
<cfinclude template="dochead.cfm">

<!-- updateFrogConfirm.cfm: template to enter frog data into the 
     froggy table and display updated info. -->

<!--- Use the cfquery tag to insert the updated frog contact info into the 
      "froggy" table --->   
      <cfquery name="updFrogs" datasource="#application.DS#">
         UPDATE froggy 
                SET frogName='#form.frogName#',
                frogColor='#form.frogColor#',
                frogEyeColor='#form.frogEyeColor#',
                frogHairColor='#form.frogHairColor#',
                obnoxiousnessRating='#form.obnoxiousnessRating#',
         WHERE frogID=#form.frogID#       
</cfquery>

<!--- Query the froggy table again, using the value of frogID to retrieve
      all of the data entered for the frog just updated --->
      
<cfquery name="getFrog" datasource="caramel-i275015">
   SELECT frogID, frogName, frogColor, frogEyeColor, frogHairColor, obnoxiousnessRating
   FROM froggy
   WHERE frogID = #form.frogID#
</cfquery> 

<!-- Begin frog display table -->

<h2>Frog Data Updated:</h2>
<div id="tbl">
<table cellspacing="0">
   
<!--- Use the cfoutput tag to output the data retrieved in the getRecord query.
      Because only one record is being retrieved, the table used here will 
      output one or several related fields per row. ---> 

<cfoutput query="getFrog">
        
  <tr>
    <td class="bld">Frog ID:</td><td>#frogID#</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="bld">Frog Name:</td><td>#frogName#</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="bld">Frog Color:</td><td>#frogColor#</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="bld">Frog Eye Color:</td><td>#frogEyeColor#</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="bld">Frog Hair Color:</td><td>#frogHairColor#</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="bld">Frog Obnoxiousness Rating:</td><td>#obnoxiousnessRating#</td>
  </tr>
</table>

<!--- email updated contact info to frog --->
<cfmail
     to="froggy@badisp.com"
     from="acourtois@badisp.com"
     subject="Updated Frog Info"
     Here is your updated frog information:
     
     Frog Name: #frogName#
     Frog Color: #frogColor#
     Frog Eye Color: #frogEyeColor#
     Frog Hair Color: #frogHairColor#
     Obnoxiousness Rating: #obnoxiousnessRating#
</cfmail>

<!-- Return to welcome or frog update page -->

<p><a href="updateFrog.cfm">Update more info</a>?</p>
</cfoutput>

</div>

<!--- include template for document header --->
<cfinclude template="docend.cfm">

Necessary disclaimer: I doubt there are any people in my class who know where my blahg is. If there are, I haven’t tested this code. It isn’t part of the project. It probably doesn’t work. Well, it *definitely* doesn’t work! ’cause it isn’t real and there is no “froggy” table and there’re prob’ly about a million billion typos in my code. And your project is prob’ly better than mine! Good luck and seeya Monday. I’m struggling as much as you are. 🙂

grok grok. Whaddya mean, “Obnoxiousness rating?” Frgok grok.