The Big Surprise

What was the big surprise? A card.

You know what the best thing about being unconventional is?  That even when something "normal" is done, it's refreshing because it's not expected.

And, technically, I didn't spring the card on her at that time.  It was hidden in the car, and I pointed it out when we arrived at the restaurant.  She did, however, wait unti after we ordered to open it.  But only after exclamations of "What did you do?", and "I didn't get you anything", and "I didn't think we were going to get each other anything."

Of course, she was greeted with something red and frilly and mushy.

Standard V-Day Accoutrement

You don't get to see the inside - I don't want you to see how I fumble over words when I don't have Ctrl-Z and a delete button within reach.

And, well, maybe the BIG surprise wasn't so much the card.  The card wasn't the only thing in the envelope.  There were a few pieces of paper wedged inside the card.  First, there were two of these:

21st Century version of an E Ticket

Yes, that's a ticket to see the Trans-Siberian Orchestra in concert.  You may think you haven't heard of them, but au contraire.  It's likely you've seen this somewhere on the interwebs (it's only had over 31,000,000 views):

Most people know them for their awesome, electrified, rockin' versions of Christmas classical songs.  They excel in combining Mozart with more volume, Pachelbel with power rock, and Ludwig with, uh, Ludwigs.

What they're also masters at is making a concert a visual experience as much as an auditory one.  Here's a clip of them on stage.  Two things: first, jump to about 3:00 minutes in for the music, and second, this was in 2003.  They've had nine years to make it even more exceptionally mind-blowing.

The downside to their tour is that it's not coming to Nashville.  The next closest location is Chattanooga.  So that's where we're headed. 

Past experience has taught us the balcony is prime real estate, not the floor.  That's the best place to be immersed in the production.

In high school we often drove 2.5 hours - on school nights, no less - to go to concerts in Oklahoma City and drive back home afterward.  With age comes wisdom - and the inability to drive that late.  So, we're making an excursion of it, taking a trip like we haven't done for a few years.  We're spending the night on the Delta Queen.  I also printed out this picture and included it in the envelope.

It doesn't go anywhere, but it's also not a Days Inn.  (I was going to compare it to a Holiday Inn Express, but that would make us look less smart.)

Another thing we're looking forward to is sampling Chattanooga's tea rooms.  Those should be fun to visit, like this, and this. There's also one on the Delta Queen, but sadly, I think it's closed for the season.

We have that to look forward to next month.  That capped off the VD Eve dinner.

The following night, Sweetie one-upped me in the "not getting each other anything" department with a home-cooked meal.  Complete with my fave, Red Velvet Cake.  I didn't think to take a picture of the rest of the meal.  Take my word for it - it was delicious.

It's amazing how she can make 1/2 a cake.
It's not like I ate that much.... (ahem)

Cards, dinner, cake - a pretty typical Valentine's Day for most people.  Fortunately, we're not like most people.

Did I mention how much I like Red Velvet Cake?

Post VD

Of course, I'm talking about Valentine's Day (what did you think I meant?).
Alright, so it was a cheap ploy to get you to read, but it had to be done this one time.

That reminds me of a story.  In high school, our English teacher told us plan she had in case she ever decided to become an author.  The first book she intended to write would be a smutty, scandalous book that people would be sure to get everyone's attention.  Then, the second one would be all pious and boring, but a lot of people would buy it just to see if it would be as bad as the first.  (At that point, the internet was still a non-graphical government application - there weren't any pesky bloggers around to instantly share their thoughts with thousands of people or less than a dozen all at once.)

Enough of that sidetrip.  Back to today, and to Valentine's Day.

Years ago we did away with the "normal", obligatory Valentine's stuff.  Flowers die - or are eaten, and subsequently regurgitated, by cats; cards are thrown away with a tinge of guilt; neither of us needs chocolate (I'm not a big fan of it anyway); usually money for necklaces, watches, earrings, diamond-studded grills, has been allocated to diapers, food, mortgages, band fees, and other mundane obligations.  Also, we've never felt our expressions for each other should be dictated by the calendar.  I prefer the spontaneity.

This year, Sweetie's schedule caused her days off to fall on Monday and Tuesday.  Since she has to get up even before o'dark:30, she's generally done for the day by 9:00 on the nights before she works.  We decided to go out to eat on Monday so we wouldn't have to be concerned with the time.  It turns out, that was never a concern. 

If you ever want to literally avoid the rush, go out to eat the day before Valentine's Day.  The restaurants and the servers will appreciate it.  Since we don't go there very often, we went to Applebee's this year.  (We just had pasta on Sunday, so we decided to skip Olive Garden this time.)  We were one table out of five others that were filled.  If restaurants allowed crickets inside, I'm sure we would have heard them. 

Our server's name was Gage.  I've heard of kids named things like Paris (no, not that one), London, Angel (as in Angeles), and Dallas, because of their conception location, so I couldn't help thinking if we were in Oklahoma he would probably be asked about his name a lot.  (Gage, OK)  He treated us like royalty, like we were his only customers.  We weren't because he had one other table to wait on - seated right next to us, of course (!).

So, we ordered a nice meal, and then I sprang the surprise on her.

Check back to see what the surprise was.

What's in a Birthday?

A month ago was my birthday.  I've had people ask me what it feels like to be reaching the end of my 40's.  My daughter even said, "Ooo, just one more year before you're a half century old."  With comments like that, one would think it would make for a distressing time.  Actually, birthdays haven't bothered me much over the years.  All except for one.

The only birthday that gave me pause was three years ago.  That was the year that I "outlived" my Dad.  It was the year I reached the age where I was older than he was when he died.

I don't have a lot of memories of my dad.  One thing I remember is he taught me to tie my shoes. That was when he was he was a milkman, driving a truck for Plains milk. It was also before I started school. I rode with him a few times, driving what seemed was ALL over western Oklahoma, even up into the Panhandle. For all I know, it was probably only a 30 mile radius.  I even once got to take the wind out of someone's sails when they accused me of being fathered by the milkman.  I just said soberly, "Yeah, I was. So what?"

He was a stern disciplinarian, but I only remember being paddled by him once.  And I deserved it.  I definitely deserved it.  I threw a rock through a pane glass window of an abandoned building on the town square. 

There was another time I was playing hide-and-seek with the family, only they didn't know it.  I was hid really well.  Then I got sleepy and dozed off.  I think they were a little panicked when they discovered I was missing.  I thought it was a fun game.  No one else, especially Dad, saw the humor.  He was upset, but he didn't spank me. I don't know if I would've been so lenient in his shoes.

I don't have a lot of memories of him because his life was cut short by an unfortunate accident in the service station he owned after giving up the milk route.  That was back when you went to the gas station and never got out of your car if you didn't want to.  In case you don't remember, there was a time when you'd just sit in your car while one or two attendants took care of the gas, washed the windshield, checked the oil, tire pressure, and usually did it with a smile.  Carmax parodied it excellently in this commercial:

It was also back when gas prices were only specified by numbers to the right of the decimal.  It was also when we weren't wimps, and only gas with lead was sold. 

Kinda like this, but there was Regular and Unleaded, not Premium.
Also, it was all about half these prices.

Some of my fondest memories of my Dad were at that gas station.  I knew where the magical key to the Coke machine was kept.  This magical key opened an outer door, inside of which was a little lever that when toggled twice, would allow a bottle of Coke to be extracted from the machine, no money required.

After getting a Coke -- original Coca Cola, with sugar, not High Fructose Corn Syrup -- I would go behind the counter and get a bag of peanuts to pour into the bottle.  Mmmm, peanuts in Coke.  I tried it once with HFCS Coke.  It's not the same.

Another way I kept myself entertained was to jump on the hose that laid across the driveway and make the bell ding -- until I got in trouble...

When I was in the third grade, I remember playing outside our house when people came by and got Mom, and she rushed to the hospital.  I didn't know what was going on.  Later that day, my grandparents took me to the hospital. That was when I found out there was a horrible accident as Dad and a coworker were fixing a flat on a front tractor tire.  It was a split rim tire, and because of a flaw, it exploded as they were inflating it (that's my understanding of what happened).  Dad was leaning over it when it blew.  The rim went straight up in the air with so much force it put a 3-foot hole in the ceiling.  His coworker was holding onto it and lost some (two? three?) fingers.  Dad didn't make it through the night.

I think this is a split rim tire.

I don't remember the day like I would later remember days like when the Challenger shuttle exploded, or the Murrah building was bombed, or the World Trade Center fell.  I know because of documentation that it was May.  I remember it was warm.  I was in the back yard doing "something."  I think as a child, one would probably block most details as protection from the trauma.

Cyrus Leo Plymesser, Jr.
1927 - 1972

This is the only picture I have of him.  He wasn't one for having his picture taken.  It was shot next to the gas station, so I know it's one of the last pictures of him.

I've never really unpacked this memory before now. Maybe it's because it was 40 years ago this year. Maybe it really is the season of life of which I'm in denial. I will say that this has been somewhat cathartic to type it out.

The Return (Even Though I Never Knew He Left)

This settles it.  We - as in the U. S. of A. - need to take our tea drinking more seriously.  Then we can have spokesmen -animals -stuffed animals like the PG Tips Monkey. 

As best I can tell, PG Tips (which I still find to be a funny name for a tea company) first used chimpanzees, ala  Lancelot Link, in commercials back in the 70's.  Later, they developed a sock monkey to be their mascot.

Search YouTube for "PG Tips Monkey", and you'll find some of his commercials.  Thanks in part to a legal dispute, he apparently went on hiatus.  This clip, is appropriately named, "The Return".

In typical British fashion (no pun intended), he's even been known to don a dress and wig. 



Happy New Year

For 2012, I only have one resolution to make.

I resolve not to make any resolutions this year.



Ok, now that I've broken all my resolutions, time to enjoy the rest of the year.

Hope you had a safe New Years Eve.  I had a quiet evening at home with my Sweetie, catching up on TV shows that were DVR'd while we were out of town.  

Well, Poo!

"I'm just a little black rain cloud
Hovering under the honey tree"

Ok, that's not the poo I'm referring to.  Pooh is Number One.  This poo is Number Two.

What did he say?  I'm going to have to think about that.

As you probably know by now, I'm not a coffee drinker.  A few years ago I heard about a new coffee from Thailand called Civet Cat Coffee.  If you've never heard of this coffee, what I'm about to tell you probably won't encourage you to run out and buy some.  First off, it's expensive.  The online retailer Dean & Deluca sells Civet Cat Coffee through the Kopi Luwak brand. One 50 gram bag is $55.  Using the magical Google calculator to convert it to something I understand, it comes out to just under $500 per pound.  Yes.  $500.  Per pound.

Next, what makes this coffee so special?  According to Dean & Deluca, the beans (or cherries) are "digested and fermented by wild civets".  Now, to my internal thesaurus, "digested" is another term for "eaten" and "fermented" means "sits in the intestines until pushed out".  So, the civet cats do all the hard work, climbing the trees, then picking, eating, and - ahem - cleaning the beans.  The farmers just shovel up the forest floor, wash them off, and package them in little bags for gullible foreigners to buy.

Thailand's answer to Juan Valdez

Seems to me the cats do all the hard work.  I guess it's so expensive because there's not that many cats that prefer coffee.  If they'd hire more cats, maybe it wouldn't cost so much.
 
Well, if that wasn't bad enough, now a Chinese entrepreneur has ventured into my purview with a new product called "Panda Poo Tea".  When I first heard about it, I imagined Kung Fu Panda giving tea plants the civet cat experience before they're dried and packaged for sale.  Fortunately, that is as wrong as it is stomach-turning. 
 
Panda Poo Tea comes from tea plants grown in a compost bed of panda droppings.  Now, it takes a lot of tea plants to make a pound of tea.  That's a lot of acreage.  A lot of acreage would require a lot of panda scat.  Apparently, that's not a problem.  The average panda creates some 44 pounds of panda poo per day.  44 pounds.  A day.  Every day.  That's enough to make a LEET-speak geek exclaim, "0# $#17!," and rightly so.
 
He hopes to sell the first harvest of this new tea variety for 22,000 pounds per pound.  For us colonial revolutionaries, that would be a mere $44,000 per pound.  16 ounces.  $44,000.  Now that cat-excreted java seems like a bargain, doesn't it?
 
I'll stick with a nice Assam, or Lapsang Souchong, or a good English Breakfast.

Chrismas Time is Here

Bonus points for me if you can't get Charlie Brown's Christmas out of your head now.

I've been a little out of sorts this past month or so.  I'm sure you're dying to know why, so I'll definitely share, but first the backstory.  I have to share the backstory. I think it's an unwritten blog rule.  After all, what's a blog without a backstory?  That's right, a paragraph.

In 2008 I was down-sized from a company I'd been with since graduating from college.  It was the only full-time job I've ever had.  Since then, I worked two jobs for two years to try to come close to replacing our income.  Then, out of the blue, the second full-time I've ever had gave me the opportunity to further my career elsewhere.  They were gracious enough to keep me on for three months after telling me - basically to train my replacement (technically, he wasn't my replacement, he had a different job title, since giving him the same title might've left a door open for litigation - he just did the same work I was doing).  But, if I hadn't gone through all that, I wouldn't have discovered Awesome Vendors.

Oh yeah, also in the last year of that job, my Sweetie also was down-sized from her full-time job.  Providentially, she found a part time job before my full-time job ended, so we were still ok - after downsizing the family budget to match.  Her new job is in retail, and since it's not Chick-Fil-A, they're open on Sundays.  Sundays that she basically works two on, two off.

Bear with me, I'm about to come to a point.

About that same time, the church we were attending closed it's doors, and my Sweetie working half or more Sundays in a month provides a convenient excuse to lack the initiative to find a new one.  I want to avoid any awkwardness there might be with me visiting some place alone.  "We have a great adult singles ministry." "Are you divorced?"

So, back to being out of sorts.  I miss being in the middle of a congregation and belting out Silent Night, Joy to the World, Angels We Have Heard on High, I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas... (What? Your church doesn't sing about hippopotami?)  Our church was modern church, so we didn't always do the traditional Advent-y things - which I missed long before this year - but I really miss the extra fellowship that seems to come with the season.

To fill the void, we've had our cable set to the Holiday music channel.  The music channels all display bits of trivia at the top and bottom of the screen.  Most of the time it's even relevent.  The holiday channel stretches the definition of relevant. Learning the minimum size for the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree is 65 feet tall and 35 feet wide is interesting.  Pointing out that Jim Carrey's character in Dumb and Dumber was named Lloyd Christmas, is dubious at best.  While I uttered a verbal, "Huh!" when I read that Play-Doh was originally created as a wallpaper cleaner, I'm not sure what it has to do with Christmas.

The one piece of trivia you won't find there, is originally there was a reverent version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.  My Sweetie and I first heard about it when we heard Twila Paris explain that she'd be singing it a little differently from what was introduced way back in Meet Me In St. Louis.  She said the producers wanted two words changed (the all-knowing internet oracle Wikipedia says there were more words than that).  Instead of "if the Fates allow", it should be "if the Lord allows".  So, anytime we hear that song, we sing the right lyrics and roll our eyes at everyone who sings it wrong.

I'm looking forward to Christmas Sunday.  We'll be in Oklahoma City, and we'll go with family to their slightly-Charismatic-mega-church and be able to join in with hundreds of people who've possibly been to church even less than us, allowing us to still have someone to look down our sanctimonious noses at.

If I don't post before then, Merry Christmas to everyone.