Last January (2008) I flew back to Washington D.C. over Martin Luther King, Jr. Day weekend to visit my son, Jake. Normally I work on MLK Day because I'm a fat white guy who is part of the ethnic group that made it necessary for leaders like Dr. King to have to speak out. In my warped way of thinking, I've believed the best way to honor Dr. King is for me to work on his day. Last year was the exception. I went to D.C. and attended a cool event at the National Cathedral with Jake in honor of Dr. King.
For my birthday in October, Jake got me a $50 gift certificate from Southwest Airlines and suggested I should come back for a visit over MLK weekend in January of 2009. In late October, I checked out prices and snagged a ticket to fly back to D.C. on January 15th and return on the 22nd.
Then it hit me! MLK Day is Monday, January 19th and the inauguration is the next day, January 20th! Maybe I could go to the inauguration!
The day after the election, I wrote Congressman Peter Defazio's office and requested tickets to the inauguration. They were nice enough to respond but were careful to point out that they had received a slug of requests. I completed the application process and waited.
This Tuesday I got an email from his office saying, in part, "We received over 1,000 requests from constituents of the Fourth Congressional District of Oregon to attend his inauguration! Yesterday my office held our lottery for tickets to the 2009 Presidential Inauguration Swearing-in Ceremony for President-elect Barack Obama and your name was selected. Congratulations. You will be receiving 2 tickets to the Inauguration."
Out of 1,000+ requests (which, like mine, were for multiple tickets) I got two tickets! (One for me and one for Jake!) Oh sure, we'll be standing on the National Mall, freezing out butts off with a few million others BUT we will at least be in the roped off area nearest the Capitol with 250,000 of our closest friends! (That's how many tickets Congress had available to give out.)
The email also asked for some additional information, including a request for me to "list any disabilities that would require you to have a seated ticket." I couldn't come up with one that seemed legit enough but my BFF (And I don't mean Barack Obama) asked, "Isn't being a flaming liberal considered a disability???? Apparently not but, even still, could the whole thing be any cooler?
Actually, yes! An "emergency" ordinance was recently passed in D.C. that allows bars to stay open until 5:00 AM during the week of the inauguration. As you know, all good Americans need to get good and liquored up prior to attending a historic event such as the inauguration! (Too bad they have such crappy beer back there!)
In any event, I cannot believe how fortunate I am to be able to attend the inauguration of Barack Obama. Several people have said that I get to see history in the making - and that is exactly how I feel!
I'll be sure to pick up a little something for each of you and will do my best to not embarrass you too badly. Now if I can just figure out how to get an invitation to the MTV Inaugural Ball!
Friday, December 26, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
Christmas Memories
So, Christmas is just around the corner and I thought it would be fun to share some of my favorite Christmas memories. Why? Well, because we all love that warm feeling we get while standing at the window, watching our kids playing in the snow, freezing their patooties off, while we're inside drinking hot chocolate! Okay, maybe my motivation is more therapeutic in nature. By telling you about some of my memories, maybe I can get past some of the hurt that came from these traditions coming to an end when Nancy decided she didn't want to be married any longer. Or maybe I just have fun making this stuff up. In any event, here are a few Milliron Family Christmas Traditions:
Picking Out The Tree
Is there anything more fun than the annual trek to the Christmas tree lot to pick out your tree? Hours of painstaking comparisons of one tree to another, only to pick one, get it home and discover it is infested with ants! The only thing more fun is going out in the woods, freezing your patootie off while wading through wet snow, hiking back and forth between any number of scraggly trees, only to hear your spouse say, "I dunno, let's keep looking" and then, after coming close to losing a toe due to frostbite, you cut one down, wrestle it onto the roof of the mini-van and carefully drive home so it doesn't fall off. Only to discover it is infested with ants!
Setting Up The Tree
For me, the Magic of Christmas comes when you get the tree home, and risk a myocardial infarction trying to get it into the tree stand, and then into the house (while the rest of your family is drinking hot chocolate and watching TV) only to find that the dang thing grew 2-3 feet on the drive back home. That's pure magic! Except for the part where you have to drag it back into the garage, to cut it down to size.
Putting The Lights On The Tree
Putting the lights on the tree is fairly easy, except for the fact that once you get them all arranged, invariably one or more strings mysteriously quits working. But that's easy compared to putting up lights on the house!
Putting The Lights On The House
Our house in Bend was two stories tall with a humongous peak over the garage. Stringing the lights up and over the peak was always a challenge. And by "challenge" I mean a death defying high wire act. Standing on my tip toes on the top step of the 18 foot ladder and thinking, "Maybe if I just jump up about six inches I'll be able to get this onto the hook!" (What a great idea!) OR giving up on that approach and crawling up the icy roof, leaning way over the edge to see if that might be easier. ("Maybe my belt buckle will catch on the gutter and get me just close enough that I can get this onto the hook.") OR really giving up and going into the house to tell my wife, "Yeesh, that is just too scary! I think we'll just skip putting lights up over the peak this year!" only to hear her reply, "Oh honey, it looks so great when the lights run all along the front of the house! You can do it!" (I now realize that what she was really saying was, "Don't give up! I'm counting on you to finally fall to your death this year!"
Decorating The Tree
The tree is in the stand. It's been drug through the house to it's designated spot in the living room. The whole house has that Christmasy smelly that comes with needles covering every square inch of the floor and pitch covering much of the walls. We put on the Christmas music (Usually Bob & Doug McKenzie's 12 Days of Christmas or The Waitresses, Christmas Wrapping or Bruce Springsteen's classic Santa Claus is Comin' to Town.) We call the kids in to start hanging ornaments. This works out really well (sarcasm intended) for two reasons: 1) Young children hang all their ornaments within two inches of each other and 2) Mom is just going to take them all down and put them back up her way anyway.
Sleeping Under The Tree
I cannot remember how this tradition started but I suspect it may have stemmed from another plot to kill or cripple me for life. Once a year, just a few days before Christmas, all five of us would sleep under the tree. We'd leave the lights on the Christmas tree all night to keep us company. (Hey, I'm not proud of it but sometimes you get scared of the dark, you know?) And while you might expect a "Good night Mary Ellen. Good night John-Boy" experience, what you really get is, "Jake! Quit kicking me!" or "Dad, you shouldn't yell SHUT UP AND GO TO SLEEP at Christmas! Santa won't bring you any presents" OR "Santa, Shmanta! You kids still believe in that goon? Well, I hate to break it to you but THERE IS NO SANTA! Think about that while you're going to sleep!" Followed by whimpering. And if that weren't bad enough, (and don't you think it should be?) I find myself waking up every 45 minutes during the night because apparently carpeting is not meant to provide you with the comfort and support you need for a decent nights sleep. On the other hand, the time I spent in traction in the days immediately after sleeping under the tree were, on the whole, pretty relaxing.
That's just a few of our traditions. I left out things like driving around to look at Christmas lights, freezing our patooties off at the Annual Christmas Parade, the traditional Christmas Eve minestrone, the birthday party for Jesus (Is it okay to say "Jesus" at work?) and the Christmas Eve story time with the Crawford's (where each year Shawn and/or I were in a panic to find the right story to read to our kids). And while I might sound a little cynical about things, I'm not. I LOVED all of these traditions - even the ones that tended to be life threatening - and the memories they created with my kids. And I hope they look back as fondly on them as I do.
Merry Christmas! Happy New Year! Happy Hanukkah! Happy Kwanza! Happy Winter Solstice! Merry "Insert Your Own Favorite Cult Celebration Here."
And now I gotta go spray the tree for ants again.
Picking Out The Tree
Is there anything more fun than the annual trek to the Christmas tree lot to pick out your tree? Hours of painstaking comparisons of one tree to another, only to pick one, get it home and discover it is infested with ants! The only thing more fun is going out in the woods, freezing your patootie off while wading through wet snow, hiking back and forth between any number of scraggly trees, only to hear your spouse say, "I dunno, let's keep looking" and then, after coming close to losing a toe due to frostbite, you cut one down, wrestle it onto the roof of the mini-van and carefully drive home so it doesn't fall off. Only to discover it is infested with ants!
Setting Up The Tree
For me, the Magic of Christmas comes when you get the tree home, and risk a myocardial infarction trying to get it into the tree stand, and then into the house (while the rest of your family is drinking hot chocolate and watching TV) only to find that the dang thing grew 2-3 feet on the drive back home. That's pure magic! Except for the part where you have to drag it back into the garage, to cut it down to size.
Putting The Lights On The Tree
Putting the lights on the tree is fairly easy, except for the fact that once you get them all arranged, invariably one or more strings mysteriously quits working. But that's easy compared to putting up lights on the house!
Putting The Lights On The House
Our house in Bend was two stories tall with a humongous peak over the garage. Stringing the lights up and over the peak was always a challenge. And by "challenge" I mean a death defying high wire act. Standing on my tip toes on the top step of the 18 foot ladder and thinking, "Maybe if I just jump up about six inches I'll be able to get this onto the hook!" (What a great idea!) OR giving up on that approach and crawling up the icy roof, leaning way over the edge to see if that might be easier. ("Maybe my belt buckle will catch on the gutter and get me just close enough that I can get this onto the hook.") OR really giving up and going into the house to tell my wife, "Yeesh, that is just too scary! I think we'll just skip putting lights up over the peak this year!" only to hear her reply, "Oh honey, it looks so great when the lights run all along the front of the house! You can do it!" (I now realize that what she was really saying was, "Don't give up! I'm counting on you to finally fall to your death this year!"
Decorating The Tree
The tree is in the stand. It's been drug through the house to it's designated spot in the living room. The whole house has that Christmasy smelly that comes with needles covering every square inch of the floor and pitch covering much of the walls. We put on the Christmas music (Usually Bob & Doug McKenzie's 12 Days of Christmas or The Waitresses, Christmas Wrapping or Bruce Springsteen's classic Santa Claus is Comin' to Town.) We call the kids in to start hanging ornaments. This works out really well (sarcasm intended) for two reasons: 1) Young children hang all their ornaments within two inches of each other and 2) Mom is just going to take them all down and put them back up her way anyway.
Sleeping Under The Tree
I cannot remember how this tradition started but I suspect it may have stemmed from another plot to kill or cripple me for life. Once a year, just a few days before Christmas, all five of us would sleep under the tree. We'd leave the lights on the Christmas tree all night to keep us company. (Hey, I'm not proud of it but sometimes you get scared of the dark, you know?) And while you might expect a "Good night Mary Ellen. Good night John-Boy" experience, what you really get is, "Jake! Quit kicking me!" or "Dad, you shouldn't yell SHUT UP AND GO TO SLEEP at Christmas! Santa won't bring you any presents" OR "Santa, Shmanta! You kids still believe in that goon? Well, I hate to break it to you but THERE IS NO SANTA! Think about that while you're going to sleep!" Followed by whimpering. And if that weren't bad enough, (and don't you think it should be?) I find myself waking up every 45 minutes during the night because apparently carpeting is not meant to provide you with the comfort and support you need for a decent nights sleep. On the other hand, the time I spent in traction in the days immediately after sleeping under the tree were, on the whole, pretty relaxing.
That's just a few of our traditions. I left out things like driving around to look at Christmas lights, freezing our patooties off at the Annual Christmas Parade, the traditional Christmas Eve minestrone, the birthday party for Jesus (Is it okay to say "Jesus" at work?) and the Christmas Eve story time with the Crawford's (where each year Shawn and/or I were in a panic to find the right story to read to our kids). And while I might sound a little cynical about things, I'm not. I LOVED all of these traditions - even the ones that tended to be life threatening - and the memories they created with my kids. And I hope they look back as fondly on them as I do.
Merry Christmas! Happy New Year! Happy Hanukkah! Happy Kwanza! Happy Winter Solstice! Merry "Insert Your Own Favorite Cult Celebration Here."
And now I gotta go spray the tree for ants again.
Life's Little Mysteries
So, if you're like me (and I know you're glad you're not) do you ever find yourself pondering the mysteries of life? Not the big mysteries like, "Is there life on other planets?" or "Is there a God" or "Will history regard George Bush as a great President or the greatest President in history?" but the little things. It's probably just me but I am forever wondering about all sorts of weird crap. For example:
* What could possibly possess people to drink Coors Light? A death wish maybe?
* Would it be blasphemous to play "Money for Nothing" at my funeral?
* How come Bill O'Reilly has never been struck by lightning?
* Why can I never remember the name of that evil woman who stole all the puppies in 101 Dalmatians?
* How come cheesy, untalented performers like former, future ex-wife, Jessica Simpson or former, future ex-wife, Natasha Bedingfield outsell quality, talented and real musicians like former,future ex-wife, Joss Stone or former, future ex-wife Melody Gardot?
* Dick Cheney: living or dead?
* Were brussel sprouts created by Satan?
* How does Dexter get all the blood stains out of his clothes?
* Is it true that my Daddy can't dance and my Momma can't rock and roll?
* Do you think Obama will try to sneak a cigarette in the Oval Office?
* How come I love the musical Singing in the Rain so much? And should I be worried about it?
and my personal favorite . . .
* Why do fools fall in love?
If you have the answer to any of these questions, please let me know!
* What could possibly possess people to drink Coors Light? A death wish maybe?
* Would it be blasphemous to play "Money for Nothing" at my funeral?
* How come Bill O'Reilly has never been struck by lightning?
* Why can I never remember the name of that evil woman who stole all the puppies in 101 Dalmatians?
* How come cheesy, untalented performers like former, future ex-wife, Jessica Simpson or former, future ex-wife, Natasha Bedingfield outsell quality, talented and real musicians like former,future ex-wife, Joss Stone or former, future ex-wife Melody Gardot?
* Dick Cheney: living or dead?
* Were brussel sprouts created by Satan?
* How does Dexter get all the blood stains out of his clothes?
* Is it true that my Daddy can't dance and my Momma can't rock and roll?
* Do you think Obama will try to sneak a cigarette in the Oval Office?
* How come I love the musical Singing in the Rain so much? And should I be worried about it?
and my personal favorite . . .
* Why do fools fall in love?
If you have the answer to any of these questions, please let me know!
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Honoring Your Mother and Father
So, because of my Mom's dementia (and a few other factors) she has been living apart from my Dad for the past year or so. My Dad has continued to live in the house I grew up in with my brother and sisters. My Mom has been living in a retirement center about 20 minutes away. They have seen each other often - at least once a week - but they've been physically separated for the past year. It's a loooong story but it finally worked out for my mother to move back home with my Dad. The move happened last Saturday, and it went off pretty much without a hitch but that doesn't mean there weren't some interesting things that happened along the way. Well, interesting to me anyway . . .
On Saturday morning I drove to Lake Oswego (Motto: The 2nd Best High School Sports Teams Money Can Buy) and knocked on the door to my brother's house. Or, more accurately, the last house I remembered him living in! When no one answered I looked through the glass and noticed the house was empty. For a few moments I thought I might be in the middle of one of those weird flashback episodes on LOST. So, I called him and said, "Uh dude! I'm at your house but, uh, it appears you've been robbed and all your furniture and your 300 kids are all missing!" He replied, "Haven't you been to our new house before?" (Apparently not.) As it turns out, my brother and his family moved about a year ago. Who knew?
So I got directions to the new place and went (literally) around the corner to pick him up. From there we went to pick up the U-Haul truck I had rented. Here's a question: "When you go online to rent a vehicle from U-Haul and they ask you to provide your entire financial and life history, why does it take a freakin' forty-five minutes to get the keys to the truck and drive away?" Part of the reason is that their computers are even slower than ours at U.S. Bank! (Almost impossible to believe, right?) But I also think I had a guy helping me whose IQ may not have exceeded the number of states in the Union. He would ask me a question ("Date of birth?" "Mother's maiden name?" "Name the four main stars of Leave It To Beaver.") After I would answer, there was no acknowledgement that he had heard me. He just stared at the screen. That's when my ADHD would kick in and I would start to play solitaire on my iPhone. After a couple of minutes he would mumble another question. ("Driver's license number?" "Purpose of the rental?" "True or False: Beyonce recently changed her name to Sasha Fierce?") But by then I was no longer listening and - since I'm hard of hearing anyway - my response was pretty much always the same: "Huh?"
So we finally got out of there and drove to the retirement center my Mom has been living in. My sister, sister-in-law and other members of my family had already done most of the work packing things up. (Yes, I'm as much of a slacker in real life as I am at work!) That made it easy to load things into the truck. However, there were a few things that weren't going to my Dad's house - things they have duplicates of, for example. (A love seat, kitchen table and chairs, band saw, a cold fusion reactor and several dozen Vera Wang wedding gowns.) Those got loaded into my brother and sister's vehicles. (They're all Mormons so they are required by law to drive mini-vans, which can hold anything and everything.)
Once the truck was loaded, my brother drove it to Dad's house. I took my Mom with me in my car. I have one of those GPS thingies and my Mom was pretty much fascinated by the turn by turn directions from Arcata. (Arcata is the name of the daughter of one of my co-workers. For reasons I can no longer remember, I named my GPS after her.) So, as I said, my Mom loved those precise directions. ("Prepare to turn left in 500 feet." "Turn left." "I said, turn left!" "Hey bonehead, are you gonna TURN LEFT LIKE I TOLD YOU TO, or am I gonna have to come over there and do it myself!") My Mom would laugh a little each time and kept staring at the GPS screen all the way home. I think she may have been a little confused however because when I turned it of she said "I just love Everybody Loves Raymond, don't you?"
We got to my Dad's house and began to unload things. Because my parents are both in their 80s, we didn't expect them to help and we were happy to do the moving and unpacking. However, they were so excited to be back together that they could not keep their hands off each other. I was already scarred for life from an incident in kindergarten where my Aunt Irene tried to get me to hold a garter snake (something I would rather not have to talk about, by the way) but this took IFBS (Inappropriate Family Behavior Syndrome) to a new level. Without going into detail, let me just say that you never want to hear either of your octogenarian parents using phrases like "booty call" and "hooking up."
Once we pried them apart (which thankfully did not require having to spray them with a hose) my Mom helped my brother-in-law, my nephew (who works for the bank, by the way) and me unpack things in her bedroom. That there were four of us in a tiny 8 X 8 bedroom that already had a full size bed, a dresser, desk, two night stands and a television in it . . . well, let me just say that we all know each other a bit better now. We tried to be careful to put things in places that my Mom would remember, but that was really a lost cause. The chances of her remembering we were even there are pretty slim. On the other hand, she is a fun conversationalist, mostly because she always asks me questions I'd rather not have to answer. I always do answer though, cuz she's my Mom. For example:
Q. Oh Peter, do you think you and Nancy will ever get back together? A. No Mom, I don't think Cruella Nancy and I will ever get back together.
Q. How come? A. Well, I'm not exactly sure but I think it has something to do with her belief that I'm the Antichrist.
Q. So, do you have a girlfriend? A. No Mom, I do not have a girlfriend.
Q. Don't you want one? A. Well sure, but apparently they have to want you as well. Without that it's really a lot more like stalking.
Q. Well, I hope someday you'll get married again. A. Yes, and I'm hoping I can experience the joy of passing a kidney stone again someday as well!
Q. And when you do get married, promise me one thing, okay? A. Sure Mom, what's that?
Promise me it will be a nice little Mormon girl.
And while I am involved in that fabulous discussion, my brother (the guy with two degrees from MIT - one in Electrical Engineering and the other in Annoying Magic Tricks) is setting up my Mom's LCD HD TV in the living room. This is cool for two reasons. One is that my Dad is the biggest tightwad I have ever known and has always been too dang cheap to have a decent TV, let alone cable. (In fact, we never had a color TV while I lived at home. I think it was sometime in the early 80s before they ever got one.) After MUCH DISCUSSION, however, they are finally getting cable - but only cuz I kinda didn't mention how much it would cost - especially with HD! (Since the bill comes to me, he'll never know, unless one of you tells him!) The other thing is that my tightwad Dad has kept his 21 inch Sony for roughly two decades and the picture is shot! (Although I suppose if you were really stoned the wavy lines and weird color blotches might be kinda fascinating.) On top of that, the antenna in the attic only picks up one station very well (Oregon Public Broadcasting, of course). So when my brother got things hooked up, and plugged in a DVD to check out the picture, we lost my Dad forever. Since last Saturday, I believe the only thing he has done is to sit in his chair and watch the Battle of Britain over and over and over.
Almost more excitement than one man deserves, right? In any event, I gotta go now cuz I promised my Mom I'd find myself a nice, little Mormon girl.
On Saturday morning I drove to Lake Oswego (Motto: The 2nd Best High School Sports Teams Money Can Buy) and knocked on the door to my brother's house. Or, more accurately, the last house I remembered him living in! When no one answered I looked through the glass and noticed the house was empty. For a few moments I thought I might be in the middle of one of those weird flashback episodes on LOST. So, I called him and said, "Uh dude! I'm at your house but, uh, it appears you've been robbed and all your furniture and your 300 kids are all missing!" He replied, "Haven't you been to our new house before?" (Apparently not.) As it turns out, my brother and his family moved about a year ago. Who knew?
So I got directions to the new place and went (literally) around the corner to pick him up. From there we went to pick up the U-Haul truck I had rented. Here's a question: "When you go online to rent a vehicle from U-Haul and they ask you to provide your entire financial and life history, why does it take a freakin' forty-five minutes to get the keys to the truck and drive away?" Part of the reason is that their computers are even slower than ours at U.S. Bank! (Almost impossible to believe, right?) But I also think I had a guy helping me whose IQ may not have exceeded the number of states in the Union. He would ask me a question ("Date of birth?" "Mother's maiden name?" "Name the four main stars of Leave It To Beaver.") After I would answer, there was no acknowledgement that he had heard me. He just stared at the screen. That's when my ADHD would kick in and I would start to play solitaire on my iPhone. After a couple of minutes he would mumble another question. ("Driver's license number?" "Purpose of the rental?" "True or False: Beyonce recently changed her name to Sasha Fierce?") But by then I was no longer listening and - since I'm hard of hearing anyway - my response was pretty much always the same: "Huh?"
So we finally got out of there and drove to the retirement center my Mom has been living in. My sister, sister-in-law and other members of my family had already done most of the work packing things up. (Yes, I'm as much of a slacker in real life as I am at work!) That made it easy to load things into the truck. However, there were a few things that weren't going to my Dad's house - things they have duplicates of, for example. (A love seat, kitchen table and chairs, band saw, a cold fusion reactor and several dozen Vera Wang wedding gowns.) Those got loaded into my brother and sister's vehicles. (They're all Mormons so they are required by law to drive mini-vans, which can hold anything and everything.)
Once the truck was loaded, my brother drove it to Dad's house. I took my Mom with me in my car. I have one of those GPS thingies and my Mom was pretty much fascinated by the turn by turn directions from Arcata. (Arcata is the name of the daughter of one of my co-workers. For reasons I can no longer remember, I named my GPS after her.) So, as I said, my Mom loved those precise directions. ("Prepare to turn left in 500 feet." "Turn left." "I said, turn left!" "Hey bonehead, are you gonna TURN LEFT LIKE I TOLD YOU TO, or am I gonna have to come over there and do it myself!") My Mom would laugh a little each time and kept staring at the GPS screen all the way home. I think she may have been a little confused however because when I turned it of she said "I just love Everybody Loves Raymond, don't you?"
We got to my Dad's house and began to unload things. Because my parents are both in their 80s, we didn't expect them to help and we were happy to do the moving and unpacking. However, they were so excited to be back together that they could not keep their hands off each other. I was already scarred for life from an incident in kindergarten where my Aunt Irene tried to get me to hold a garter snake (something I would rather not have to talk about, by the way) but this took IFBS (Inappropriate Family Behavior Syndrome) to a new level. Without going into detail, let me just say that you never want to hear either of your octogenarian parents using phrases like "booty call" and "hooking up."
Once we pried them apart (which thankfully did not require having to spray them with a hose) my Mom helped my brother-in-law, my nephew (who works for the bank, by the way) and me unpack things in her bedroom. That there were four of us in a tiny 8 X 8 bedroom that already had a full size bed, a dresser, desk, two night stands and a television in it . . . well, let me just say that we all know each other a bit better now. We tried to be careful to put things in places that my Mom would remember, but that was really a lost cause. The chances of her remembering we were even there are pretty slim. On the other hand, she is a fun conversationalist, mostly because she always asks me questions I'd rather not have to answer. I always do answer though, cuz she's my Mom. For example:
Q. Oh Peter, do you think you and Nancy will ever get back together? A. No Mom, I don't think Cruella Nancy and I will ever get back together.
Q. How come? A. Well, I'm not exactly sure but I think it has something to do with her belief that I'm the Antichrist.
Q. So, do you have a girlfriend? A. No Mom, I do not have a girlfriend.
Q. Don't you want one? A. Well sure, but apparently they have to want you as well. Without that it's really a lot more like stalking.
Q. Well, I hope someday you'll get married again. A. Yes, and I'm hoping I can experience the joy of passing a kidney stone again someday as well!
Q. And when you do get married, promise me one thing, okay? A. Sure Mom, what's that?
Promise me it will be a nice little Mormon girl.
And while I am involved in that fabulous discussion, my brother (the guy with two degrees from MIT - one in Electrical Engineering and the other in Annoying Magic Tricks) is setting up my Mom's LCD HD TV in the living room. This is cool for two reasons. One is that my Dad is the biggest tightwad I have ever known and has always been too dang cheap to have a decent TV, let alone cable. (In fact, we never had a color TV while I lived at home. I think it was sometime in the early 80s before they ever got one.) After MUCH DISCUSSION, however, they are finally getting cable - but only cuz I kinda didn't mention how much it would cost - especially with HD! (Since the bill comes to me, he'll never know, unless one of you tells him!) The other thing is that my tightwad Dad has kept his 21 inch Sony for roughly two decades and the picture is shot! (Although I suppose if you were really stoned the wavy lines and weird color blotches might be kinda fascinating.) On top of that, the antenna in the attic only picks up one station very well (Oregon Public Broadcasting, of course). So when my brother got things hooked up, and plugged in a DVD to check out the picture, we lost my Dad forever. Since last Saturday, I believe the only thing he has done is to sit in his chair and watch the Battle of Britain over and over and over.
Almost more excitement than one man deserves, right? In any event, I gotta go now cuz I promised my Mom I'd find myself a nice, little Mormon girl.
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