A little bit of good

I like to be charitable - like a lot of people. I like the idea of helping to make a direct impact on a child's learning experience.

And so, I'm offering up the Decemberstravaganza. Let's raise some money for a class and see exactly how a little money can go a long way to helping kids learn.

And I'm reminded again that this is a joyous holiday season

Sometimes I need to buy stuff. I haven't figured out how to grow my own toilet paper yet, so until that time I will have to buy it.

And so to buy the giant TP we hit the local Target. Actually, that's not true. We hit the Watertown, MA Target. If you ever have the option of going to a different one (if you live in the greater Boston area) you should. I've started calling it "Bad Target." Not so much because of the Target itself, but because of the people who go there.

When we arrived on Saturday afternoon the parking lot was full. Entirely. We circled for a while before finding a space. I suggested maybe we abandon our trip, but we pushed ahead because we are stupid people and do not learn. Eventually we found a space next to a poorly parked car. We have a tiny car. Yay, tiny car!

Then we entered the store. At some point I had a list, but after a few minutes I started to get a little panicky. The place was hot and crowded. Everything was bombed out - I wanted TP, a humidifier and some cat food for the cat that pukes up the other expensive food I've given her and will show no interest in any of the stuff I buy for her at Bad Target. But I digress.

Deeps and I split up, he looked for Kashi and paper products after snagging the last large room humidifier on the shelf. I wandered back towards the pet food aisle which is next to the consumer electronics. Sweet fancy Moses. What a horror show.

While I was standing in the aisle contemplating food the cat won't eat, a loud woman with a cart and her little Nextel phone arrived. She was loudly talking on the walkie-talkie to her friend. She was incredibly loud and talking about someone's doctor's appointment. A surly man was also in the aisle with me and started loudly talking to himself about how awful it was this lady was so loud and talking about personal things on her phone/walkie. Then the lady started telling the guy he was "so funny" and told her friend about the a-hole/joker in the aisle.

I grabbed three cans of Iams and made a run for it. It's one thing when family members start bickering at Target, it's another when strangers start in on each other. I exited just as they started an escalating yelling match. Perhaps the scent of fresh cat nip drove them wild.

Just remember - it's the most wonderful time of the year. There are still plenty more shopping days until Christmas. And I'll be doing my shopping online.

Happy, haunted holidays?

When we lived in Cambridge there was a guy near our apartment who erected a large inflatable ornament for many holiday occasions. I guess we first noticed it around Halloween when the guy put up a giant pumpkin.

Me: Hey did you see the giant glowing pumpkin?
Deeps: You mean the one across the street?
Me: Yeah. It's so spooky.
Deeps: It's hard to miss.
Me: Beware the haunted pumpkin!

And then a giant turkey went up in early November.
Me: The turkey haunts my dreams.
Deeps: Beware the haunted turkey!

When the giant snowman went up, we included that "landmark" as a point of reference in our Christmas party invitations.
Me: The snowman is so spooky.
Deeps: His cold heart will fill you with terror!
Me: Beware his haunted coal-filled eyes!

Sometime around December 26 we started to get a little nervous. What would possibly replace the snowman?

Deeps: If he puts up an inflatable Abe Lincoln, I think he's gone too far.
Me: Or Martin Luther King Junior.
Deeps: Yeah, inappropriate.
Me: Not unlike this conversation.

Turkey sashimi

So we had a great Thanksgiving holiday. We've eaten like kings - even if the turkey was a touch under-done. Luckily, everyone understood this and we focused on the roasted veggies, spoon biscuits and mashed potatoes. Everyone has a hard time with the turkey. Nothing a little trip to the microwave couldn't handle.

We wandered out for a little Black Friday shopping, more out of necessity than anything else. We needed to go to the grocery store and pick up some light bulbs. I convinced Deeps that a short side trip to the shoe store was in order. I have powers like that.

All in all we had a quiet, boring, and nap-tastic weekend. Just like the pilgrims intended.

Oh yeah, I made a podcast.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I'm thankful for the YouTube. I can point you to the best part of the greatest Thanksgiving episode on television (and the Onion agrees with me).



So enjoy your meal, your family, and your friends. Try to think of something to be thankful for and chew each bite 20 times.

What are you doing for Easter?
I think this is a very funny question.

Easter was important in my family when we were kids – there were baskets and we all went to grandma’s to go to church and eat lots of food.

Then as we became surly teens, we didn’t go for it so much. And now I don’t have any kids, so I never know when it is Easter until I get pictures of the brood, freaked out, standing with a big rabbit.

Today is Easter and how will the lapsed not-quite-a-Catholic and the lapsed Hindu celebrate? There will be no lamb. The Hindus don't really celebrate Easter, but if I had to guess - Deeps probably got a basket as a kid. His parents thought it was part of the American experience for some stuff like that - I know they had a Christmas tree when he was little.

We’ll be dismantling the world’s must hideous bush. I figure it’s not all the holy, but everyone respects the importance of hard, physical labor, right? I’m not going to lounge around eat Peeps.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Holidays on Ice
A couple of years ago, before we bought the house – even before we rented the apartment that turned into the Kingdom of the Spiders we visited the Holiday House.

The Holiday House was actually just a few blocks away from our first Cambridge apartment. It was a large, faded house that was always decorated for some holiday: Valentines, St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, Fourth of July, Halloween, and Christmas. The whole house – yard, lights, patio, balcony, and the works – would be plastered with whatever doodad struck the owner’s fancy.

We briefly considered living in the holiday house. It was large, it has a really nice closet and it was cheaper than our first place. But there were elves in the front yard and a tiny old woman upstairs. We were torn. Could we live in the holiday house? Should a woman who doesn’t really care for the holidays fake like she does so she can save a few bucks on rent?

The landlords seemed inflexible on the issue – to live in the holiday house you must learn to live with the holiday stuff. They didn’t tone it down for the renters. It was their home, their castle and by God they’d decorate it within an inch of its masonry. No brick uncovered. No ornament too gaudy.

Some people thought it was great. “Just think, it is always easy to find,” Deeps pointed out.

One night over dinner with the French Connection and CC, the topic arose.

“What do you think?” I asked the French Connection.

She could barely contain her disgust. “If you live in zee place wis zee elves – I vill shoot you myself.”

The War on Christmas
I’m glad to hear that mainstream media outlets are picking up the story about the War on Christmas.

I’ve been waging the war for years and finally someone is talking about it.(And for the record, our family celebrates christmas vs. Christmas - nobody hauls into church and I never hear anyone talk about The Lord unless it is related to football or a shortage of booze. I'd guess we're like 80% of America in this respect.)

Christmas killed my dog, contributed to my parents getting divorced (which they told me about over Christmas, if I remember correctly), makes my mother crazy, turns my sister into a total nightmare, and leaves me feeling underwhelmed and depressed. Talk about anti-climactic. So much build-up and so little pay-off.

Christmas – you are on notice.

Unless I receive a nail gun. Then I may reconsider my earlier position.

You had me at Zombie Santa
I’ve spent some quality time with zombies this week – Joe Dante’s excellent entry in the Masters of Horror series came first.

Wow – what an excellent hour of television. I was alternately laughing, horrified and nearly wept like three times. I’m not a crier people. That’s how I roll.

As for the other zombie, well – that would be in The Stupidest Angel. I caved at Barnes and Nobel and picked it up off the “Christmas” table (or maybe it was holiday – I can never remember). I went in search of Laurie Notaro’s new book and picked this up as well. Why?

This telling sentence from the book jacket: “But Josh is sure that he saw Santa take a shovel to the head, and now the seven-year-old has only one prayer: Please, Santa, come back from the dead.”

Zombie Santa? I rest my case.

Easy Internet Shopping for the Holidays or How much I like Spam
Now that the first snow has fallen on the dead grass that I liked to call my yard, I suppose it is time I share with you my holiday shopping list.

Thanks to the Interweb – it is much easier. In fact, I never need to look beyond my emails from nice people like Fallon, DPR Submit, IPODS! and FREEEE RAZR. They are all tucked away in a folder I like to call “Bulk.”

I think I’ll be picking up some:
###Free Ringtones###
V$I!A(G#A*R@
A complimentary* 2 iPod Nanos
Oprah’s Green Tea Makeover
Bling Bling!
Of take it modifier pulchritude
Fw °ÊµeªY½à

I can’t wait to see the kids on Christmas morning when they exclaim with delight, “This is the modifier pulchritude I’d been hoping for.”

That’s right kids; I make all your dreams come true.

My husband the scientist is secretly seven years old
My cell phone rang just as I was stepping off the elevator to leave the office.

Deeps: There’s a big box here from Amazon.
Me: Okay
Deeps: It is addressed to “Alyssa Boehm.”
Me: Hmm..
Deeps: Can I open it?
Me: You know that I ordered stuff for you for Christmas.
Deeps: From Amazon?
Me: Yes from Amazon.
Deeps: So I can’t open this?
Me: Does it have your name on it?
Deeps: (grumble)
Me: I’m sorry?
Deeps: No.
Me: Alright then.
Deeps: Are you going to put up a tree?
Me: I don’t know yet.
Deeps: Because if you don’t, you should just give me the presents as they arrive in the mail.
Me: Why?
Deeps: Because there is nothing less festive than a sad pile of presents not associated with a tree or lights or any kind of decoration.
Me: Will you help me buy a tree?
Deeps: (grumbles)
Me: Didn’t see that one coming, did ya?

And for the record - that big box was stuff for me from Amazon. Because my birthday is in a few days and someone needs to remember it isn't all about him. Also - it'd be nice if he didn't behave like he's seven.

Holiday wish list
I’d like a June birthday. Having my birthday so close to Christmas (just two weeks) is tough. I have a hard enough time thinking of holiday gifts – and I have to come up with birthday stuff too….

I’ve tried the whole “don’t bother – I don’t need anything” but no one goes for it. And if you leave my family to their own devices – well… I end up with a chili pepper platter or something. Everyone will be happier if I make a list.

Deeps: Did you make your birthday list?
Me: Maybe.
Deeps: What do you want?
Me: A kitten.
Deeps: Did you put it on your list?
Me: Maybe.
Deeps: Is there anything else on your list?
Me: No.
Deeps: Lists with one item only are not accepted by the committee.
Me: Fine. I’ll add puppy under kitten.
Deeps: You need at least three things.
Me: Okay. Little kitty, puppy, big kitty.
Deeps: I’m buying you socks.

Christmas every day

I finally downloaded and dealt with pictures from Christmas. Why so long? Well, I’ve got big things to deal with okay – like inflation and dirty bombs.

Anyway, behold the miracle of the six-pack (below). See how things were all happy and fun before they were infecting me with their plague.

Sidebar: Can you call in sick to work due to “dirty bomb”? Just wondering…

Do they know it is Christmas time?

The screamers are in the bathtub. Normally, they may be known as Peanut and Macaroni - but I have a headache and am almost out of whiskey. Hence, screamers.

I have no idea where dinner is, but my biggest concern is the status of the Jack Daniels. Apparently someone thought there was "enough" - that's just faulty thinking and bad planning. I'm flying in across America. I can't do everything.

Yesterday we arrived at the airport and discovered approximately 2000 people waiting in line at the US Airways terminal. I guess there was some type of technical problem as all the monitors were displaying Os and 1s and none of the self-serve kiosks were working. We arrived pretty early - about two hours before our flight and there was no way we were going to make it.

Luckily, Deeps was with me and while I held a place in the giant 2000+ people line he scouted around for another line or at least some information. We still never figured out what happened, but we did eventually find a self-serve e-Ticket line and made it through in about an hour. We made the flight, which turned out to be delayed and ended up only being about 40 minutes late for Christmas. A new personal record.

Right now, I'm listening to the screamers let loose as their mother picks bits of macaroni out of their hair. Apparently wearing your dinner on your head is the new eating.

Also - did I mention the headache?

Yikes.

The good news is, I've been assured that there will be a Christmas poker game and everyone is playing. Huzzah!

Merry Christmas.

Holiday Memory – 2004: The quest for the New Year’s tato

So for New Year’s Eve 2003, we visited our friends up in New Hampshire. They were cool and invited us up to hang out with their kid (and another on the way!) and play poker and relax and drink champagne (well three of us – none for you preggo lady!).

We had a great night in which I seem to recall I was spectacularly triumphant at poker. We stayed up late and slept late and awoke on New Year’s Day with a fresh outlook and bright smiles.

It reminded me of college – K and I were roommates when she started dating her now husband – when we used to lounge around late in the morning, drinking coffee and talking about whatever. The "whatever" that morning was stuff that we loved but that was bad for us – namely Taco Bell.

You’ll notice again that Taco Bell figures into our holiday misadventures. I assume this was related to my telling the story of Santa and the magic taco from when I was like five. The pregnant lady was not charmed by the Santa or the five parts– all she heard was TACO. And thus we started a series of unfortunate events.

Da (her toddler son) and Ernesto (her husband) came home from a walk or something. They’d missed out on the genesis of the great Taco Hunt of 2004. When they came home with rosy cheeks and cold noses, they met a woman with a mission and her hapless friends that may have inadvertently contributed to her mania.

We started telling Da about the wonders of the Taco Bell tacos – which he promptly dubbed “tato”. So cute!

We got him really excited – not as excited as his mother – but excited. K mentioned that she knew of a Taco Bell not far away and that we could drive over there and get some tacos. The game was afoot! Deeps, Da, K and I piled into the car as Ernesto watched (perhaps with some disdain – he’s a much healthier eater) as we pulled out of the driveway. Deeps and Da sat next to each other (one with a seatbelt, the other in a car seat) in the back as we sped along the wide New Hampshire roads towards our destination.

It should be noted that by the time we got in the car, we were ravenous – and Da sat in the back quietly saying “tato”. Deeps was along for the ride – because you have to be if you’re married to me, it was in the vows.

We drove and drove. And drove and drove. K could not find the Taco Bell.

“I know it was here – I drive by it all the time,” she muttered in frustration. Da had fallen asleep in the back and Deeps was staring out the window, contemplative. I was starting to get a headache from lack of food.

“Maybe we should just go somewhere else,” I suggested as we drove by numerous open, fast food joints. “I’m sure Da is getting hungry.”

“I’m getting him a taco,” she said with determination.

Da stirred from his nap. Quietly from the back of the car, he said “tato”.

There were no tacos or tatos in Mudville that day. Turns out the Taco Bell was replaced by a Subway a few months earlier. The nearest Taco Bell was about 18 miles away. We ended up getting drive thru from Wendy’s. I don’t think Da minded, although I felt very bad about getting him all excited about tatos.

Several months later we went for another visit, this time we were starving en route. I begged Deeps to pull over so I could get a bite to eat. It just so happened that we pulled over at the exit where the nearest Taco Bell was. I couldn’t believe the luck – and I seized my opportunity.

“We are taking everyone tacos!” I cried. Deeps looked alarmed but understood – it was something I had to do.

I whipped out my cell phone and called K.

“I’m at the Taco Bell near your house – well 18 miles away – and I’m bringing you tacos. What do you want?” I asked. She was much further along in her pregnancy, and the taco lust was great. She rattled off her order and suggested a kid’s meal for Da.

“Just so you know,” she said, “this is the greatest thing ever.”

“I know,” I replied. “I know.”

Holiday Memory – 2004: Merry @#%&$ Christmas

I was all ready to write about something cute from like 20 years ago. But alas, I got an unwelcome holiday gift last night that has since tipped the scales for me from being mildly surly to outright cranky.

It was very cold yesterday. And it is just a few days before Christmas. Lots of people were carrying bags and packages and everyone just wanted to get home. We’re bundled, we’re tired, and we’re yearning for this day to be over.

At the T stop at Park Street, we’re huddled for warmth as we listen to the dulcet sounds of some kind of gourd thing that a guy is playing. He’s cool.

The Red Line (my nemesis – when I’m not fighting the Green Line) train finally pulled in and the platform was crowded. I knew it would be a tight squeeze, but I sucked it and moved onto the train.

In front of me a tall, well-dressed businessman stopped and grabbed the pole. People pushed in behind me, propelling us along. He reared his arm back, not wanting to give up his “good spot” and “pole position” – he smacked me square in the nose with his elbow.

I yelped – a woman near me who saw what happened gasped “Oh my God!”

The dude did not acknowledge what happened. He did not turn, he did not apologize, and he didn’t do anything.

I was stunned moved back a bit – my eyes already welling up (ever been clocked in the kisser – it hurts like a mother). Which is what happened next.

“Mother Pus Bucket,” I exclaimed as I moved backwards (but dirtier).

The woman who gasped asked me if I was okay. I replied that I would prefer not to have my nose broken on the ride home and that I’d catch the next train. I stumbled back onto the platform as the doors closed behind me.

I fished around in my pocket for a tissue – praying that my nose was not broken or bleeding. It bled a little, but stopped with some applied pressure.

The gourd guy kept playing as I tilted my head back. I found a mirror in my bag and inspected the damage. The schnoz would swell – but I’d probably avoid a bruise. I muttered under my breath about the jerk and cursed him with ED.

Half an hour later I met Deeps in Harvard Square and hopped into the waiting car. He asked how my day was.

“I’m having a Merry @#%$&** Christmas,” was my answer.

Holiday Memory - 1997, part 2: Some assembly required

My niece, Blondie, was about 3 in 1997 and Christmas was all about catering to each of her dreams. Focus was like 6 months old and his mother dressed him as a little striped elf. Sure he was fun at parties, but he wasn’t clear on what the heck was going on. Plus we’d never met – but that didn’t seem to bother him much.

Despite those hurdles – we had amassed an ungodly amount of gifts. On Christmas Eve, we all spent the night at my parents’ house. After the kids were asleep, we hit the sauce because that’s what the holidays are about for the grown ups. I drank and drank – it was delicious. We played cards and chatted and gossiped. Sometime after midnight, my stepmother Slim piped up.

“So what did you get Blondie from Santa?” she queried my sister Peepers.

My sister was ready, she had found a toy store that was going out of business a few months earlier and got some cool things like a baby carriage, a toy vacuum cleaner that worked and a giant tent that was filled with those plastic balls – the at home version of the ball pit you might find at Chuckee Cheese.

Since we figured it was safe since the kids were asleep, she hauled the large boxes downstairs and placed them by the tree. She placed large bows on the awkward boxes and looked quite pleased with herself.

Slim took one look at the boxes and made a gentle comment, “You know – Santa doesn’t leave stuff in the box. He puts it together and leaves it under the tree for you because he’s magic.”

Peepers looked panicked for a moment – but I volunteered to help out. I’m always mostly likely to volunteer to help when I’m half in the bag.

We opened boxes and started assembly. I was on tent/ball duty while my sister attacked the baby carriage/baby carrier/baby doll whatever thingy. I just remember it had 3 distinct functions.

Slim opened the vacuum cleaner and found a battery to put in it. Sure – she takes the easy one.

About 30 minutes later, I’m wailing on the plastic doll thing with a rubber mallet (having abandoned the hammer) and Peepers is pulling out pieces of black PVC piping to assemble into the shape of a tent-like thing. Except some of the pieces are missing and she is drunk and starting to cry.

Slim has grabbed the video camera and is filming what is later know as the Christmas assembly debacle of 1997.

Offering a bit of holiday sympathy, I climbed into the giant ball tent box looking for more pieces. Sure, I should have dumped it on the floor to find the missing pieces – but at the time, this made a lot of sense.

A couple of hours and glasses of wine later, the toys are assembled (however shakily) and Slim’s sides are sore from all the laughing. Peepers finally stopped crying and I thought it might be time for bed. But I was cognizant of the fact that all video evidence would have to be destroyed at a later date.

The next morning we were awakened early to the sounds of kids yelling that Santa came. Well – that might have been Cuddles. The details on that get a little fuzzy.

The best part of the whole thing was that the kids were kinda freaked out by the massive showing of gifts and refused to go near the toy ball tent/pit. I had to show them it was safe by climbing inside (with a headache, naturally) and sitting in the pit. I think I took a nap in there later, as small children climbed over my unconscious body.

Holiday Memories – 1997: The year I met Santa

During the dark days of the early ‘90s Christmas was pretty low-key for us as a family. But then my niece, Blondie, was born and everything started to change.

Christmas trees went up. Elaborate snow villages arrived -with little lights and figures – for display on shelves. Stockings went up by the chimney with care. And a working train was placed under the tree.

Prior to the arrival of grandkids, Christmas consisted of a tree (sometimes) and the occasional nativity scene (with a Scotch taped camel because I was a mischievous kid).

I cannot emphasize this enough – there was never a train.

In 1997 Deeps and I fresh from college graduation moved from glorious Western Massachusetts to the metropolis that is Chicago. We lived in a tiny, cramped apartment that was scary and weird – but that’s for another entry. What’s important to this story was that we were closer to my parents’ home in Indiana. And I was working evenings and nights at the Chicago Tribune. I usually got off work between 1 and 3 AM.

On Christmas Eve eve (Dec. 23 – well, technically Dec. 24 at this point) I got off work around 1:30. I had Christmas Eve and Christmas day off. I got lucky – but had to work New Year’s Eve in exchange. I had planned on driving down to Indy from Chicago in the morning, but I was wired at 1:30 and figured why not drive down now? I headed home, threw a few things in a bag – loaded the car with presents and headed south.

The drive from Chicago to Indianapolis is basically I 65 for like 150 of the 180-mile drive. It’s boring, flat, and straight. During this drive it was snowing hard and dark as pitch – thus making the drive my most interesting ever.

I got to my parents house and let myself in around 5 AM. I quietly snuck into the house and walked to the living room, expecting to sack out on the couch, as I wasn’t sure who might be in any of the other bedrooms. Or in what condition one might find them – plus no one was expecting me.

As I moved from the kitchen to the living room I saw a man standing at the patio, peering into the house. I almost screamed and grabbed for anything that might be a weapon (those 5 months in Chicago had made me tough!). I moved towards the figure, adrenaline blazing through my body. As I got closer I realized there was a giant Santa on the back porch, staring into the house.

I shook my head know that my parents had officially become Kristmas Krazies – I learned later that the Santa was my Dad’s idea, he found a great deal somewhere.

I finally sacked out on the couch and awoke a few hours later to find Slim peering over me. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
I yawned. “I came with Santa,” I motioned out the door. She laughed and said it was all my father’s idea.

That much I’d already guessed.

Holiday Memories – 1990

My sisters are not all blood relations. It’s not a distinction that I make given that a) they have been part of my life longer than not a part and b) now that everyone (not me) has kids, who cares? Once I tried to explain to them that Grandma Slim and Grandpa Pops were married to other people before and that is why Focus does not come with us (Peepers, Blondie, and me) to Grandma Glass’s for Christmas.

The kids looked at me like I’m nuts. So I’m not going to bother trying to explain stuff anymore.

Anyway – Christmas 1990 was still early in the marriage timeline of Slim and Pops. I think they tied the knot about 18 months earlier. That first full year we lived together was pretty tough. Four teen girls living together under one roof is hard enough; adding in the “blended” family factor and the blood feuds that erupted between us – well… frankly, I’m surprised my father didn’t have a stroke or resort to self-medication.

We finally moved into a large house where everyone had her own rooms. That did not mean that those rooms were not invaded from time to time. For some reason, the three younger girls really liked my stuff – although I don’t know why. It disappeared on a regular basis much to my annoyance.

During the dark days of this particular holiday season, it became clear that Christmas wasn’t going to be the chipper holiday we might have hoped for. I’m not even totally sure a tree went up, to be honest. Gifts were light as my parents opted to hand over checks for use at post-holiday sales.

And my clever sisters decided to give the gift of stuff I used to own. Yes, they wrapped up several items they’d stolen from me over the previous year and placed them under the tree. I got back a lot of socks and possibly some underwear. I could not believe they stole my underwear!

Oh those girls! How I hated them!

I never did get my Swatch back or my cool polka dot pants (don’t ask).