New Year's resolutions

Despite mocking by certain friends who will remain nameless, I have made New Year's resolutions for 2009. And also some guidelines. (I know you are wondering what the difference is between the two: resolutions are measurable and guidelines are, well, guidelines.) (And having just read that statement, I realize that I may be even nerdier than I am currently accepting.) 

First, the resolutions:

1) Keep the 10-ish pounds I lost since the summer off. Sure, I'd love to add to the loss, but I'll be happy just to stay where I'm at. For now.

2) Go out at least once during the week. Even if it's just to grab dinner and/or a drink. But at least once each week, get out of the apartment. Weekends don't count.

3) Join the 19th century literature bookclub. This one has the bonus of helping me stick to #2.

4) Try one new recipe a week. I've got a whole stack of recipes to try out, but there's always a reason to stick with the old standbys. Or not cook at all. 

Now, the guidelines:

1) Less caffeine. I have been hitting the coffee at a much higher rate these days. Sure, it's toughened up my stomach, and, for the first time in years, I may have had a Christmas where I wasn't throwing up by noon. But, really, I should cut back on the caffeine. At least a little. 

2) Exercise more. Yes, I should have made this a resolution where I specify the amount of exercise I will do. But I'm not going to. I'm going to keep it vague.

3) Get rid of some of my shit. No, seriously, I have way too much stuff. Stop by; I might give you a sofa.

4) More yes, less no. This is a carryover from the mid-life crisis, but it's always a good idea to remind myself.

That should do me. I thought I had five resolutions, but I can't remember the 5th. That's not a good start.

Anyway, happy new year!

Milestones

I made it through the month-o-posting and this is the 60th posting to this blog. In honor of these milestones (of sorts), I am just going to tell you some various randomness that isn't enough for whole posts. So, we both win!

On the walk to work, I have to cross one major road. Until recently, the crosswalk just had its usual cycle of the light with the walk/don't walk sign coming up appropriately. A few weeks ago they activated the button to "help" you cross the street. As far as I can tell, the button doesn't change anything -- the light still takes forever -- except (1) if you don't hit it in time, you don't get your "walk" sign and (2) there's some creepy, distant voice, mumbling something at you (at least I hope it's coming from the crosswalk.) So, thanks for the button!

Now that I'm working earlier hours (I shifted to 7-4), it feels like my own personal daylight savings time. Of course it helps that it's been sunny the past two days. The only downside is that I'm so used to eating dinner when I get home from work, I'm now hungry at 4:15. 

I'm very excited about the 19th century bookclub I'm joining in January. I tend to be anti-bookclub, as I've always read for private reasons, just reading on my own and coming to my own conclusions. I also am not a fan of the assigned reading; I tend to have a shelf (maybe 3 shelves) of books-to-read and then pick based on my mood. But this group seems aggressively nerdy, so I'm all on it.

I'm still annoyed at the stagers. I know, I've got to let it go. 

I think it would be good for me to go on a bender. I think it might be good to let go of control. Of course, as I consider this, I am thinking about how to have a controlled bender: where it should be, who I should be with, etc. I have issues.

As I was driving back from Ohio, I passed so many exits for Civil War battlefields, and I starting thinking about Cliff. I may have been a little bit weepy.

My Nana rocked!

Let me tell you about my nana. My nana was so awesome. Oh, your nana might be pretty cool, but mine was the best. My nana taught me many important things. She taught me to drink vodka ("they can't smell it on your breath.") She taught me to always have a back-up (a lesson given to me when I started dating. You can think about that for a minute. And, thanks, Nana!) Most importantly, she taught me how to grow old.

After Papa died, Nana went through a period where she was definitely depressed. I remember my parents just taking her places and she just kind of went along. But at some point, she changed. She started embracing the idea of "sure, what the hell!" And she found out that life was fun. Because she was having fun and enjoying herself, more folks would invite her places. "Wanna stay at Uncle Carl's for 2 weeks?" "Sure, why not?" "Wanna go to the Triangle Tavern?" "I'll get my coat." It wasn't just the family and friends; I saw total strangers respond to her. One night at the Triangle, the table next to us sent Nana a Mudslide ("We thought you might like to try one of these") and another table sang her "We're Strong for Toledo" after seeing her Medhens t-shirt.

Watching Nana, I saw that attitude made a difference. Nana just had a good time. Let's contrast this with my Aunt Lil. Aunt Lil was actually one of my favorite relatives when I was younger, but, somehow, Aunt Lil turned into a bitter, nasty old lady. And it was a chore to even stop by to visit. But Nana was fun!

I miss my Nana. She never doubted me and she always thought I did the right thing. Nana, you rock!

So glad he won

I've noticed that most people I know do not refer to Obama by his name. It's just "he." Like, "When I heard he won, I cried." It's this weird sort of intimacy. I kind of love how there's an assumption that you'll know exactly who they're talking about. "Oh, I think he'll do a great job!" 

It's nice to have a president that people are actually excited about. I really can't remember what that is like. I knew some people who were excited when Reagan was elected, but more like "I'm excited for business because Reagan is president", not so much about Reagan himself. Maybe I just don't remember. Were people excited about Reagan? I really doubt that anyone was excited about the Bushes. 

Tom Petty changed my life

When I was 21, my dad got transferred to the Philadelphia area. I had just graduated from college and was ready to start my teaching career in Toledo. Before school started for me, my family went house hunting, and we made it into the family vacation. The Piggie siblings took a separate car so that we could go site-seeing while Mom and Pops looked at expensive, East-coast houses.

At this point, I wasn't sure if I wanted to move out East. In fact, I was thinking that I wouldn't be moving. I had my friends, I liked living in Toledo, I could visit my family. But it was fun to see Philadelphia and to consider it. Anyway, for whatever reason, my brother decided that we should go to see the Tom Petty concert at the Spectrum that night. He was in town and we weren't doing anything else. We found a Ticketmaster (ah, remember those days when you had to buy your tickets at a Ticketmaster), and that night we were on our way into the city. 

I remember being at that concert and thinking, I could do this. I could move out here and I would really like it. Tom Petty concerts every night! I'm not sure why, but it was like seeing a new way to go through life. I could just buy a ticket and go! I could explore new areas and it might be a lot of fun. That's when I really started considering moving out of Toledo. And leaving Toledo changed my life in so many ways. I know I wouldn't have gone to grad school if I stayed in Toledo. I would've probably stuck with teaching, which really doesn't suit me. I'm an East-coast girl -- I just didn't know that when I lived in the Midwest. 

And that's how Tom Petty changed my life.

Christmas Past

When I was growing up, Christmases followed a very specific pattern. Christmas Eve, we started off going to Grandma and Grandpa Campbell's. I felt this was a good choice to get them out of the way as (a) these were the "boring" relatives and (b) they gave fairly lame gifts. It was always a fairly quiet start to the night, even in later years when the events moved to Aunt Tina's (a/k/a Butterfly -- sadly, I am not making that up.) An hour or so hanging out with the Campbells, and then it was off to the Majkas. Good Lord, the Majkas. 

Every single year, the front steps were an absolute sheet of ice. I swear that my Uncle Henry must've come down ahead to time to pour water on the stairs. It was deadly. Just to explain, Hank and Sally lived in a duplex with Hank's mom (Busia, of course). We would start downstairs at Busia's and work our way upstairs. Everyone would pack into the living room, the television cranked up to 11, at least 10 conversations happening at once, everyone shouting in Polish and English at each other. Woody and Nana would be drunk already, Mom would be pissed that Nana was drunk already. Hank would offer us a drink that was all ice cubes and about an ounce of soda. God forbid you ask for seconds. "Another one?!") It was a hundred degrees and noisy and overwhelming. 

The most annoying thing: one of the Majka cousins was also a November birthday. Although she was a year older than me, she started school the same time I did. So, although she was in the same grade as me, she was a year older. In the first grade, she needed glasses but they didn't figure it out right away, so she got held back. So she's a year older but a grade behind. I'm sure you've figured it out. Not the Majkas. "How old are you?" "10." "What grade are you in?" "Fourth." "Wait a minute, Gail is 11 and in the third grade. Are you sure?" Yes, you are right; I am unsure of my age and my grade. Why must I go through this every year?

Somehow, everyone would get the magic signal and go upstairs, for more of the same. More shouting, more of everything (except something to drink.) Then it was time to head out to midnight mass. It would seriously take my mom an hour to get out the door. We would be in our coats, waiting, waiting, my mom acting like she was headed off to war. All of a sudden, we had to run off to mass. 

Midnight mass at CORC: one of my favorite things. Awesomely weird Christmas carols, folks from the past showing up, all candle light. It was so fantastic to have this hour and half (or more) of calm and beauty after all the chaos. I just loved that church. 

The next day was at our house. Morning was time for presents, then running around getting ready for everyone to come over. Much better than the previous day.

You know, when I was growing up, I always thought that it was all too crazy and too loud. There were years that I really couldn't stand it. But after we moved, I realized that I missed it. I missed the pattern, as crazy as it was. Our future Christmases were without an identity. Maybe it's easier to romanticize the situation, being removed from it, but I miss the nuttiness.

Pick it up!

When I was a kid, a big part of family gatherings was playing cards. Learning how to play poker was your ticket to out of the kids table. This is why I was playing poker at the age of 6. I loved playing poker with the family. Uncle Carl would swear too much, Papa would accuse Hank of cheating, Nana would bump up the pot, and we'd all fold because she never bet unless she had a fabulous hand. Good times. And it was every family gathering. I won over a dollar in the game that was played after Papa's funeral. We still play on occasion, but poker was really part of my grandparents' generation.

Poker wasn't the only card game that was around. My parents played bridge with about a thousand different groups. (I could never figure out the betting but was great at getting tricks.) (Yeah, that just sounds dirty.) Hearts, which I still refuse to play with my family (too many fights). Mom, Nana, and I used to play three-way pinochle, until Mom accused us of cheating and threw the cards at us. And then there's stupid man's bridge: Euchre. The best card game ever.

If you don't know what euchre is, well, I guess you've never been to a frat party in the Midwest. It is one of the easiest games ever. Okay, Indian poker is the easiest and stupidest game ever, but euchre is not too far off. I've see euchre played with two people who were completely wasted and one who had never played before, and still a good game. Euchre is awesome because it's fast, simple, has a bit of strategy, and cheating is expected. There are variations (no-trump, screw-the-dealer) which should be established at the beginning. It's played at parties, in line, wherever you've got 4 idiots from the Midwest and a half deck of cards. (Oh, you can't play euchre with a full deck -- that makes it all complicated-like.) Sigh. I miss euchre.

I'm finding as I get older, my card-sense is disappearing. I used to be able to evaluate the games a lot quicker and it was more instinctive to me. Mr. Higgy-Piggie still thinks it's impressive when I watch poker on tv and can tell him right away what each player need ("ooh, he needs a 9 or the 3 of clubs!"), but it seems like I have to think about it more. I kind of hate that. And I know that bridge would be a struggle.

Well, Merry Christmas to all! No poker tonight and that kind of makes me sad.

Twitter to Ohio

If I was twittering the ride to Ohio, it might go something like this:

7:10 am: Out the door, off to Target. Shut up, like you're so organized.

7:50 am: Done with Target. Hunting coffee. Helpful hint from worker: Barnes and Noble opens at 9 and they have a Starbucks. Thanks?

7:58 am: Waiting for Corner Bakery (a chain store?) to open. Why does a place that sells coffee and baked goods not open until 8?

8:01 am: Service here makes Starbucks look snappy. 

8:05 am: heading out. Finally.

8:25 am: Rain, rain, rain. 

8:45 am: Having that weird panic that I have the first time a take a route: Am I going the right way? West, right?

9:something: crossing into Pennsylvania. Ah, it's always good to be above the Mason-Dixon. Later, Waffle House.

Shortly after: try to call Bru. No luck.

10-ish: Now that I have "The Modern Lovers" newly uploaded to my ipod, I have two versions of "Pablo Picasso." I'll bet you can't say that.

10-ish later: I am on the PA turnpike and the sign states that there will be no rest stops for 116 miles. Really, PA? Really? So, I better stop. News: coffee makes me, um, have to stop.

Next: Quick stop. Grab a water. 

11:00: More driving, more rain. 

12:10: Seriously, the worst rest stop ever. The only food: McDonald's. A McDondald's with no grilled chicken, even. Service: S-L-O-W. And an almost fight between a customer and an annoyed worker. Big puddles in front of the gas pumps. Gas pumps keep splashing back and turning off. I'm already hating you, Ohio.

12:30: Hate driving in the rain. At least it's not snow, but then, again, if it snowed that much, I'd probably be in Maryland.

1-ish: Getting really annoyed at driving in the rain. It's just tiring.

2:30: Arrive at the parents. As the rain starts to let up. Of course.

Happy holidays, y'all.

I should drink more

I've never had a hangover. I assume I'd know what one is like if I had one. And I'm pretty sure I've had enough to drink that I should have a hangover. Yet, nothing but regrets. No headache, no upset stomach, no dizziness. 

I've heard enough about hangovers to know that if you wake up the next day a bit sleepy because you got to bed late and the room was spinning, that's not a hangover. A hangover is green around the gills. Maybe I haven't drank enough. Although I've had enough to get sick and I've certainly had enough to do a few things I've wished I hadn't done.

I'll admit, I don't drink much. It's that control-freak thing. Maybe I haven't had hangover-worthy quantities. Maybe I should let go, go on a bender, test the no-hangover theory. Although I doubt I can let go for that long.

Handbasket

It occurs to me that there are a lot of things I do (or think) that I follow with the phrase "...and that's why I'm going to hell." I don't know if this is a good thing. Although admitting you have a problem is the first step.

The thing that brought it on the other day it was babies in the office. Seriously, though, why do people bring their babies to the office? Babies don't like work. Babies don't like offices. Babies don't like cubicles (much). And if there is a baby at work, you can either pretend that it's so totally awesome that the baby is there (and, therefore, the person who brought the baby thinks, "yay, everyone loves to see the baby!") or ignore the baby -- then you're the bitch. 

Okay, not liking babies in the office isn't really the reason that I'm going to hell (although it probably isn't helping). The reason I'm going to hell is because I'm making an issue of it. And, as I am making an issue of it, I am thinking, "let it go." But no. I am choosing to rant against babies. I am making this big issue over a 10 minute disruption by a baby. 

I have issues.

Be very quiet, I'm hunting houses

The hunt for a house has begun. I'm already exhausted and somewhat sick of the whole thing. I really have very little patience for house hunting. It's somewhat surprising, as I tend to over-ponder my decisions. And, yet, the two houses we've bought have been basically impulse buys.

The house in Hatboro was one we drove past one night. "Ooh, look! Stop, get the number." We weren't even looking to move at the time, but there it was. It was not the best time to buy. I was still in grad school, we had a townhouse to sell, but we bought it anyway. While we were trying to sell the townhouse, before we actually could buy the house, Mr. Higgy Piggie got laid off. Sigh. But it all worked out, and we got the house.

When we went to buy the next house, I swore I would actually look for a house. I knew I wanted to be closer to work, and Newtown seemed just about right. Before we got our agent, we went for a drive around the area. One of the first places we checked out was some new construction, although it seemed really expensive. We then met with a realtor, who gave us a list of houses to check out. The  next weekend, we drove around, I got depressed, and we just got the new construction. Yeah, I'm that lazy.

At least this time, I've seen a few houses, gone to a few neighborhoods, and I actually feel like I am researching this purchase. I suppose it's the least I could do, but, it is just exhausting me. I am such a baby. 

Karaoke Tunes

I think that, on your list of favorite songs, you need to have at least one song you would perform at a karaoke bar. Yeah, yeah, you're never going to sing karaoke. I get it. And if anyone should not sing karaoke, it's me. I have a terrible voice. I will never be singing in front of a crowd. Ever. No really. Not enough booze in the world. But I do have a karaoke song. You know, just in case.

I believe a good karaoke song has a few key elements: (1) It should be relatively well known. You need to get that crowd on your side and they probably won't rally behind "Yellow Pills." (2) It should have a portion of the song where the crowd will want to sing along or participate. (3) It should be a song that's easy to sing. Don't try that crazy Mariah Carey number. You just can't do it. You really do not have the pipes. (And don't be fooled by any Queen songs -- Freddy Mercury had a damn fine voice. You will not be able to pull it off.)

For a while, my karaoke song was "Living on a Prayer." It has all the elements, plus you probably can't go wrong with Bon Jovi, especially living near New Jersey. But recently, I've rediscovered "It Never Rains in Southern California" and that is my karaoke song. If you haven't listened to it for a while (and, really, why would you unless you were an idiot like me), give it a spin. Well, you got to get past the flute. It's a great song, prefect for karaoke. And everyone can sing along with the chorus. But, it's mine, so no stealing.

I think some country artist (not too country) needs to redo it. It would be fabulous as a country tune. 

Tales of Christmas Present

When we lived in Toledo, Christmas had a definite pattern. I suppose you could call them traditions, although I think that implies handing down through generations, whereas this was more just what we did every year while I was growing up. More on that another day, when I'm feeling more nostalgic. 

After we moved, we lost our pattern to Christmas. A part of it was that we were getting older, but it was mostly being away from the extended family, the church we had always attended, the things we had grown up with. We tried to establish some sort of pattern, but it never took. It was all very frustrating, and, of course, you look around and think everyone else is having this great time at Christmas, surrounded by friends and family, and you are stuck with a bunch of people you don't know at this church that plays the wrong Christmas carols. It was just depressing.

Now that Andrea and my parents are back in Ohio, a bit of a pattern is emerging. A part of it involves Andrea's in-laws, who have the Christmas traditions they've been following forever: Christmas Eve at Dom's parents, Christmas Day at Aunt Diane's, that sort of thing. I have no problem with that, in fact, I'm a bit jealous, but when we go there, we hang of the outskirts, looking in. I tend to avoid these gatherings, as they emphasize my feelings of being an outsider. However, they have given us a framework for our holiday, and something to work off of. 

The one thing that stuck around throughout all the years is my dad's insane need for fresh kielbasa at breakfast Christmas morning. This was actually a surprisingly difficult request when we lived in Pennsylvania. You would go to the meat counter and they'd try to give you the smoked nonsense, packaged in plastic. Oh, please! This is not grey meat! Fresh kielbasa is both incredibly nasty and awesome. The spices, the fat, the fact that it takes about 5 hours to cook properly and then your house smells like the stuff for about 3 weeks. Luckily, we found a local place that made it (Illg's), so Christmas was saved! Every year, Christmas breakfast: fresh kielbasa. And about 2 hours later, I am throwing that stuff up. I swear, I cannot remember the last Christmas with my family that I was not purging by noon. (Family joke: "I'm feeling Illg's.") 

The Campbell family holiday tradition: greasy meat and vomiting. It's a wonderful life.

Nosing around other people's lives

I like to read other folk's blogs. There are a number of blogs I read regularly, and I do not know a single one of these people personally. But I keep up with these people and their lives. There's Expat Mike, who doesn't post too regularly, but every post is a jewel. The latest involves a taste test of sodas he bought in Macau. The folks on "It's Lovely! I'll Take It!" make looking for a house both better and worse than it actually has been, and "Overheard in the Office" always makes me laugh out loud.

I've been reading Elyse Sewell's for quite a while. For those who don't know, she was on the first season of ANTM (go look it up, if you don't know, but, seriously, if you're looking it up, you may be reading the wrong blog.) Now, if you've looked up "ANTM", you may be looking down your nose at my taste in blogs. Do not judge! You will love it. It's random and funny and so very, very awesome.

I read blogs started by various folks associated with Television without Pity. These folks are all really interesting writers and very funny. Reading all these blogs makes me want to write better. They also show me that clever goes pretty far.

And one that I just found: sexypeople-blog. Bliss!

My red ipod

Oh, little red ipod, why must you torment me so? I know you have over 900 songs on you and, yet, you keep playing certain favorites. Why are there songs you never play for me? I've given them to you with the hope that they would brighten my day by plying them, but you guard these songs with secrecy. Is it that hard to throw some Aimee Mann into the mix? 

Oh, little red ipod, what is your obsession with X and The Monkees? Sure, I was excited to get "Make the Music Go Bang!" but now you're just making me resent that purchase. Okay, yes, I do love John Doe and, sure, he could sing the phone book and I'd be happy to hear it, but give the guy a rest. And The Monkees, they are there just for that now and again childhood nostalgia. If you don't play nice, I'm going to have to take them away.

Oh, little red ipod, I know it's probably not all your fault. Clearly, you had issues from the start. You were always a fan of the two-fer, but this two-in-a-row behavior did make me doubt your "random" function. If I have given you only five Neil Diamond songs, what are the odds you play two in a row if it's truly random? Sure, it might happen every so often, but how are you picking two Beastie Boys tunes a few songs later? I know, it's probably Apple being "helpful" again. Oh, little red ipod, don't listen to Steve Jobs! You know that it's nothing but trouble.

However, little red ipod, you are not without your sense of humor. "Up All Night" followed by "I'm Only Sleeping"?! You little trickster. But a little less X, a little more Elvis (sure, either one), and I think we'll both be happy. And maybe stay away from Rage Against the Machine at work. Thanks.

They're writing songs of love, but not for me

When I was at dinner with Steven, we got on the topic of my ex-boyfriends (as one does). I mentioned that I get along with most of them, and he pointed out that I was always good that way. Of course, it got me thinking about why this is the case.

At first I started with the basics: I never really had a nasty, terrible break-up. (Sure, they weren't any fun, but nothing really nasty.) And I've always maintained that, if I cared for these guys on some level, I'm not going to stop caring about them just because we're no longer dating. I've got some really great ex-boyfriends: smart, funny guys doing impressive stuff -- engineers, professors, scientists, etc. (I may have a bit of a type). I'm in touch with a number of them and I like to hear what's new with them. But then I started wondering if there wasn't more to it than not-nasty break-ups and the occasional e-mail.

A few years ago, I stumbled upon this in my reading: "Why are old lovers able to become friends? Two reasons: They never really loved each other, or they love each other still." Thinking about that, I think, for most of my relationships, it's actually both. While on some level I really do care about many of my exes, it occurs to me that I've never really had a passionate relationship either. One that is just pure emotion, just craziness. Boombox over your head in the rain frenzy -- not happening to me. Which is probably why it's never lead to that nasty break-up, that tearing up of one's heart. I think the kind of love I am prone to is that steady but not-too-exciting love, but not deep, crazy passion.

I know that a big part of the reason this sort of passion has not happened to me is my fault. I do guard my emotions and I really don't let go. This is not an easy thing to accept, this unwillingness to trust another person, to be that vulnerable. I tell myself that this sort of craziness doesn't really last, and maybe only exists in movies, but sometimes I wish...

So, I'll probably never get the love songs. But I will have the friendships. Is this what I want? Depends on the day. Ask me tomorrow, you might get a different answer.

Revolutionary Road

A couple of years ago I read "Revolutionary Road" by Richard Yates. I don't even remember why I picked it, but I absolutely loved the book. It's sad and awful and fantastic. Easily in my top ten. And it's one of those little-known books, ones of those books people just haven't heard about. Even my brother, the PhD in literature, had never heard of it. Of course, I recommend the book to all my reader friends, especially those who also watch "Mad Men" (which is really the perfect show to match with the book.)

Now it is being made into a "major motion picture" with Kate Winslet and Leonardo DeCaprio. Now, I love Kate Winslet, and she's really a perfect for the role. And I'm actually kind of excited that a lot more people are going to discover the book as a result of this movie. But I'm sort of protective of the book and I kind of don't like the fact that it's so "out there." That it's not longer my cool, secret book to recommend to everybody. 

There's not too many times I'm at the front end of a trend. Sure, I was in the Kiss Army in 1975 and I was digging the cartoons of Matt Groening in the early '80s, but I think that's about it in my list of being ahead of the crowd. So, just remember, I was digging "Revolutionary Road" before "Mad Men" and Kate made it cool.

Words of love

It's goofy but I really love tut.com (although I don't actually go to the site very often). What is it? It's this absolutely goofy thing (calling it a service is almost an exaggeration) where you sign up and they e-mail you a "note from the universe" every day, Monday through Friday. Here's an example:

Every challenge is a stepping stone to a happier place than you even knew existed. Oh, the magic,

The Universe

One day soon you will be exceedingly glad for this very path you now tread.

Yes, they are new-age-y, kind of silly little messages. But every morning, I open my e-mail and see what "The Universe" has sent me for the day (you get a bonus message on your birthday!) These notes make me happy. Sort of like a feel-good horoscope. 

Sign up. And be happy that The Universe is sending e-mail. 

My favorite thing about Christmas

Although this time of year has a lot of things to hate or, if nothing else, be annoyed by, there is one thing I love about Christmas: Christmas carols. No, really, I absolutely love Christmas carols. There is no such thing as a Christmas carol that is too dopey for me. I'm singin' along and lovin' it.

Part of the love comes from the Catholic thing: no Christmas carols during Advent, then Christmas Eve: Joy to the World! The church we attended in Toledo always had especially wonderful music at Christmas. Midnight mass was always freezing but great music. They would always hit the standards, but pull out some of the more unusual carols as well. Oh, CORC, you bunch of hippies, I'm missing you this time of year. 

I also loved when the Christmas music showed up in the band folder. Marching band season was over, the big fall concerts had passed, contests were still months away. Right around Thanksgiving: "Sleigh Ride"! Yippee! We'd play the standards (to this day, I love, love, love "A Christmas Festival") but some weird ones as well. One year we played this awesome piece called "Russian Christmas Music" -- just fantastic. Plus, Christmas concerts were lighter and more fun than other concerts. 

My love for Christmas carols is pretty much across the board. I love all the Phil Spector Wall-of-Sound nonsense, "Jingle Bell Rock", both the Drifters' and Bing Crosby's versions of "White Christmas", James Brown. Bring it on! 

But I freakin' hate the Springsteen Christmas songs.

Yay for today!

There are little things in life that just make me feel good. Like, when I get the oil changed, I'm good for another 5000 miles (I do a lot of highway driving), and, after I get my car inspected, I know I'm good for another year. (I don't think my life is all about car maintenance, so why are these my example?) Anyway, today is the day I look for every year: the day the sun starts setting later.

"Wait just a gosh-darned minute! Today is December 12th. December 21st is the shortest day of the year!" And you would be correct. But I am a dork, so I know that although December 21st provides you with the shortest amount of total daylight, there is a short period where the sun start setting later. The sun also rises later, which then leads to an overall shorter day (up until the 21st). For those keeping score at home, today the sun set one minute later than it did yesterday! Glorious!

It's really silly, but when the sun starts setting just a bit later, I feel like I'm winning. So, yay for today, my funny, little holiday!