Monday, April 21, 2008
Chores for two - what I’ve been trying to accomplish for years!
Chores for two: Why men don't pitch in
Leslie Bennetts explores the role men play in housework and childrearing
By Leslie Bennetts
Tango Media
As a reporter, I often travel on assignment. When my children were small, the prospect of my leaving town for a few days typically elicited great alarm from our family's nearest and dearest. "Who will take care of the children!" they exclaimed, as if the little darlings had only one parent. When I replied that their father would doubtless make sure they didn't starve to death while I was away, everyone from my women friends to my mother would simper adoringly, "Oh, you're so lucky! Jeremy is soooo wonderful!"
Like my husband and me, our upstairs neighbors during those years, Amy and Nick, were both working journalists with complicated schedules, as well as children and a dog. When Amy saw my husband hauling groceries into our apartment one day, she asked me what on earth he was doing.
Since the bags were overflowing with the usual staples of family life, from breakfast cereal to toilet paper, the answer seemed pretty obvious. But instead of questioning Amy's observational skills, I explained that twice a month Jeremy bought large quantities of household supplies, thereby reducing the number of necessities I had to lug home every day. Duh.
Amy looked as if she were about to swoon. "Oh, you're so lucky!" she moaned, her voice trembling with an unnatural fervor so exaggerated as to suggest I had just won the MegaMillions lottery. "My husband would never do that! Jeremy is soooo wonderful!"
When the big holidays roll around, the sainted Jeremy and I always have a houseful of guests. I spend days planning, shopping, and cooking lavish meals for ridiculous numbers of friends and relatives. I do everything from the flower-arranging to the silver-polishing to the table-setting.
After eating themselves into a stupor, one or two people usually rouse themselves long enough to make halfhearted, visibly insincere offers to help clean up. We tell them not to worry about it; Jeremy does the clean-up.
Sinking back into torpor, they sigh with relief. "Oh, you're so lucky!" they murmur. "Jeremy is soooo wonderful!"
Excuse me? Here's a news flash for you: Jeremy is not soooo wonderful. I, actually, am the one who is soooo wonderful.
Although both Jeremy and I work full-time, I do all the cooking, and I have always taken care of considerably more child-rearing tasks and domestic drudge-work than my husband. In this regard, we resemble most other two-career American couples.
According to the Institute for Social Research at the University of Michigan, women spent an average of 27 hours a week on housework in 2002, while men spent 16 hours (which at least represents an improvement over the 16 seconds or so a lot of them spent a generation ago). Even today, married men perform little more than a third of household labor, whether or not their wives are in the paid labor force. And women spend more than twice as much time as men do on child care.
Ask your typical American dad what size shoes his children wear, and you will likely draw a blank stare. He has no idea. Guess who makes sure the kids' toes aren't poking through their sneakers?
My own husband claims that any imbalance in our household contributions derives solely from the fact that he has to go to an office while I work at home, a luxury that permits me to take care of many domestic tasks during my workday. This disparity in our schedules may explain why I make dinner every night—because I'm home to stir the pot on the stove—but it does not explain why our weekends begin with him enjoying a third cup of coffee over the morning newspapers while I rush around making breakfast, cleaning up the house, and organizing the children's day. I'm the one everyone asks when they want to know when the next orthodontist appointment is, what the cross-country meet schedule is, or where the birthday party is being held (yes, I remembered to buy a present; yes, it's wrapped and ready to go).
And yet everyone acts as if Jeremy deserves some kind of medal just for making a run to the supermarket. No one has ever suggested that I'm a heroine for doing the things every mother is expected to do. I admit that my husband helps out more than many men, but here's another news flash: It isn't because he's such a fabulously enlightened being. Left to his own devices, he would doubtless park himself in front of the TV like some sitcom male-chauvinist couch potato while I did all the work. The reason Jeremy "helps" as much as he does (an offensive terminology that itself suggests who's really being held responsible) is simple: He doesn't have a choice.
From the beginning of our relationship, I made it very clear that I wasn't going to be any husband's unpaid servant. If Jeremy wanted to be—and stay—married to me, let alone have kids, he couldn't stick me with all the boring, mundane stuff nobody wants to do. We were going to share the work, or we were going to forget the whole deal.Unlike my first husband, who announced after our wedding that he didn't like the way the French laundry did his shirts and he now expected me, the Wife, to wash and iron all of them, Jeremy recognized both the righteousness of the principle involved and the intransigence of the woman he'd married, and proceeded to pitch in.
That was 17 years ago, and while we haven't exactly achieved equity, we've come a lot closer to it than most of our peers, judging by all the dreary surveys proving that men are slugs and their wives are superwomen. So how have I accomplished this? By holding my husband's feet to the fire every single day of our lives, of course.
Yes, dear readers, it's true: Maintaining some semblance of parity in your marriage requires you to deploy the same kinds of nasty tactics you swore you would never stoop to as a parent but nonetheless found yourself using the minute you actually had a kid. Bribery and punishment work; so do yelling and complaining. Threats are also effective, as long as everyone knows you mean business. With husbands, tender blandishments and nooky are particularly useful, as is the withholding of the aforementioned.
These strategies admittedly take a lot of energy, but not as much as performing all the functions necessary to maintain home and family by yourself. When my husband has lingered too long over the sports section and I'm feeling overwhelmed by the number of errands that must be run, I hand him a list.
"This is what I need you to do today," I say in a tone of voice that brooks no equivocation. He may moan and groan, but the jobs get done. And while I still have to mastermind the operation — somehow he is never the one who remembers that our son needs new mosquito netting, baseball cleats, and basketball shoes for sleepaway camp — I'm not the only one schlepping around town checking items off the To Do list.
What I don't understand is why my insistence on some approximation of equality is unusual. I live in Manhattan, which is full of smart, educated, successful women who are juggling the responsibilities of family and career with extraordinary competence. And yet most of them will readily admit that their husbands don't do half of anything remotely domestic.
Go to any school event for parents and you will find it crowded with working women who have taken time out of their busy professional schedules to meet with teachers or sit in on classes or attend the fourth-grade play. My children's school sponsors a regular forum where parents gather to discuss such pressing issues as curfews, homework, and the social mores of hormone-addled teen-agers. At every single one, the room is full of women — doctors, lawyers, and CEOs, as well as stay-at-home moms. The only man who ever attends is a widower who admits his son never tells him anything, so he comes to the discussion groups in hopes of learning what his kid is up to from his classmates' moms.
Where are the other fathers? In their offices, no doubt. Before you start protesting that this is exactly where those big strong male breadwinners belong, let me make one thing crystal clear: In many of the families I'm talking about, the wife is actually the major breadwinner. This seems to have no effect whatsoever on the husband's willingness to be an equal partner — or on the wife's readiness to demand that he become one. Although almost half of all working women provide at least half of the family income, and women are the major breadwinners in nearly a third of all American households, they remain far more likely to take time off from work when their children are sick. Needless to say, one survey after another shows that men also have more leisure time. Ask most working mothers what they do with their leisure time and you're lucky if they don't hit you.
The fact that guys, when left to their own devices, rarely rush to offer more toilet-scrubbing and diaper-changing is not in itself surprising. As Martin Luther King Jr. once observed, "We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed."
So why aren't women demanding something closer to parity? While many are resigned to seething in silence, the stakes are far higher than they seem to realize. When wives permit their husbands to shirk a fair share of the homemaking and parenting, not only do they themselves suffer, but chances are good that they're also sentencing their children to a similar fate. When you have kids, everything you do teaches them how to live their own lives when they grow up. Unfortunately, all too many women are still teaching their children that "woman is the nigger of the world," as John Lennon and Yoko Ono put it so memorably in a song lyric years ago. And what too many fathers teach their sons and daughters is that men can get away with dumping the scut work on their wives, and that women will grit their teeth and put up with it.
So all I can say to my fellow wives and mothers is: Rise up — you have nothing to lose but your unjust share of the burden. I know what you're thinking: "I've tried to get him to help out more, but he won't! What am I supposed to do?"
You're supposed to insist, that's what you're supposed to do. It's not as if women don't have leverage these days; despite the stereotype of the middle-aged guy running off with the secretary half his age, two thirds of all divorces among Americans over 40 are initiated by women, not men. What does this tell us about their relative levels of satisfaction within marriage?
And while I recognize that gender stereotypes are risky, in my experience husbands are a lot like children. They will get away with whatever they can get away with. When you put your foot down and make it clear that you won't take no for an answer, somehow the kids' rooms get cleaned, the groceries bought, the laundry folded. It really does work, I promise.
Leslie Bennetts is the author of "The Feminine Mistake" and has been a contributing editor at Vanity Fair since 1988, writing on subjects that have ranged from movie stars to U.S. terrorism policy.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Monday, February 11, 2008 - Memories and Michael Jackson
Monday, February 11, 2008
Memories and Michael Jackson
Do you ever forget how much you loved Michael Jackson? No, not recently loved him, but in like 1st grade loved him. When I was in 1st grade, along with many of you - Michael Jackson was da bomb. He was the coolest, most talented, best entertainer out there. We all loved his songs (go ahead, try and deny it), wanted to do the moonwalk like him, and watched Thriller over and over again. Regardless, I'm not on here typing away to convince you of anything.
So, we've established that I loved Michael Jackson as a kid. I continued to enjoy his music even though Michael, as a person, became the exact opposite of someone who I would admire. The music he made during the early 80's, and even the early 90's was great. Catchy tunes that have been sampled and remade time and time again in the current music scene. This is what leads me to this blog and the recent updates to my playlist.
Rhianna's newest radio release has a nice sampling (or pseudosampling) from Wanna Be Starting Something which in turn leads me to think of Michael Jackson, which in turn leads me to think about a very long trip to and from Connecticut with my partners in crime Ron and Cami (and Will was along that trip which made it even better). We didn't always all agree on what should or should not be on the radio, but we all agreed on Michael Jackson. (BTW, Cami or Will if you happen to read this - one of my favoritest memories ever.) This story has already been recapped in a 2 part blog way down my list called "We're supposed to take 95 north," and "We're supposed to take 95 south."
Anywho, all this brought me to today when I finally remembered to add some MJ songs to my playlist - along with Rhianna, and some new Chris Brown. When you have nothing better to do, or need the best playlist ever to get you through your day - check it out :)
Memories and Michael Jackson
Do you ever forget how much you loved Michael Jackson? No, not recently loved him, but in like 1st grade loved him. When I was in 1st grade, along with many of you - Michael Jackson was da bomb. He was the coolest, most talented, best entertainer out there. We all loved his songs (go ahead, try and deny it), wanted to do the moonwalk like him, and watched Thriller over and over again. Regardless, I'm not on here typing away to convince you of anything.
So, we've established that I loved Michael Jackson as a kid. I continued to enjoy his music even though Michael, as a person, became the exact opposite of someone who I would admire. The music he made during the early 80's, and even the early 90's was great. Catchy tunes that have been sampled and remade time and time again in the current music scene. This is what leads me to this blog and the recent updates to my playlist.
Rhianna's newest radio release has a nice sampling (or pseudosampling) from Wanna Be Starting Something which in turn leads me to think of Michael Jackson, which in turn leads me to think about a very long trip to and from Connecticut with my partners in crime Ron and Cami (and Will was along that trip which made it even better). We didn't always all agree on what should or should not be on the radio, but we all agreed on Michael Jackson. (BTW, Cami or Will if you happen to read this - one of my favoritest memories ever.) This story has already been recapped in a 2 part blog way down my list called "We're supposed to take 95 north," and "We're supposed to take 95 south."
Anywho, all this brought me to today when I finally remembered to add some MJ songs to my playlist - along with Rhianna, and some new Chris Brown. When you have nothing better to do, or need the best playlist ever to get you through your day - check it out :)
Wednesday, January 30, 2008 - Fit Club
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Fit Club
So, I'm pretty sure I've been complaining about being fat and flabby since round about mid 2001. And then I got un fat, but remained flabby around 2006, and now I'm back to fat and flabby (though relatively less fat than prior to 2006). I'm good at complaining, it's one of my strong points. What I'm not good at is actually getting my ass in gear to do something about whatever it is I'm complaining about. Here is where the buck has stopped for me. See, there's parts of being fat and flabby that I can change, and parts of being fat and flabby that I cannot change (at least not without lots of moolah and major surgery), but it's freakin' ridiculous for me to sit around and bitch about it when I have control over a great deal of my issues.
We have a "gym" at work. A small workout room with a couple of treadmills, a few bikes, a rowing machine, and some very antiquated weight equipment. Being AAHPERD, we're all about encouraging people to get in shape and the crappy parts of our "gym" are in the process of being upgraded to encourage more people to exercise there and reward those who already do.
With some coaxing from a coworker, I decided that I would start utilizing our "gym" this year. We said we'd stay after work twice a week and walk or do some light weight lifting for 30 minutes. This has happend all of twice now - in the whole month of January. We cannot get it together - no matter what. Someone has an appointment, or has to work late, or has to pick someone up - whatever. Today I brought all my workout stuff - even remembered my shoes. I decided that with or without company, I would stay after work and actually exercise. Sweat. Raise my heart rate to something well above a measley 100bpm. I'd do it with or without my trusty coworker. And I did. And it was satisfying!
I started off with my customary walk on the treadmill - only this time I walked for at least 15 minutes instead of 5 or 10, and I carried some handweights for added umph. From there I tried to use one of our exercise balls, but they both needed some serious air, so I gave up on that. I decided instead to work with the hand weights. I'm always mortified by the way my arms look, so here's my chance to change it. I did triceps, biceps, deltoids (all 3 of them on both sides), and then I did it some more. I did sets of crunches - two different times. Leg presses, hamstring curls and a little bit of calf strengthening (not that my calves aren't already the strongest things I've got). After that I was actually sweating a little. I stretched, and finished up after about a 40 minute workout. I was pretty impressed with myself. I didn't need anybody to tell me what to do next or how many times to do it. I actually pushed myself to do something - anything. Now, if only I can continue this routine - at least twice a week (frankly I'd like to do more). Yay me!
Fit Club
So, I'm pretty sure I've been complaining about being fat and flabby since round about mid 2001. And then I got un fat, but remained flabby around 2006, and now I'm back to fat and flabby (though relatively less fat than prior to 2006). I'm good at complaining, it's one of my strong points. What I'm not good at is actually getting my ass in gear to do something about whatever it is I'm complaining about. Here is where the buck has stopped for me. See, there's parts of being fat and flabby that I can change, and parts of being fat and flabby that I cannot change (at least not without lots of moolah and major surgery), but it's freakin' ridiculous for me to sit around and bitch about it when I have control over a great deal of my issues.
We have a "gym" at work. A small workout room with a couple of treadmills, a few bikes, a rowing machine, and some very antiquated weight equipment. Being AAHPERD, we're all about encouraging people to get in shape and the crappy parts of our "gym" are in the process of being upgraded to encourage more people to exercise there and reward those who already do.
With some coaxing from a coworker, I decided that I would start utilizing our "gym" this year. We said we'd stay after work twice a week and walk or do some light weight lifting for 30 minutes. This has happend all of twice now - in the whole month of January. We cannot get it together - no matter what. Someone has an appointment, or has to work late, or has to pick someone up - whatever. Today I brought all my workout stuff - even remembered my shoes. I decided that with or without company, I would stay after work and actually exercise. Sweat. Raise my heart rate to something well above a measley 100bpm. I'd do it with or without my trusty coworker. And I did. And it was satisfying!
I started off with my customary walk on the treadmill - only this time I walked for at least 15 minutes instead of 5 or 10, and I carried some handweights for added umph. From there I tried to use one of our exercise balls, but they both needed some serious air, so I gave up on that. I decided instead to work with the hand weights. I'm always mortified by the way my arms look, so here's my chance to change it. I did triceps, biceps, deltoids (all 3 of them on both sides), and then I did it some more. I did sets of crunches - two different times. Leg presses, hamstring curls and a little bit of calf strengthening (not that my calves aren't already the strongest things I've got). After that I was actually sweating a little. I stretched, and finished up after about a 40 minute workout. I was pretty impressed with myself. I didn't need anybody to tell me what to do next or how many times to do it. I actually pushed myself to do something - anything. Now, if only I can continue this routine - at least twice a week (frankly I'd like to do more). Yay me!
Friday, January 18, 2008 - My reintroduction to Dr. Seuss
Friday, January 18, 2008
My reintroduction to Dr. Seuss
How long has it been since you read a Dr. Seuss book? Well, for you parents it probably has only been a few days or a few hours or perhaps even a few weeks. I can safely say that since the birth of Josh, and even a few months prior, some 7 years ago, I've been reading Dr. Seuss on a somewhat regular basis. This is all fine and dandy except that in my standard arsenal I've only got a few books. One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish, Green Eggs and Ham, Baby oh Baby the Place You'll Go! and the like. These are standard, yes, but I feel as though I've lost valuable years of reading since I purchased a few more over Christmas. I always get Josh books, consistently throughout the year, but I do like to get some for Christmas as well. When I went to shop at Borders this year they had a 3 for 2 sale on Dr. Seuss books. Buy 2 get 1 free basically. So I figured why not pick up a few more that we don't already have. I bought two single title books and then one big 6 story compilation edition. Josh pulled the big book off the shelf the other night and asked if we could read some of it.
Starting at the begining of the book I noticed that I recognized nearly all of the titles inside, yet, I couldn't actually recall what the stories were about or if I'd even read most of them before. I figured this would be good for both of us. This book is not something that your average 6 year old grade level reader can tackle. It has the big stories, the stories so fantastically written and wonderfully worded that there are undoubtedly 6th graders out there who might have trouble breezing through. Starting off with "And To Think That I Saw It On Mullberry Street," moving through "The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins," and last night tackling "Horton Hatches an Egg." This has been quite the adventure in reading the works of Dr. Seuss.
I feel like I missed out on a significant portion of my childhood not having read these wonderful stories before. Sure I had "Hop on Pop," and "The Cat in the Hat," among many others, but these great stories I'd never had the opportunity to read. Nonetheless, I am now quite committed to reading the entire works (if you've met me you probably already know that once I like an author I'm all about reading his/her entire works). I'm really thrilled to sit down each night and read these outloud to Josh. I just hope he appreciates them half as much as I do.
My reintroduction to Dr. Seuss
How long has it been since you read a Dr. Seuss book? Well, for you parents it probably has only been a few days or a few hours or perhaps even a few weeks. I can safely say that since the birth of Josh, and even a few months prior, some 7 years ago, I've been reading Dr. Seuss on a somewhat regular basis. This is all fine and dandy except that in my standard arsenal I've only got a few books. One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish, Green Eggs and Ham, Baby oh Baby the Place You'll Go! and the like. These are standard, yes, but I feel as though I've lost valuable years of reading since I purchased a few more over Christmas. I always get Josh books, consistently throughout the year, but I do like to get some for Christmas as well. When I went to shop at Borders this year they had a 3 for 2 sale on Dr. Seuss books. Buy 2 get 1 free basically. So I figured why not pick up a few more that we don't already have. I bought two single title books and then one big 6 story compilation edition. Josh pulled the big book off the shelf the other night and asked if we could read some of it.
Starting at the begining of the book I noticed that I recognized nearly all of the titles inside, yet, I couldn't actually recall what the stories were about or if I'd even read most of them before. I figured this would be good for both of us. This book is not something that your average 6 year old grade level reader can tackle. It has the big stories, the stories so fantastically written and wonderfully worded that there are undoubtedly 6th graders out there who might have trouble breezing through. Starting off with "And To Think That I Saw It On Mullberry Street," moving through "The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins," and last night tackling "Horton Hatches an Egg." This has been quite the adventure in reading the works of Dr. Seuss.
I feel like I missed out on a significant portion of my childhood not having read these wonderful stories before. Sure I had "Hop on Pop," and "The Cat in the Hat," among many others, but these great stories I'd never had the opportunity to read. Nonetheless, I am now quite committed to reading the entire works (if you've met me you probably already know that once I like an author I'm all about reading his/her entire works). I'm really thrilled to sit down each night and read these outloud to Josh. I just hope he appreciates them half as much as I do.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007 - Death of a perfectly good travel bag
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Death of a perfectly good travel bag
So, if you've talked to me, or read any of my blogs over the past 6-8 months you have probably noticed that I've done a bit of travelling. Most of this is work related, some of this is volunteer related, some of it is maintaining my certification and so on and so forth. Regardless of the purpose, I've been making my rounds about the country (and on one recent occasion outside of the country). Travel has not been new to me since the day I was born. I've had my own luggage since I was a small child and I try to keep myself (in a travel bag sense) in something sturdy that will endure the test of years of trips instead of just one or two trips.
Back in college, Brandy had a great little toiletries bag that I was oh-so envious of. It carried virtually anything she would need on a trip and folded up nicely to fit in a suitcase. I couldn't ever manage to land myself one of these nifty contraptions simply because I wasn't looking for one when I was out and about. Finally, some 4 years or so out of college I did manage to pick one up and put it to good use. Over the past 4 years the travel bag has seen Jamaica, NY (repeatedly), Arizona, Indiana, Baltimore, Hawaii, California, Atlanta, Miami, Venezuela, Dallas, Kansas, Chicago, Connecticut, Massachusetts and WV (on more occasions than I wish to recount). It has always held up wonderfully no matter how much I cram in to the main compartment. Faithfully it holds my moisturizer, saline solution, glasses, toothpaste, a million shampoo and conditioner bottles from Marriotts across the country (I love the orange bath & body works scent), and eye makeup remover. This bag has served me very well.
Let's rewind back to August and my very impromptu trip to Venezuela. I pack up the travel bag real quick and toss it in my suitcase. To the best of my knowledge, I didn't pack anything out of the ordinary in the way of toiletries. The standard issue moisturizer, and whatever else I listed above. I probably threw in a handful more q-tips, but they have their own special section alongside the razor, floss, and toothbrush. The main compartment remained unchanged as far as its contents go. I make it to Venezuela in one piece and my luggage follows suit (which is more than I can say for Todd's luggage). I somehow survive the week and begin the tedious job of packing up all of my belongings after 10 VERY LONG days (I swear we were there 3 months). I finish putting everything back in its customary spot, grab the zipper, give it a little tug and RIIIIIP, the main compartment gives way - thankfully at the top and not the bottom. Aghast, I quickly give support to the bottom of the bag and arrange the zippers so that the pressure is not on the newly damaged section (I want to preserve this bag at least until I get home). Well, once I'm home I investigate a bit further and the rip isn't so bad. Sure, it's not like a brand new bag, but it still serves its purpose and nothing is falling out. I continue to use the bag for all of my recent fall travel and the rip only gets minimally larger (as one would expect).
Well, today, I believe, was the final straw for the travel bag. I just made it back from Dallas and commenced to unpacking everything. I went to unzip the maincompartment to fetch my glasses and RIIIIP, the hole became exponentially bigger. Virtually anything could fall out now and I don't think there's any hope left for its recovery. New to my Christmas/birthday list is a travel bag. Though I'd like to pick it out, so don't get any bright ideas.
Death of a perfectly good travel bag
So, if you've talked to me, or read any of my blogs over the past 6-8 months you have probably noticed that I've done a bit of travelling. Most of this is work related, some of this is volunteer related, some of it is maintaining my certification and so on and so forth. Regardless of the purpose, I've been making my rounds about the country (and on one recent occasion outside of the country). Travel has not been new to me since the day I was born. I've had my own luggage since I was a small child and I try to keep myself (in a travel bag sense) in something sturdy that will endure the test of years of trips instead of just one or two trips.
Back in college, Brandy had a great little toiletries bag that I was oh-so envious of. It carried virtually anything she would need on a trip and folded up nicely to fit in a suitcase. I couldn't ever manage to land myself one of these nifty contraptions simply because I wasn't looking for one when I was out and about. Finally, some 4 years or so out of college I did manage to pick one up and put it to good use. Over the past 4 years the travel bag has seen Jamaica, NY (repeatedly), Arizona, Indiana, Baltimore, Hawaii, California, Atlanta, Miami, Venezuela, Dallas, Kansas, Chicago, Connecticut, Massachusetts and WV (on more occasions than I wish to recount). It has always held up wonderfully no matter how much I cram in to the main compartment. Faithfully it holds my moisturizer, saline solution, glasses, toothpaste, a million shampoo and conditioner bottles from Marriotts across the country (I love the orange bath & body works scent), and eye makeup remover. This bag has served me very well.
Let's rewind back to August and my very impromptu trip to Venezuela. I pack up the travel bag real quick and toss it in my suitcase. To the best of my knowledge, I didn't pack anything out of the ordinary in the way of toiletries. The standard issue moisturizer, and whatever else I listed above. I probably threw in a handful more q-tips, but they have their own special section alongside the razor, floss, and toothbrush. The main compartment remained unchanged as far as its contents go. I make it to Venezuela in one piece and my luggage follows suit (which is more than I can say for Todd's luggage). I somehow survive the week and begin the tedious job of packing up all of my belongings after 10 VERY LONG days (I swear we were there 3 months). I finish putting everything back in its customary spot, grab the zipper, give it a little tug and RIIIIIP, the main compartment gives way - thankfully at the top and not the bottom. Aghast, I quickly give support to the bottom of the bag and arrange the zippers so that the pressure is not on the newly damaged section (I want to preserve this bag at least until I get home). Well, once I'm home I investigate a bit further and the rip isn't so bad. Sure, it's not like a brand new bag, but it still serves its purpose and nothing is falling out. I continue to use the bag for all of my recent fall travel and the rip only gets minimally larger (as one would expect).
Well, today, I believe, was the final straw for the travel bag. I just made it back from Dallas and commenced to unpacking everything. I went to unzip the maincompartment to fetch my glasses and RIIIIP, the hole became exponentially bigger. Virtually anything could fall out now and I don't think there's any hope left for its recovery. New to my Christmas/birthday list is a travel bag. Though I'd like to pick it out, so don't get any bright ideas.
Friday, November 30, 2007 - How Project Playlist has failed me
Friday, November 30, 2007
How Project Playlist has failed me
You might have noticed how I'm kinda into the whole Project Playlist thing. Or, maybe you didn't notice, but it's that little purple box about midway down my page that plays odd and assorted songs that I painstakingly search out and put on the list for your enjoyment (or the cure my boredom on slow days at work -either way). Generally speaking I can find virtually any song out there via the search engine - though some titles/artists are more difficult to come by than others. Regardless - I like to think that there isn't a mainstream song out there that can't be found and posted. Here's where I'm wrong.
A little backstory to let you know that I'm not completely crazy (or maybe to reinforce your already sinking suspicion that I've not been all there for many years now).
Round about the 2nd grade (circa 1985) we got cable television at my house. It was a glorious wonderland of stations and my personal favorite was MTV. Now, you might recall that back in the day MTV actually played music videos. Music videos opened up a whole new world of music to me because I was basically restricted to whatever my parents listened to or what they bought for me to listen to. My dad, heavy in to Toto, Bruce Springsteen, Bon Jovi and the like, and my mom heavy in to the Christian contemporary. This left me with the top 40 radio stations and the occasional tuning in to DC101. MTV brought me (most memorably) David Lee Roth, Men at Work, and for all intents and purposes of this blog - Survivor. Survivor was pretty hot in the 80's and so their videos were played often throughout the day. One song and video really stuck with me and I took to creating a dance routine to go with it. No need for video recording (we didn't have a VCR anyway) - "High on You" came on about 15 times a day, so on any given afternoon or weekend, I could hear and see it multiple times to put my routine together.
Now, I don't remember one step to the routine I made up, but I do still have a fondness for the song. The tune is catchy, the lyrics are passionate, and it has significant meaning to me. I heard it on the radio one day last month, and I made a mental note to add it to my playlist. Imagine my utter disappointment and frustration when I searched and searched and searched, yet "High on You" by Survivor does not exist within the realms of Project Playlist's search engine. You're all missing out by the absence of this on my page (cause I know you log in weekly just to listen).
How Project Playlist has failed me
You might have noticed how I'm kinda into the whole Project Playlist thing. Or, maybe you didn't notice, but it's that little purple box about midway down my page that plays odd and assorted songs that I painstakingly search out and put on the list for your enjoyment (or the cure my boredom on slow days at work -either way). Generally speaking I can find virtually any song out there via the search engine - though some titles/artists are more difficult to come by than others. Regardless - I like to think that there isn't a mainstream song out there that can't be found and posted. Here's where I'm wrong.
A little backstory to let you know that I'm not completely crazy (or maybe to reinforce your already sinking suspicion that I've not been all there for many years now).
Round about the 2nd grade (circa 1985) we got cable television at my house. It was a glorious wonderland of stations and my personal favorite was MTV. Now, you might recall that back in the day MTV actually played music videos. Music videos opened up a whole new world of music to me because I was basically restricted to whatever my parents listened to or what they bought for me to listen to. My dad, heavy in to Toto, Bruce Springsteen, Bon Jovi and the like, and my mom heavy in to the Christian contemporary. This left me with the top 40 radio stations and the occasional tuning in to DC101. MTV brought me (most memorably) David Lee Roth, Men at Work, and for all intents and purposes of this blog - Survivor. Survivor was pretty hot in the 80's and so their videos were played often throughout the day. One song and video really stuck with me and I took to creating a dance routine to go with it. No need for video recording (we didn't have a VCR anyway) - "High on You" came on about 15 times a day, so on any given afternoon or weekend, I could hear and see it multiple times to put my routine together.
Now, I don't remember one step to the routine I made up, but I do still have a fondness for the song. The tune is catchy, the lyrics are passionate, and it has significant meaning to me. I heard it on the radio one day last month, and I made a mental note to add it to my playlist. Imagine my utter disappointment and frustration when I searched and searched and searched, yet "High on You" by Survivor does not exist within the realms of Project Playlist's search engine. You're all missing out by the absence of this on my page (cause I know you log in weekly just to listen).
Wednesday, October 24, 2007 - A funny thing happend on the way to the....
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
A funny thing happend on the way to the....
Well, not so much on the way to anything, but rather at the Nova Brewfest last weekend, and more specifically, at the Welbilt show portion of the day.
So, we went to beerfest. Met up with Beth, and Ryan and his girlfriend whose name escapes me at the moment, but undoubtedly Beth will comment me with this information. We wandered around, tried lots of beer, got a lamb gyro (it was nowhere near as good as the one at the previous beerfest), a funnel cake, Josh got pizza and Brad had a cigar (he's sneaky like that and before I know it he's puffing away). We're all chillin' and finally 5:00 rolls around and the band takes the stage. Now, at this juncture in the beerfest weekend there aren't alot of patrons left. It's the last band of the last day and everyone is packing up shop and heading home in the next two hours, so it's not like we're having to swim through the pit to get a nice spot to watch them play. We pick a nice spot on the hillside and park it. Down by the stage are a couple of different groups of people. One is obviously the Welbilt Girls who are a staple at every show and do such a great job supporting and promoting the band. If I were younger and without family I would undoubtedly join their club. The other is a group of 3 guys and 3 girls. More specifically - 3 sorta heft guys and 3 relatively skinny girls showing off at least one tramp stamp (hilarious). Whatever, I wouldn't have even noticed these people except they were BEGGING to be noticed. I guess about 3 or 4 songs in to the set the one guy decides he's Patrick Swayze and the tramp stamp girl is Jennifer Gray. I kid you not, he pops the collar on his plaid flannel shirt (ya, I didn't know that was possible either) and starts doing a whole routine with this girl - as if they're on Dancing With The Stars (or better yet, the main performance in Dirty Dancing). It was freakin' hilarious. Brad commented that the guys in the band were probably getting a big kick out of it too and I noted that they probably weren't paying much attention (especially since they were dancing right under the front of the stage which is a good 10-12 feet off the ground). However; Nate prooved me wrong when he actually commented that that song was "fun... really fun." At which point we all lost it even more than we were previously. So, then the entire group started dancing, swinging the girls around and being generally...... well gross. To add to this delightfully hilarious scene, a guy (ok, I think it was a guy but it could have easily been a girl - we will never know the truth) is seen walking up the hill towards the back of the festival area. He is all alone and I guess feels like nobody is around to watch, so he starts swinging his hips and waving his hands around to the music. He's really in to it and he's waving and dancing as he walks up the hill. Just about the time he makes it to the top, dancing all the way, a park authority golf cart drives up and says something to him and he just keeps on dancing and waving his arms about. This too provided unending laughs for our group. I suppose this sort of behavior should be expected at an event where $1 beer is served. I just have to note that nothing of this sort was witnessed at last month's beerfest (thought it was a better beerfest overall).
A funny thing happend on the way to the....
Well, not so much on the way to anything, but rather at the Nova Brewfest last weekend, and more specifically, at the Welbilt show portion of the day.
So, we went to beerfest. Met up with Beth, and Ryan and his girlfriend whose name escapes me at the moment, but undoubtedly Beth will comment me with this information. We wandered around, tried lots of beer, got a lamb gyro (it was nowhere near as good as the one at the previous beerfest), a funnel cake, Josh got pizza and Brad had a cigar (he's sneaky like that and before I know it he's puffing away). We're all chillin' and finally 5:00 rolls around and the band takes the stage. Now, at this juncture in the beerfest weekend there aren't alot of patrons left. It's the last band of the last day and everyone is packing up shop and heading home in the next two hours, so it's not like we're having to swim through the pit to get a nice spot to watch them play. We pick a nice spot on the hillside and park it. Down by the stage are a couple of different groups of people. One is obviously the Welbilt Girls who are a staple at every show and do such a great job supporting and promoting the band. If I were younger and without family I would undoubtedly join their club. The other is a group of 3 guys and 3 girls. More specifically - 3 sorta heft guys and 3 relatively skinny girls showing off at least one tramp stamp (hilarious). Whatever, I wouldn't have even noticed these people except they were BEGGING to be noticed. I guess about 3 or 4 songs in to the set the one guy decides he's Patrick Swayze and the tramp stamp girl is Jennifer Gray. I kid you not, he pops the collar on his plaid flannel shirt (ya, I didn't know that was possible either) and starts doing a whole routine with this girl - as if they're on Dancing With The Stars (or better yet, the main performance in Dirty Dancing). It was freakin' hilarious. Brad commented that the guys in the band were probably getting a big kick out of it too and I noted that they probably weren't paying much attention (especially since they were dancing right under the front of the stage which is a good 10-12 feet off the ground). However; Nate prooved me wrong when he actually commented that that song was "fun... really fun." At which point we all lost it even more than we were previously. So, then the entire group started dancing, swinging the girls around and being generally...... well gross. To add to this delightfully hilarious scene, a guy (ok, I think it was a guy but it could have easily been a girl - we will never know the truth) is seen walking up the hill towards the back of the festival area. He is all alone and I guess feels like nobody is around to watch, so he starts swinging his hips and waving his hands around to the music. He's really in to it and he's waving and dancing as he walks up the hill. Just about the time he makes it to the top, dancing all the way, a park authority golf cart drives up and says something to him and he just keeps on dancing and waving his arms about. This too provided unending laughs for our group. I suppose this sort of behavior should be expected at an event where $1 beer is served. I just have to note that nothing of this sort was witnessed at last month's beerfest (thought it was a better beerfest overall).
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