Weevilfest

In other news…I have to organize an annual professional gathering.

It’s fun, in the same way that coordinating a sock hop for Weevils would be fun.

For those of you who don’t watch Torchwood, this is a Weevil:



Weevils generally aren’t very pleasant, unless you’re the King of the Weevils. But I really doubt any of you are the King of the Weevils. Well, maybe Hoagy is. Even though I’ve never met Hoagy, I bet Hoagy has Weevil King potential. And I imagine that Jayne could charm the Weevils into submission, perhaps by playing a soothing tune on a ukulele. But the rest of you lot, well, should you ever encounter a Weevil, I’m sure you’d be promptly eaten.

Anyway….

Once a year, I have to invite a group of Weevils to an event. If it were completely up to me, I’d only invite 5 or 6 Weevils, to keep the gathering intimate and reduce the number of Tasers needed to keep order. But the Powers that Be dictate that we must invite at least a dozen Weevils, so no one gets their feelings hurt because they weren’t included.

So, I compile a list and send out e-mail invitations, following up by phone a few days later to those who haven’t responded. Aside from the fact they like to consume human flesh, some of the Weevils are actually decent folk and RSVP quickly, delighted that they are being asked to the dance.

Others start whining immediately.

“What other Weevils are being invited? Who has confirmed? What is their rank? Do they like white meat or dark?”

::sigh::

I go back and forth with these folks, gritting my teeth and biting my tongue so I don’t blurt out “Look, we don’t really want you there anyway. It doesn’t matter who else was invited. Either you come or you don’t. I. DON’T. CARE.”

Now that I think about it, maybe it’s more like a Weevil wedding than a sock hop. I have to make sure a photographer will be on hand to capture the magic, and make sure food and drink has been secured. Maybe this year I’ll even order corsages for everyone too. ‘Cause there’s nothing prettier than a Weevil with a poesy.

Oh, joy.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to go buy a frock so I look all fancy for the party. Yee-haw.

Good Parenting 101

(my living room, 6:15 a.m.)

Dan-El: Dora!

Lois: In a bit sweetie. Mommy just wants to watch the news and catch the weather.

Dan-El: Dora!

Lois: It's a little early for Dora.

Dan-El: Dora!

Lois: In a few minutes, okay?

Dan-El: Read books?

::Lois thinks for a minute::

Lois: Dora?

Dan-El: Dora!

::Dan-El stands a 1/2 inch from the TV screen to absorb the restorative cathode rays, Lois falls asleep on couch::

Iron Man!

Despite budget cuts, Tony Stark soldiers on.

AIEEEEEEEEEEE!

::eats chocolate donut and drinks a Diet Coke::

OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! LAST NIGHT’S “OFFICE!" SQUEEEEE! NEW “SARAH JANE ADVENTURES” TONIGHT! “VOYAGE OF THE DAMNED” TONIGHT! DAVID TENNANT! KYLIE MINOGUE! BANNAKAFALATTA! EEEEEEE!

::drinks another Diet Coke, eats seven Pixie Stix::

“TORCHWOOD” SEASON FINALE TOMORROW NIGHT! NEW SEASON OF “WHO” STARTS NEXT WEEK! TV! TV! TV! YEAH! YEAH! YEAH! YEAH!! AIEEEEEE!

::runs around in circles, hits head on side of blog, passes out::

Easter Leftovers

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. Easter was weeks ago, but I never got around to posting these. The kids and I made Easter cookies. Here's the proof.


First, we rolled out the sugar cookie dough. Remember, never, ever beat your child with a wooden rolling pin. A marble rolling pin is much more effective.


Next, we cut out shapes. It should be noted here that my slacker of a son Jak-El got bored with this step two minutes into the process and left to go watch "SpongeBob," reappearing later when it was time to...


...decorate the cookies. Sugar! Sugar! Sugar! We need more sugar!


Decorated and ready to bake!


I've got a theory,
It could be cookies...


Hello, world, here's a song that we're singin',
c'mon get happy!


We also made some Chow Mein Chewie bird nests (with M&M eggs), recipe courtesy of Miss Sparkle.


While Dan-El did not help with the decorating (he napped through that), he did help add ingredients to the mixer for the sugar cookies, and assisted in the all important taste testing.

Tomorrow, if you're good, I'll post some up to date Christmas photos from 2005. Or not.

Come for the Harassment, Stay for the Show!

The Massashusetts Bay Transportation Authority has launched a new campaign to discourage sexual harassment on buses and subways.

The slogan?

"Rub against me and I'll expose you."

Um...isn't that what these perverts would want?

Do You Like Eddie Izzard? Do You Like Legos? Of course you do.

Contrary to the Rumor…

I did not turn into a pigeon. Well, okay, I did. But only for an hour or two. Everybody was doing it last week.

And no, I’m not posting today simply because I’m afraid of Cake. Well, okay. Maybe a little.

The truth is that I haven’t blogged for about a week for several reasons. One is that I’ve been working on a big feature, with loads of interviews to do, transcribe and sort through. But such is the burden of an ace reporter.

Another is that I haven’t been feeling well. I think I’ve got the bronchitis again, coupled with a sinus infection. Or the scurvy. Yeah, probably the scurvy.

But the main reason is that I just haven’t felt like it. Today was the 18th anniversary of the death of my father, and I tend to get melancholy around this time of year. And grumpy and moody—just ask the understanding and long suffering husband, God bless ‘em.

Anyway, I had set my mind to doing something to honor the memory of my Dad. I wracked my feeble brain trying to come up with something appropriate, and then realized that all he’d want me to do is simply get through the day without breaking down into a nervous wreck, like I have so many times before.

So I honored him in little ways. I had a nice steak dinner tonight, because my dad loved a good steak. He was a meat and potatoes kind of guy. And I walked into IANO’s shop with a construction paper Hitler mustache taped under my nose, because it’s the kind of gag my Dad would have appreciated.

(And no, he wasn’t a Hitler fan. My Dad was a vet of WWII. He was drafted—he certainly wasn’t there by choice. Part of his service was spent stationed at a POW camp. While there, he actually got to know some of the POWs, who turned out to be nice, decent guys who didn’t want to be in a war there any more than my dad did—and certainly didn’t believe in Adolf’s cause. Once a week, my Dad and his buddies would dress a few of the prisoners up in U.S. Army uniforms and sneak them out to the movies, just to give them a break. My Dad’s favorite show, BTW, was “Hogan’s Heroes.” Go figure.)

I also spent a lot of time this afternoon running around outside in the sunshine, playing with my sons and their classmates, because that’s the kind of thing my Dad loved to do. He adored kids, and it breaks my heart that his grandsons will never get to know their Grandpa Ross, at least not in this plane of existence.

The regular nonsense blogging will resume shortly. Right now, I’m gonna go hug my kids and read them a bedtime story. Good night.

Up, Up and Away!