Last winter the boys received Guitar Hero as a present. They immediately became obsessed with it and spent lots of time practicing the game. Boy #2 soon started begging for guitar lessons. He started taking guitar maybe in January or February, and after the second lesson or so, his teacher--a REAL professional guitar player who has played with many many bands told us that Boy #2 was really good at guitar--that he was doing things that people who've been playing six months can't do. Of course, I believed him....I'm sure he doesn't say that to ALL the parents. Or does he? Boy #2 has been getting better and better and practices all the time. I've already informed him there are to be no tattoos in his future. Can you be a rocker and have a 9:00 bedtime? I wonder....... And to think we owe it all to Guitar Hero...... In this clip--my first effort after an iMovie workshop at the Apple Store today--I present.....Boy #2, future rocker.
When you're at home with the TV on in the background and you hear something that sounds like "if you surrender now blah blah blah....." you know that something might not be right. Especially if you're watching the Food Network. And even more especially if you hear a helicopter circling over your house. I made sure all the doors were locked and called my friends at the police department. The non-emergency number, of course. "Is there something going on?" I asked. "Yes, we're looking for some burglary suspects," I was told. I decided to stay inside for a while. I listened to the helicopter for about another half an hour. Then there was silence. I called my police pals again. "Did we get the bad guys?" I asked. "No," I was told. "The helicopter is gone but now we're searching with dogs." Good to know. I have some laundry to do anyhow. I'll be back with any updates.
There are things a girl will do for her father that no one else could get her to do. No one. My dad had knee replacement surgery last week and is happy to be home and recovering. Before he went into the hospital he left his wallet and other valuables at home for safekeeping. My mom noticed that his credit card was not in his wallet. The search began. We looked in pants pockets, dresser drawers, on his desk, by the computer, all over. No card. "Call the credit card company," I suggested. "Tell them what the last few charges were and if there are no others you'll know it has been misplaced and hasn't fallen into the wrong hands." No extra charges. The search continued. No card. This morning, which just happens to be garbage pick-up day at their house, my dad appeared to be resting when I checked on him. His eyes popped open. "I think I might have left my credit card in a Walgreen's bag," he said. "Tell your kids I'll pay them $10 each to go through the garbage and look for it." Since the little darlings were still sleeping, and you never know when the garbage collectors will decide to come early--I headed outside, my hands encased in protective plastic bags. Several moldy ears of corn and one almost-battle with a chipmunk later, let me just say that I looked through every bit of garbage generated by this house in the last week....and the card was not there. I think the time has come to admit defeat and cancel the card. That's the only way we'll find it anyway. Happy Knee Rehab, Dad!!
I was on your flight 2074 last night from LA to Chicago. Actually, this flight was supposed to take off at 12:55 PM but was delayed til around 2 PM. Not that I'm complaining--all your flights seem to be delayed these days. If it's not weather it's mechanical. Too bad we never seem to know about the delays til we get to the airport. Oh, well. Anyway. The flight took off and should have landed around 8 PM. The unsmiling flight attendants served us tiny little cups of soda and sold frighteningly large and unhealthy snack items. We were told several times that because of weather we wouldn't be able to land in Chicago just yet. The delays continued. I put my headphones on around 8:30 or 9 and could barely hear the next announcement. I took them off. "Did he just say St. Louis?" I asked my seatmate. "Yes," she said. "It's a refueling stop." I watched as a parade of people walked by to get to the bathroom or to request a drink from the flight attendants who were chatting each other up in the back. I heard one woman ask for coffee. The screaming babies made it hard to hear but, "No, we have no more water," said the flight attendant.
We finally landed in Chicago around 11. And then we sat on the runway in the plane for an hour watching sheets of rain hit the ground and lightning dance in the sky. Several times the pilot announced that the "ramp" was closed and we were just gonna sit. I asked one of the flight attendants what that meant. "We lost a ground crew guy to lightning last year. It's not safe for them to be out there right now." Oh, OK, I understand that. Why couldn't the pilot just speak English? Oh, and the pilot kept thanking us for "our patience." Ha ha. Is it really "patience" when you have no choice? I might have used another word, but that's just me.
Weather happens, American. We all understand that. I don't blame you for this big thunderstorm at all. But don't you think someone who works on that plane should have had the brains and sensitivity to pull the beverage cart out a second time? In 9 hours? It's just common courtesy. Just good manners. And maybe you could have some teeny little pretzel packets available just in case a flight is.....let's say.....more than double its original flying time? I don't know....I'm just asking. And I guess the chance of getting the extra miles to St. Louis is out of the question.
9 hours on your plane, screaming babies, circling, delays, a refueling stop in St. Louis, unsmiling flight attendants, one round of the beverage cart. What a night. I could almost have gotten to London in that amount of time. Next time I'm driving.
My dad is an awesome guy. He is fun, interesting, and interested in everything--cooking, sports, cards, golf, reading, theater, and so much more. He loves surfing on his circa 1990 computer, which until this weekend, has been sort of a joke. "Dad--GET a new computer--what is the problem? Mom has a brand-new Mac--you NEED a new computer. This is ridiculous!" He usually had no answer other than a sigh and a distracted "Yes, ok"--which we both knew meant, "Go away and leave me alone." This is a man who has a conflicted relationship with technology. He has a brand-new car with all the most up-to-the-minute bells and whistles. He has, and knows how to use, at least 5 remotes which control his TV and various recorders and devices. He usually has his cell phone with him and always answers it when he does. Yet I sent him a text message several months ago, and I was the one who retrieved it for him TWO MONTHS later!! And then there is this boxy, white computer which he clings to. So I was very pleased to hear that one of my brothers was hooking up my mom's former Mac for him. "You're gonna love it Dad!" I told him. And then my inbox chimed. An email from my dad entitled: "I am now on iChat." "My name is xxxxxxxx. Please feel free to IM me at any moment. Pop" What is going on here? Who is this man and why is he sending me emails? So I IMed him. And he actually answered! And here's the crazy thing. My dad was iChatting. Not only that, he was using abbreviations like "u" instead of "you" and when I told him "gotta fly--bye" he responded "bibi." We've created a monster. My almost 80-year old dad is IMing and using IM lingo correctly. Next he'll be texting me from the golf course. Fill up some water bottles and head for the basement. Clearly, the world is ending soon.