Red Nose

No Beach, But A Great Weekend

My last-minute long weekend was lovely, even though we did not go to the beach. Instead, we did lots of other stuff.

Thursday night we finally closed on our refinance. Whew. I have used the fax machine more in the last three weeks than I ever have, I think.

Friday was my last-minute holiday. Joe had the day off too. At one point he looked at me and said, "It's Friday! I like that in a day."

Not only was it Friday, it was payday and our IRS refund landed in our checking account! Even though I did not get my bonus yet, we were feeling flush enough to go out to lunch and take in a movie. We saw Superhero Movie, which was like Airplane, only stupid.

That night was Girl's Night Out with my high-school pals. We went to a nice Tex-Mex place. I had a mojito, as I am wont to do, but I think it might have been made with tequila rather than rum, which was weird. Tasty, but weird. I like these women -- I have liked them for over 40 years, actually -- because they do not shy away from dessert. I admire that in a person.

Saturday was Mom day. Both of my sisters came along, as did Joe, and we went to another nice Tex-Mex joint near Mom's dorm. This time we all had some excellent Sangria.

Saturday night was Boy's Night Out, wherein Joe went out with his high-school pals (including The Handsomest Man in the World), so I spent the evening catching up on The Tudors. Hurray for Hot Henrys and ripped bodices!

Yesterday we headed back up to Westminster Maryland to see a very funny comedy show starring another Clown College grad, Michael Rosman. First, we had lunch in our usual Irish pub, O'Lordan's, then we took a nice stroll up the main drag, where we saw an interesting dire warning:

Good thing I don't tresspess. Or lorter. I can't help but notice that "POLICE" is spelled correctly; do you think that's because the residents are familiar with them? Just wondering.

The show was great. It featured a very funny magician/comedian, Mike Goeller, some quite talented kids from Michael's Circus Camp, followed by an excellent Abbott and Costello tribute troupe, and finally Michael's terrific juggling/unicycling/physical comedy routines.

By the way, he's juggling knives, and that's a bowling ball he's balancing on.

And no, I was never that good.

Bonus

Our VP likes to have all-hands meetings, where the entire department gets together and listens to lots of information about lots of stuff having to do with what we do.

Anyhow, he was doing the normal round of shout-outs and attaboys and lo and behold, he called my name! That was a nice surprise, but when I told my manager that it was a nice surprise, she said that I'm getting a bonus, which is an even nicer surprise. I don't know how much yet or when, but yay. It would be quite lovely to see it in my paycheck Friday.

Adding to the niceness of this week was a fun fun fun dinner of perfectly cooked Cuban food and perfectly minty Mojitos with the lovely and talented Deb. When I got home, I switched on the hockey game to watch my boy Ovie knock his 61st goal into the net and see my other boy Kozzy win it for us in the shootout! When we win great games like this, can the playoffs be far behind?

Then Joe reminded me that he has Friday off; so I took the day off too. It might just be time to put the wicker furniture back on the porch and take a long walk on the beach.

The Amazing Marcellis

This grainy old picture is a screen capture I snapped from the results of a Google search that I did on "Voorheis Brothers Circus," one of the shows I worked for back in my sordid youth.

It's a picture of the Marcellis -- I wish I could remember their first names -- a wonderful couple who treated me like a daughter. She was a juggler; he was a slack wire master. She also assisted him during the slack wire act, handing him props and generally being beautiful.

When I knew them, they were older than they were when this publicity shot was taken, but they were still amazing.

Slack wire, in case you hadn't figured it out, is looser than tight wire. The slack in the wire makes the balance come from the wirewalker's hips, as the wire can move back and forth beneath his feet. Slack wires are generally low, so the wirewalker can get on (and off!) easily.

Monsieur Marcelli was wonderful on the wire. He ran across it, nimble as an antelope; he did the splits like a cheerleader. He juggled on the wire; he rode a unicycle across it. The big finale was when he carried the Lovely Mme. Marcelli across the wire on his shoulders. When they reached the center, with the wire forming a graceful curve under his feet, they began to juggle, passing the clubs between them as Marcelli continued to walk. When reached the other side, she slipped gracefully off his shoulders as he backed away. It was simply charming.

But age was catching up with M. Marcelli; he knew he wouldn't be able to do the physically demanding act for very much longer. Circus folk are circus folk, though, and he was making sure that he wouldn't be out of work when he could no longer walk the wire.

I watched him practice his new act -- a knife balancing routine. He already had a name for it: The Count of Monte Cristo. Marcelli held a short dagger in his mouth, then carefully placed a beautiful sword on it, tip to tip. Once he established the balance point, he tilted his head back until the two blades were vertical. One slip, and M. Marcelli risked having the heavy sword plunge straight through his throat!! Then, slowly but surely, he returned the knives to the original right-angled configuration, flipped the large blade up and caught it by the hilt. Ta-DA!

Sadly, I never took pictures of the acts on that show. I wish I had, particularly of these lovely people.

But since I don't have any of the M. Marcelli in action, here's a video of another pretty wonderful slack wire artist, so you can get an idea of what a slack wire act is.

Caution: Clown makeup ahead! If you have coulrophbia, try to look past the whiteface and concentrate on the skill.

Trees

I just liked the look of these trees against the wispy clouds. So you get to look at it too.

Apparently Only Robots Work In That Department

If I was happy to be refinancing before -- even with the "one more piece of paper" syndrome -- I am now really really really really happy.

The reason? My current mortgage servicing company has some of the worst customer service that I have ever encountered.

The latest piece of paper my loan officer needed was the letter that confirmed that the original loan had been paid off. This is not the first time we've refinanced, so our current mortgage actually paid off the one before that. Normally, you wouldn't have to provide this proof.

Unless the mortgage company neglected to remove the paid-off lien from the property title, which is what this goddamn company did.

Now, I must admit that the current company is not the same company that did that refinance, because the original company went out of business and sold their servicing portfolio to the new company. So the mistake is not their fault.

Except that when my loan officer faxed a request to them for a copy of the satisfaction letter, he got a response saying it would take TEN BUSINESS DAYS to do it. He thought that was ri-fucking-diculous, and so did I.

We tried calling "Customer Service" to explain that our request was urgent and to please rush the delivery. Seemed pretty simple.

Alas, no. The woman told us that she couldn't help us because a different department handled those requests and they work only by fax. There is no phone number to call to request an expedited delivery. So we asked to speak to a supervisor, who told us the same thing. In fact, Ms. Supervisor said that there was no person in that department who could speak to us, there was no way for us to lodge a complaint, there was nothing she could do, and so sorry, it sucks to be you.

Okay, she didn't actually say "Sucks to be you," but I got the distinct feeling that she was thinking it.

Of course, the coup de grace was when she said, "Thank you for calling."

I resisted an urge right about then, because it was not a very nice urge, and I have enough demerits on my permanent record already.

So I sent a follow up fax to the mythical Correspondence Department. It was, shall we say, strongly worded and yet, still polite. I even said "Thank You."  Then I logged into their web site and sent the same note in an email through their "Communicate with us 24/7!" customer service email box. So far, the 24/7 communication has been decidedly one way.

I gave them one business day, so we'll see what happens.

Meanwhile, I did a little digging in my mortgage files, and guess what I found?

HAH!

The Bishop's Garden

One of my favorite places in the whole entire world is a short walk from my office. It's the Bishop's Garden, in the shadow of the National Cathedral. We walked there yesterday -- it was a great destination!

It's almost like a secret garden, or something out of Hogwarts, with its heavy, arched wooden doors complete with iron rings and hinges, its birdbaths and fountains and benches.

Okay, the trash can may be a tad anachronistic, but the cherry tree is cheerful and the little gazebo is a quiet retreat.

Even late in winter, as we struggle toward springtime with pink blossoms, this little place is beautiful. It might not be quite as glorious as it is in the summer when the rose garden is in full bloom and the herb garden is fragrant and thick with fat bumblebees, but it has its own brand of magic.

I think I'll have to visit more frequently, now that I can walk to it again.

Ten Things About The Last Five Days

Life has been happening at an alarming rate over the last few days:

1. We're refinancing our house. So much for selling it -- our window of opportunity slammed right down on our fingers for that -- but refinancing? A good thing, especially since Mr. Bernancke keeps cutting rates. The thing about the mortgage racket is that every time you think you've sent in every last possible piece of paper about your entire financial life -- because there's no such thing as "low-doc" mortgage loans anymore -- the loan officer finds one more missing tidbit. I have been up to my ears in files and paper and faxes and phone calls, but I'm hopeful that it will all coalesce into a nice new mortgage by the end of the week.

2. SonnyeBoy got himself a big old fat promotion! He is now a Patrolman First Class. I always knew he was first class, but he had to take a test to prove it to the Powers That Be. In a lovely piece of synchronicity, the promotion became official on St. Patrick's Day. Slainte!

3. Guinness Draft in bottles is really quite excellent.

4. Especially when combined with Thin Mints.

5. I was about to write about Mom being in pretty good shape, but I just got a phone call from the nurse telling me that her blood count is very low. She will have to have a couple pints of blood transfused into her system over the next couple of days. Sigh.

6. I am in terrible shape. I went for a two-mile walk (WALK!) at lunchtime today, and had to ask my compadres to slow down a little. This is a little horrifying.

7. But! Two-mile walk! Good thing! More to come, too -- I signed up for the yearly "Hike to Health" here at work. In my case, however, it's more like a Stumble to Sleepiness.

8. I got my car serviced -- the 100,000 mile checkup. So I now have clean oil and good hoses and all that. I am supposed to get the timing chain replaced right about now, but that puppy is $1,000. I have better uses for $1,000 at the moment, but I will get it done fairly soon. I know that if I don't, my Carma will kick in and the timing chain will shit the bed at night in the pouring rain on the interstate.

9. C-A-P-S Caps! Caps! Caps! My boys beat the Thrashers on Friday night and the Bruins on Sunday afternoon, two stellar games with amazing plays, especially Cookie's breakaway for a shorty against the Thrashers. Woo!

10. Spring is really gearing up around here. The pink cherry blossoms are blossoming; the red buds are budding; the daffodils are daffing. I have hope.

User Error

Joe's working late tonight, so I did the taxes.

A wild woman, is what I am.

I fired up TurboTax online and dove on in, answering questions and filling in forms with various numbers. I did the W-2s, the 1099-INTs, the 1099-MISCs, the 1098s, and a 1099-G in a pear tree.

I love the checkbox approach, too. You know, there's a list of all sorts of arcane and esoteric stuff that affects your taxes, and one box that says "None of these apply to me." Stuff like:

• I sold special tax-exempt 509(b)(x-9) bonds while spinning around and whistling Dixie.
• I own shares of a sheep-shearing business specializing in biannual capital gains and losses.
• I buried my grandpa in a municipal homesteader tax zone under the special exception rule.
• Railroads and farms.
• None of these apply to me.

So I finished the intial income stuff, and looked at the box in the top corner that tells you how much you owe or how much you're getting back. And it says we owe $19,000!

Nineteen thousand dollars.

But I wasn't too worried, because I hadn't put in the deductions yet. The magical deductions would save me. We got a good refund last year; we should get a similar refund this year.

So I started with the deductions. And sure enough, that egregious number started going down. A little. A very, very little. Like little enough that I'm starting to worry just a wee little bit.

I finished the big deductions, and still it told me I owed many thousands of dollars, so many thousands that I might as well pack up my underwear and toothbrush in a pillowcase and hop a freight train to Lonesometown.

But I knew, deep down inside, that there was A Mistake Somewhere. I had entered Something Incorrect, or perhaps I had not entered Something Important, so I went back to the beginning.

Yes! There it was, right there on my W-2.

I forgot to enter the Federal Income Tax Withheld from my paycheck, which is A Lot of Money.

It is much money that once I enter it, I watch the red number spin around down to zero, turn green, and spin around up and up and up, until I have a lovely figure in the Refund Due box.

Whew.

So instead of Lonesometown, I'm off to the Big Rock Candy Mountains.

There's a lake of stew and of whiskey too,
You can paddle all around 'em in a big canoe
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains.

Oh, Rob!

Well! No one gets two pats on the head!

Y'all are either too damn young or your memories are shot or you didn't watch one of the best television comedies of the 60s.

I refer, of course, to The Dick Van Dyke Show, wherein Dick Van Dyke and Mary Tyler Moore play Rob and Laura Petrie. I loved this show; I still love it!

In this particular episode, Rob and Laura have a quarrel. Rob storms out of their New Rochelle rancher and goes to the movies to cool off. And the movie?

Why, it's The Guns of Navarone.

And Rob falls asleep during the show.

Unfortunately, a jewelry store nearby gets robbed while Rob's asleep in the theater. A witness recalls seeing Rob in the vicinity and fingers him as one of the crooks. Poor Rob! He's questioned by all kinds of people, from the cops to the neighbors to Laura (of course) to his coworkers, and he tells all of them that he couldn't have done it. He was at The Guns of Navarone. Naturally, they all ask him about the plot. Rob confesses that he fell asleep and doesn't know what the plot was.

And everyone exclaims incredulously:

You fell asleep during The Guns of Navarone?????

Now if you're a Seinfeld fan, you may remember the episode where Jerry and his girlfriend are trying to find a little privacy so that they can enjoy each others' company, but Jerry's folks are visiting. So they go to the movies and make out there, but that causes a big ruckus because the movie is Schindler's List.

So when Jerry tells his mother that he and his girlfriend got kicked out for making out in the movie theater, his mother exclaims incredulously:

You were making out during Schindler's List?????

Hmmmm...

Sleep Deprived

I had a bad night's sleep last night.

I fell asleep on the couch, as I am prone (heh) to do, during a broadcast of Laurence Olivier's Hamlet. I suppose that's not quite as bad as falling asleep during The Guns of Navarone*, but it could result in the revocation of my literary license.

Anyway.

I staggered up to bed around 11:00, pulled the covers up around my head, and went out like the proverbial light.

I woke up, wide fucking awake, at 1:42. I tossed, turned, tossed again, and gave up. I turned off the alarm and padded into the guest room so as to apply the tried and true family sleep aid -- the TV. For me, the best way to use the sleep aid is to find something I might actually want to watch, because that's a guarantee that I won't be able to keep my eyes open. So I settled on a repeat of the Colbert Report. Sure enough, off I went.

Still, I kept waking up. I'd check out whatever show was on, roll over, and drift back off to sleep.

Finally, just about 4:00, I woke up again, too hot from the comforter and aching in my shoulder area. So I went back to our bedroom, switched the alarm back on, accidentally roused Joe, and...

...rolled around, wide fucking awake. I started saying the rosary, which is my fallback soporific. (I am going to hell.) I finally slept, but it was one of the weird, thin sleeps where you think you're awake and the only reason you realize that you've been asleep is that you actually wake up because your rational mind finally convinces your subconscious mind that you really haven't been stranded in a shabby hotel with a bunch of strangers, where everyone is sleeping on the dirty floor and you keep mislaying your purse but you find it just before panic sets in and to your immense relief all the cash is still there.

That reminds me. I need to go to the bank.

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*Two pats on the head to the first person who can tell which old sitcom featured a plot where the lead character fell asleep in the theater while watching The Guns of Navarone.