Red Nose

You Haven't Come A Long Way, Baby

As reported in this article in the New York Daily News (and immediately picked up in many blogs), 70% of Americans surveyed for a study think that a woman should take her husband's surname when they marry.

Okay. I don't agree, but okay.

But -- 50% think that women should be required by law to take her husband's surname.

Excuse me -- BY LAW?

If these people had their way, I'd be a scofflaw and a criminal, all because I did not change my surname when I got married.

I'm thankful that the sample was small; only 815 people -- but it's still kinda scary that so many think that a woman should be forced to change her name upon marrying.

When Joe and I got engaged, I told him that I wanted to keep my name. I must admit I was a little nervous about telling him this; after all, I'd only known four months and didn't know everything about him. I knew enough to know I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him and I knew he agreed with me on Big Important Issues, so I was pretty sure he'd be okay with it. I just wasn't positive.

So I said, "How would you feel if I kept my name?"

And he said, "You know what? I'm in love with Mary Wise. I don't know anyone named Mary Flynn."

Yeah, awwwwww. Right?

But what of The Children? What will you name them? Won't they be confused? How will it play out in therapy later on in life?

Non-issue.

SonnyeBoy has done perfectly well with his name. He was never confused about who he was and who I was and who Joe was.

However, a whole bunch of telemarketers have been confused.

"Hello, is this Mrs. Flynn?" (Or, "Mr. Wise?")

Our stock answer?

"Sorry, there's no one here by that name."

My Pop did not approve, but he didn't try to change my mind. My Mom did -- she was extremely upset with me. Several of my friends kept their names when they married; Mom used to sigh, "She doesn't even love him enough to take his name!" When I told her I wasn't changing mine, I cut her off at the pass and said, "Don't even think about saying it!" It was the only fight we had during the whole wedding planning phase. She eventually got over it.

Look, if a woman wants to take her husband's name, fine. If she wants to keep her name, great. If she wants to hyphenate her name, terrific. If she and her husband want to come up with an entirely new surname, live and be well. It's all about the choice.

Part Three: Monday, The End Of The Saga

The "confidential" breakfast was everything it should be. After filling up on coffee, fruit, yogurt, and toasted bagels, we went back to the room to pack up (again) and get going.

We checked out and caught the shuttle to the airport, where we checked in for our new flights on United, which connected through...

Dunh... Dunh... DUNH...

Chicago O'Hare.

Oh. Yes. Oh. Hell. Again.

At any rate, the first flight, from Appleton to Chicago, was right on time and uneventful. Again, we had much time in Chicago. Of course, our flight to Baltimore was in the other concourse, so we got to ride the moving sidewalk through the trippy neon light tunnel.

I used to enjoy that little thrill ride, the first few hundred times I took it. Since then, it's lost a little of its magic.

We were in dire need of lunch by this time, so we located our gate and then located the Chili's, which is one of the few food emporiums in Concourse Third-Circle-of-O'Hell where you can sit down and be waited on.

Then, back to wait at the gate. We did not have confirmed seat assignments, but lucked out when the gate agent put us in the exit row at the bulkhead. We boarded, on time. I smiled as the flight attendants joked around about the box of candy that the middle school class gave them as a gift. I had hope.

And then.

"Well folks," said the pilot, "the mechanics have discovered an oil leak. It will be a few minutes while they check it out. We'll let you know what's going on shortly."

You can guess the rest.

Yep, the flight was canceled. But! There was another, identical empty plane ready to go! We all trooped off the one plane and gathered at the new gate to await boarding the new plane. About an hour later, we did. All was well. The flight -- once it finally left -- was smooth and uneventful.

We landed in Baltimore, grabbed our bags, and headed for the car.

We had parked in the Express lot. I like the Express lot, because the wee bus picks you up right at your parking space and drops you off right at your parking space. Sweet! It's kind of pricey though, so I don't usually park there. This time, however, I had printed out the extra-special coupon that would give me a great discount! I had it right there...

Dunh... dunh... DUNH...

In the bag of maps and papers that I threw out in Appleton.

Oh well.

We got home around 9:00, almost 24 hours later than originally planned. But you know what?

It was still a great time.

Part Two: Sunday, The Snow Saga

The festivities were done, the good-byes said, the hugs hugged. Joe and I decided to motor up to Simon Creek Winery, about 50 miles north of Green Bay. We had plenty of time until our flight, so why not?

We got there just fine, although Google Maps lied about the winery's whereabouts. We bought two bottles of lovely wine and arranged for shipping. The nice folks gave us a box of crackers. We hopped back into the Caddy and started back down the road to Appleton.

We'd been hearing rumors of a winter storm that morning, so we tuned in the radio to see if we could find a forecast.

The rumors were true: a winter storm was brewing, aimed right at us. Four to eight inches of fresh snow was due to be dumped. Joe stepped on it. Halfway to Green Bay, the flakes started. It was okay, though -- just some blowing snow, nothing serious, puffs of whiteness skittering across the road.

Oh, but that didn't last. As we closed in on Green Bay, the snow started sticking. And clumping. The puffs turned into piles. Tracks appeared on the roadway. We made it through DePere and onto Highway 41, where things got very serious very fast. By the time we were halfway to Appleton, visibility was poor; pretty close to white-out conditions. We passed two cars in ditches and one rather horrifying wreck. Joe was ready to turn around, but by this time we were closer to the airport than we were to Green Bay.

Finally we drove into the airport. We did a few doughnuts in the rental car lot before finding the Enterprise spots, but find them we did and we parked the Caddy, grabbed our bags, and plowed our way through the snow to the terminal. I tossed a bunch of old maps and paperwork into the nearest trash can.

First stop, Enterprise. We turned in the car, but the nice guy at the desk promised we could get it back if we needed it. I was fervently hoping that we would not need it.

On to the Northwest counter, where the flight was still on. We checked in, handed over our bags, and repaired to the coffee shop for a very late bite of lunch. I was actually quite enjoying my fried cheese curds when I heard the announcement canceling our flight.

It was inevitable, really. The snow was pounding down out of the sky and the wind was brutal. I popped another cheese curd in  my mouth and headed back to the counter.

The great thing about little airports -- and Wisconsin, for that matter -- is that people are nice. And they remember you. Our guy at the counter worked with me to get us rebooked on earlier flights the next day, then fixed us up with the "Distressed passenger rate" for the local Holiday Inn. He was about to call the hotel when he saw the shuttle bus driver.

"Hey John! Got room for two more?"

"Oh yah, sure!" hollered John. "Are ya ready?"

"Two minutes!" I hollered back. "Gotta get my husband!"

John the Driver grabbed our bags and loaded them into the bus. I picked up a to-go box on my way into the coffee shop, scooped up my curds, and scooped up Joe. Off we went to the lovely Holiday Inn Select along with four other distressed passengers. We checked in, dropped our bags, and found out that the lovely and talented Fredlet was also distressed!

After a quick phone call, we beat back the blizzard with our faces to join Fredlet at Outback, where a good time was had by all.

The next morning, we headed to the coffee shop, where we were offered a free "confidential" breakfast. I won't tell if you won't.

To be continued...

Part One: Friday, The Departure Saga

I thought I had it all together for this trip, I really did. I researched the heck out of planes, eventually settling on flights with Northwest Airlines. We would start in Baltimore, connect through Detroit, and land in Appleton. We would rent a car in Appleton, drive the 30 miles to Green Bay, and have plenty of time for a nap and a leisurely lunch before all the festivities got underway.

Alas.

Everything started out just fine. We got to Baltimore in the wee hours before dawn, checked in and checked our bags, got through security in record time, and boarded the plane.

Then the pilot came on. "You folks on the right might be wondering why there's a fire engine outside next to the wing..."

And so it began. Evidently a valve in the fuel line malfunctioned, causing the fuel to not stay in the plane. This is not desirable, evidently. Oddly enough, the only way to see if this is serious is to remove all the fuel from the plane, then put it all back in to see if the valve continues to fail. This procedure takes awhile, so everyone with connections (us) had to get off the plane and rebook.

So we did. Northwest was quite helpful, actually, and rebooked us into Green Bay, arriving at 4:30. Okay, that's not so bad. However, the rebooking was on American Airlines, connecting through...

(Dunh... dunh... DUNH.....)

O'Hare.

I tried not to think too much about that. We went and had breakfast. I switched the car rental pickup to Green Bay, and acquiesced to the $50 drop-off fee since we were going to drop the car in Appleton. We reboarded and flew to Chicago, where we had a three-hour layover.

We had lunch at Wolfgang Puck's, because if I have to eat lunch in an airport, I can at least eat something decent.

Then we sat around some more, waiting for our 3:30 flight to Green Bay.

This time we didn't even board before it got cancelled -- unspecified mechanical difficulties -- but we quickly got rebooked on the next flight to Green Bay at 5:30. This whole time I was madly texting the lovely and talented Weetabix about the changes in plans and she had been texting me back with alternatives and we thought we had it All Arranged, until this.

Even then, she suggested I call Esteban and get directions to the ranch so that we could meet up for the sleigh ride party and partake of brats and booyah and fluff and the charity raffle, so I did, and he did, and we thought we might.

But by the time we got to Green Bay we were wiped. In a small bit of miraculousness, our luggage actually made it with us! We went over to the Enterprise counter, where I groveled prettily and tried to get the $50 fee waived. No such luck, but they did upgrade us to a Cadillac. Yes! Caddy! Okay then!

Off to St. Brendan's, where we decided that we really were way too tired to attempt another drive in the dark on unfamiliar roads. Instead? Dinner in the pub, then beddy-bye.

(To be continued...)

Sleightly Amazing

Joe showed me this rather wonderful video tonight. It combines two of my most favorite things: sleight of hand magic and Sting's music. Sit back, relax, and prepare to be amazed.

Stanley Cup, Here We Come!

The Washington Capitals are the Southeast Division Champions of the National Hockey League!

WOO!

Tomas Fleischmann, Sergei Federov, and Alexander Semin scored the three goals for our boys; Semin's slapshot for the insurance goal was a thing of beauty! So thank you, Florida Panthers, for beating the Carolina Hurricanes and for losing to US!

So now we're in the Stanley Cup playoffs! It's the Caps first appearance since 2001-2002. The first round starts next week; we'll probably play the Ottawa Senators. I will have to see about a friendly wager between my pal Jamie, who hails from Ottawa. Hmm -- perhaps he would be willing to put up some Timbits against some Munchkins? I shall have to think about this.

Meanwhile, I have already purchased our tickets to Game One.

Oh, take me where the hockey players
Face off down the rink!
And the Stanley Cup is all filled up
For the Champs who win the drink.
With a final flick of a hockey stick
And one gigantic scream --
THE PUCK IS IN! THE CAPITALS WIN
The Good Old Hockey Game!

(Apologies to Stompin' Tom.)

The Spillening and the Signening

I got to Saratoga Springs in spite of massive ice storms and pouring rains and delayed flights, and it was good.

Except I kept spilling stuff all over the place. Poised and graceful, that's me.

The first calamity happened at BWI while I was waiting to board my flight to Albany. I had carefully chosen my seat so that I could put my medium Cafe Dulce (another version of Crack-in-a-Cup) on the seat beside me. Then another woman ambled past me, excusing herself, and I went to pick up the cup to ensure that it wouldn't get knocked over.

Except I knocked it over. It landed on the floor, the top popped off, and the entire cup of coffee spread over the carpet. Luckily no one got hit by the tasty beverage, but I was very sad. The woman apologized profusely and offered to buy me another, but I declined because it wasn't really her fault. I told the Southwest folks of the accident, but no one seemed to care very much. Then the woman decided to make friends with me, which she also didn't need to do, but I was polite and discussed the relative merits of Janet Evanovich's oeuvre with her (funny, good for airplanes, isn't Grandma Mazur the best?, getting kind of repetitive but Lean Mean Thirteen is good, no I haven't read much James Patterson, blah blah blah get on the plane already). By the time we boarded, the coffee had become one with the carpet and the stain was actually invisible. Self-cleaning carpet! That's what I need!

So, I got to Albany without incident, although the landing was, shall we say, exciting (which is not necessarily what I'm looking for in an airplane landing). My ride, the tall Paul, was there to drive me to Saratoga, where we met my lovely and talented hostess, Phylise, who immediately escorted us to The Local for beers and bar food. Excellent stuff, except when I got up to leave I stumbled a little and...

Knocked over a half-full pint of beer. Again, no one got wet, but it was a close call, and I did moisten my coat slightly, but the slight drizzle on the walk back to the house took care of that.

So, the next day we did the radio thing (two minutes!) and then went over to Borders for the talkening and the signening. And it turns out that this big-time author, Russell Banks, is also having a book signing, but at 2:00 as opposed to mine at 11:00. Borders had the areas all set up. Here's the setup for Russell Banks, complete with comfy chair:

And here's the setup for me:

Yeah. Three chairs. Now there's a confidence builder right there.

But! People started to come! And we had to usurp the bigger space! And it filled up with kids and grownups! And it was fun! I told a bunch of stories, and I juggled at little, and people actually bought some books, and I actually signed them like a real live au-thor. I must admit that it was kind of neat to see this display:

After the signing, we partook of Chowderfest, a tradition in Saratoga Springs where a bunch of restaurants in town whomp up their best chowder, and offer cups of it to the hungering public for a buck. You get a sticker for your ballot, then vote for the best chowder, kind of like a chili cookoff. I passed on the vegan curry chowder (I don't do curry), but I had some lovely Seafood Chowder from the Stadium Grill, some awesome Southern Fried Chicken chowder from Hattie's, and two cups of Philly Cheesesteak Chowder from Bailey's Cafe. Yes, two cups, because I...

Knocked over the first and spilled it all over the floor. Go me! Once again, though, the only casualty was the concrete floor, and my shoe, which a very friendly (and hungry) Golden Retriever cleaned for me a little while later.

I swear, you can't take me anywhere. At least I didn't drop the juggling balls.

At Least The Commute Was Easy

I was so very careful this morning. In fact, I was an efficiency machine this morning.

I needed to be at work in time for a 9:00 meeting at the other building, so I decided to leave 15 minutes early in case the traffic was screwed up. I needed to bring some paperwork with me, so I gathered it all together in a folder and left it on the kitchen table so that I wouldn't forget it. I thought I might go to the juggling club tonight, so I put a tee-shirt on top of the folder. (You get hot when you juggle, so tee-shirts are the way to go.) My juggling stuff was already in the car.

I made the bed, I put out the recycle bin, I put food out for Inky and Stinky, I loaded the dishwasher. Check, check, check.

I even dug out a hat to wear, because it is butt cold here in Our Nation's Capital today.

At 7:15, I put on my coat and hat, grabbed my keys off the key hook, picked up the folder and tee-shirt, and left the house. I locked the door behind me, picked up the newspaper, and got in the car.

The commute, for a change, was an absolute breeze. I was well ahead of schedule! Even the left turn into the parking garage was trouble free -- and by "trouble free" I mean that the oncoming lanes were clear and there were no pesky pedestrians to nudge out of the way. And because I was so early, I had choice of excellent parking spaces. I pulled in, shut off the car, and reached for my --

Purse.

My purse, with my wallet, driver's license, money, credit cards, company ID badge, cell phone, camera, iPod.

My purse, which was still hanging on its special hook by the front door of my house, 15 miles away.

Oh well. It was another instance of the rule that states:

"If you have something in each hand, you have everything you need."

Luckily I have good friends with cash, so I'm good to go for lunch. Luckily, the security guards can look my up on the employee database and issue me a temporary ID badge. If I drive vewwy vewwy cehfuwwy on the way home, I won't need my driver's license.

Maybe I should just keep my keys in my purse.

Or put a big sign on the front door: GOT PURSE?

Can Peter Penis Be Far Behind?

Remember this post?

Thanks to a good friend of mine, I have found the female equivalent, at least as far as mind bogglement goes. (Warning: Be prepared -- it's graphic, but in a stuffed velvety sort of way.)

I'm wondering how I got along without this educational tool of female empowerment. I mean, I was deprived. I had to discover my own infrastructure with a mirror and a magnifying glass and a reference book and my own two hands. Stuffing my arm into a pudenda puppet in not my idea of expressing my womanhood.

As for turning "difficult conversations" into humorous intimate encounters, I can only imagine a scene where the woman pulls out her Victoria Vulva puppet and uses the ancient art of ventriloquism to educate her lover. Meanwhile, in order to really get the laughs going, the lover pulls out the Peter Penis puppet.

At this point my brain just melts and leaks out of my ears.

And really -- I do not need a throw pillow to teach me how to do Kegel exercises. Girls, it just ain't that hard! (So to speak.)

But lest I be too critical... no, never mind. I can't. I'm sorry. I'm too busy laughing.

I mean, it really gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "I think I'm going to snatch 40 winks" doesn't it?

Honky Tonk Heaven

You know, I never did much like going upside down on rides. But I could do it if the ride was cool enough. For example, witness The Zipper:

That's it, to the left, the thing with the cars going every which way. I've been on that -- 30 years ago or so. Once. And once was enough. I think I may have been under the influence of something or other as well, or I never would have agreed to it.

A boy might have been involved, too.

Right next to it is an instrument of torture known as the Inverto -- I got a little queasy just looking at this one in action. You can't see it in the picture, but it consists of a platform of seats that rotate around -- sounds harmless, no? Well, in addition to just rotating around, it also flips over, suspending the poor suckers on the seats upside down.

Umm, no. Not even if I was under the influence of anything.

I was even more amazed to see another new ride in Ocean City. At first I thought this ride was one of those horrifying things where you get strapped into a harness and hoisted to heaven, then dropped like a rock so that you end up swinging back and forth. (That ride actually is a tiny bit attractive to me -- at least the swinging part is -- but there's not nearly enough restraint around you. I want steel strapping me in, not a plain old harness.) But there was something different about this one. I watched a couple of times when I realized what it was -- first, the people were in some sort of basket, not just a harness; second, the force came from the bottom, not the top.

Yes, it was a huge giant slingshot, shooting the basket full of people up into the air, then bouncing them up and down until the force was spent.

And, of course, the basket immediately went upside down, giving the occupants a wonderful view of the pavement rushing toward them on the return.

No thanks.

Not even for a boy.