Red Nose

A Doozy of a Nightmare

I had a doozy of a nightmare the night before last. It came at the tail end of a long, involved dream wherein I was working with a bunch of people in the building where I had my first real job. That whole "other" dream doesn't even matter -- I've forgotten it already, in fact.

This is the nightmare part.

I walked out the building and got in my car. It was very cloudy; a big storm was coming. I looked up at the sky and saw the first small wisps of funnel clouds developing, then dissipating, then forming again. Each was a little bigger than the last; each reached down toward earth a little more. I thought, "I've got to get a picture of this!" I reached into my purse and grabbed my camera, then I fumbled around with it a little as I tried to turn it on.

I looked up again, out of the driver's side window, and saw the black, roiling clouds become a huge evil hand reaching down for me! I cringed and shrank back into the car seat, trying to scream "Get away! Get away!" but I couldn't quite get the words out. I knew that I had to, though, so I finally forced myself to scream as loud as I could -- GET AWAY!

I heard myself actually saying the words out loud and realized that it was a dream, but I lay there under the covers for a minute (or two? or three?) just breathing, just being there safe in my bed, because I couldn't quite move yet.

Finally, I rolled over and sat up. Then I got up and went to the bathroom for a drink of water, so that I could really convince myself that I had, indeed, been dreaming.

Aw Crap.

This could be interesting.

Image from Weather.com, with my annotation

Sandy is battering Eastern Florida even as I type. This morning many of the models were sending the storm past the mid-Atlantic and up into New England.

Now? More and more of them show the storm hitting hard right my backyard, late Sunday and all day Monday.

In fact, the Weather Channel guy on NBC Nightly News showed the two most likely scenarios. One of them has the center of the storm over Manhattan.

The other scenario shows the center of the storm smack dab over Ocean City Maryland. I'm thinking that if they could have honed in on that center it would have been right the hell over my house.

Evidently this has all the makings of a doozy of a storm, with a strong cold front colliding with the tropical air mass of the hurricane. In the worst case scenarios, there will massive snow in the mountains, severe coastal flooding and beach erosion, high winds and widespread power outages, dogs and cats living together, mass hysteria!!

But seriously, it's gonna be a nervous weekend.

Another Fine Mess I've Gotten Myself Into

Some odd form of madness took hold of me this morning. The Big Boss sent one of his inspirational emails about how public speaking skills are very valuable and in fact required for doing good marketing, and listed some Toastmasters Tips for good speakers. Then he closed the email by stating that we would all have "opportunities" to practice said skills.

And right after I read that, some synapse in my brain sparked and fried and I recklessly offered to give my "Seven Lessons from the Circus" keynote speech to the group. Why? Maybe I just wanted to go first and get it over with, or maybe it was my primal suck-up response kicking in.

At any rate, I hit Send. He replied pretty much instantaneously with "WONDERFUL". When you get a response in all caps like that, you know you're on the hook.

So now I have to dig up that presentation and practice it and give it. Goddammit.

On the other hand, I really enjoy public speaking, unlike many people. I've given presentations, keynote speeches, classroom training, blah blah blah. As long as I'm prepared, I'm cool with it. I'm even pretty good at winging it -- like incorporating previous speakers stuff into my presentation. The thing is, I've kinda hidden that particular light under a bushel at work, mostly because I rather prefer flying under the radar. I do good work, meet my deadlines, make suggestions, but I don't go around promoting myself. I've never been good at that -- must be that Catlick humility training.

But sometimes you have to take a chance, hold your nose, and jump. Just make sure your parachute's working and pucker up.

 

The Octogenarian And The Umbrella

I got off early from work today, so Joe and I met up in Silver Spring and had a bite to eat. We then checked the movies times at the AFI to see if there was something good playing.

Lo and behold, The Man Who Would Be King was playing! This movie, in case you didn't know, is a wonderful John Huston epic starring Michael Caine and Sean Connery. Even better, it was playing in the beautifully restored big theater, the same theater that I spent most of my Saturday afternoons in when I was a kid.

What luck! Off we went. We got our tickets, popcorn, and drinks; and settled down to watch the show on the big, beautiful screen. Joe plopped our red-and-white striped souvenir Capitals golf umbrella and his jacket in the seat next to his; I plopped my purse in the seat next to mine.

After the movie, which was great (did I mention that?), we got up to leave. I headed out, then realized that Joe was still by the seat. He had on his jacket, but was searching for our umbrella. He thought maybe it had fallen behind the seats, but it was nowhere to be found. It hadn't rolled ahead of our seats; it wasn't stuck between the seats -- it was stone gone.

Disappeared.

We looked and looked again.

Nothing.

We finally gave up. As we walked out into the lobby, I noticed an old man standing by the doors.

He had an umbrella.

A red-and-white striped umbrella.

Just like our Capitals umbrella.

Tucked behind him.

It didn't really register completely with me; Joe told me he was going back to look again -- because really, umbrellas just don't disappear into thin air -- and I had to go to the bathroom.

There was an old lady washing her hands there.

Then, as I was in the bathroom, it hit me.

That old guy kifed our umbrella!

Joe was waiting for me out in the lobby and I told him about the aged pickpocket. We walked outside and I spotted the kleptomaniac couple heading up the sidewalk, almost to the crosswalk. The old lady was the same one who had been washing her hands. If she hadn't had to pee, they would've gotten away clean; as it was, they almost did.

"There he is!" I said to Joe.

Joe took off like a shot; I followed at a somewhat slower speed.

When I caught up to him he had already reclaimed our umbrella.

Oh, Joe was quite polite. He asked if that was the octogenarian's umbrella. Mr. Grifter just mumbled and acted like a foggy old absentminded professor. Joe asked him where he got the umbrella.

"Someone handed it to me," he claimed.

Sure.

Joe said that it was our umbrella and we would like it back, please. Mr. Grifter handed it over and we went our separate ways.

Now, maybe someone really did hand it to the old guy. But why would he take it if it wasn't his? Did he think it was a gift from a random stranger? That people normally go around handing out Caps umbrellas to people in the movie theater?

It still means somebody stole it from us.

What's really odd is that we didn't notice the theft AT ALL. We have no idea when the bumbershoot got boosted. While we had a smooch before the show? During the previews? After the film ended and we were talking about much we liked it?

No clue. But somehow, our intrepid senior-citizen felon managed to snag it out from under our noses.

I like to think the best of people, I really do. I mean, who suspects an 80-plus year old man at the movies of stealing? But no matter how I turn it over in my head, I come to the same conclusion.

We got ripped off by old folks.

Geeze!

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.)