tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19862769326371286672024-03-12T23:07:38.791-05:00reparteewhimsical wit & wisdom
(or something like that)JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-983459490765414012008-09-27T16:13:00.003-05:002008-09-27T16:18:30.956-05:00Married Life<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UnBXPbxmhQ0/SN6ieiQmEkI/AAAAAAAAADs/XMRzx213cYg/s1600-h/Honeymoon+223.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250812861036761666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UnBXPbxmhQ0/SN6ieiQmEkI/AAAAAAAAADs/XMRzx213cYg/s320/Honeymoon+223.JPG" border="0" /></a> For those of you still playing along at home: this pretty much sums it up. Let's just say when I put in the quarter, it wasn't anything I didn't already know about. On the other hand, I didn't expect to find actually being married to exceed my expectations this much.<br /><div></div>JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-4221436726705737812008-07-30T16:17:00.002-05:002008-07-30T17:55:44.321-05:00Married LoveAs our big day draws near, I seem to be honing in on all the love that's floating around. Today I met with my favorite professor, Brainy Linguistics Prof, and ended up spending two hours in his office. This is not unusual. We usually spend time talking about golf, his daughter, poetry and linguistics--in that order. Today we talked a little about his wife.<br /><br />You see, I'm equally well acquainted with her, or maybe even more so, as she was my poetry mentor in graduate school. I took about six classes with her, and she's really responsible for my interest in linguistics. Most of my school friends are intimidated by her. Is it possible to be brusque and gregarious at the same time? Well, she is.<br /><br />But today we talked about them more like a couple. He told me they'd recently vacationed in South America for their 20th wedding anniversary. Everyone I know seems to find it hard to imagine them married; I find it hard not to imagine them married. He's the math of language and she's the music. It fits.<br /><br />In a lot of ways, they're the couple I imagine Mortgage Partner and I could become--a house full of books and good-natured jokes to feed the soul. While I certainly can't compare our career trajectories to theirs, I see the common thread we share: mutual respect of each other and ongoing curiosity of life. These things keep you together, but more importantly, they keep you engaged.JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-2347016894285499562008-07-02T10:31:00.002-05:002008-07-02T10:44:18.066-05:00Technology SchmechnologyToday's post is brought to you by the word VPN. Yes, I know that's not a word. No, I have no idea what it stands for. All I know is that when I called my tech support guy at Corporate Behemoth, he told me the intermittent tech issues would affect my VPN. And that, in return, affects my bottom line.<br /><br />See, I need this VPN-thingy in order to log into Corporate Behemoth's proprietary stuff--you know, like my e-mail, SharePoint, the things around which my work life revolves. And as I'm a contractor and get paid hourly, these tech issues mean I can't work, and therefore get no moola.<br /><br />I am fortunate in that I do have another source of income (summer school), and that there are countless things to do around the house: fold the clothes that have taken over the guest bedroom, run (aka wogging) for 50 minutes on the treadmill, and chase dustbunnies around the house. However, what I want to do right now is make money to pay for our honeymoon. Cause you know, that gas we'll be needing to drive all over California/Oregon? Well, it's expensive.<br /><br />And so far, blogging isn't making me money. Not that I'm complaining, because I don't do it enough to make money doing it. But, you know, any workweek hour that I'm not actively making money seems a waste to me. I've already done all the grading I can stand for one day (two papers), so I'm looking to use that other part of my brain (the one that enjoys technology and taxes).<br /><br />In the meantime, I'll add some more laundry to the pile, consider downloading more music to my MP3 to making running more feasible, and slay some dustbunnies with the Swiffer.JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-75342443102340051712008-06-16T17:12:00.003-05:002008-06-16T17:33:33.731-05:00Of Rocks and RingsSo I haven't managed to post any pictures of Florida yet because I don't have any. The ones I took on my phone look ridiculous, and I haven't figured out whether they're photoshopable. I will say though that a fun time was had by all. I look tan for me, but I don't have a tan. The weird burn lines have faded, even though I was still peeling (3 weeks later) last week.<br /><br />More recently, a few good things are going on around here. My pal R. and I have been running every Saturday since I returned from Florida. I'm slow as hell and have a tendency to turn bright red and make horrible gasping noises, but at least I'm feeling the wind in my hair and the fat on my rear jiggle. She thinks we can run a half marathon, and I'm inclined to fall over laughing about that one, but I'll make an attempt at bumping up the mileage in the name of physical fitness (and swimsuit season). The downside is that the trail we run on has tiny pebbles that always seem to find their way into my shoes. Waah! Ok, not really a crisis, but I'm kind of a princess.<br /><br />In other news, Mortgage Partner and I have decided to get hitched, and we're slowly spilling the beans around here to friends and family. We are getting married at home and hope to contain the festivities to the smallest possible number. The best part is we're leaving on our honeymoon the next day. Details to follow, because really, we're going to have a kickass honeymoon. We're staying in a treehouse one night! Seriously, that is so awesome. Especially since the treehouse has a toilet.JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-73068379169528662882008-05-15T09:02:00.003-05:002008-05-16T17:33:37.578-05:00repartee reduxSo...it's been a long time. I don't really deserve to have any blog devotees, considering my sporadic writing, but I sure hope I can win people back. A few people have commented about missing my posts, so I'll take that to heart and try to be more attentive to writing regularly.<br /><br />In the meantime, I'm going on vacation with my sister and her brood. At this very moment, she's headed down I-29 toward Kansas City to pick me up. Then we'll drive all night, passing through Missouri, Arkansas, Tennessee, Mississippi, and Alabama on our way to Florida. We're spending the week on the beach of the Gulf Coast. <br /><br />My sister and I made a similar road trip 19 years ago after she graduated from college. Only then, I was too young to help her drive. It was just the two of us in her electric blue Chevy Cavalier. This time, we're taking the Sherpa (aka a Ford Excursion), because 5 kids don't fit very well into a two-door Cavalier. <br /><br />I'm looking forward to the sand and the Gulf, hanging out with my nieces and nephews, and an opportunity to have some girl time with my big sister.<br /><br />If I can, I'll post from the condo. If not, I'll be sure to share some pictures when I return.JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-14509636785800674212008-04-02T08:38:00.002-05:002008-04-02T09:11:00.040-05:00More Than a Feelin'Not so long ago, I found myself driving in the middle of Iowa. Ok, middle of Iowa isn't really accurate; it was more like the northwest corner of Iowa. In any case, there's nothing but Iowa all around. Doomed to either listening to gospel radio or static, I hunted around my car for a CD and came across the Indigo Girls. <br /><br />Now for those of you who had your major emo moments in the late 80s and 90s, you should really know every Indigo Girl song by heart. I don't know too many girls my age who didn't hunker down with the song "Ghost" after a particularly bad breakup. As I drove, I sang along with Amy and Emily, singing with particular gusto on "Closer to Fine." Despite the fact that I made it most of the way through the CD, I realized something about myself. I'm no longer that girl. You know the one who found "solace in a bottle or possibly a friend." I spent my late teens and early twenties being that girl, hanging on every word Sarah McLachlan wrote and shaking my fist in agreement with Ani DiFranco. Every poem I wrote in college emulated these singer/songwriter types. Every relationship I had fit into the cupped hand of this uber-emo superwoman. <br /><br />All of a sudden I felt old. I realized that if I had to pick a musician or band to match my mood, I would rather be Boston. WTF? Am I an aging GenXer guy trapped in a 30-something woman's body? <br /><br />While I know my latest devotion to Boston might have something to do with the general need to "rock out" every once in a while, I think this says something about how I've changed. This understanding of myself was underscored last night as I talked on the phone to a former student of mine, a precocious 18-year-old in the med school here. I didn't quite feel like her mother, but I definitely felt like her much older, much wiser big sister. She doesn't especially exude angst, but I couldn't help but be grateful I'm not 18 again. Oh sure, it's fun to experience the silliness, the first loves, the anticipation of a whole lifetime of opportunity. But I realized I'd much rather be at home, MY home, with Mortgage Partner, the animals, and a dining room table covered in school papers.<br /><br />I don't even know that girl I used to be. I'm pretty sure I couldn't be friends with her right now, although there are a lot of things I wouldn't mind telling her, especially with regard to boys, her body image, and career choices. <br /><br />I guess what this overly emotive post is telling me (as I'm telling you blogworld) is that I'm ok with who I've become. Finally.JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-15354629374681271222008-03-28T08:49:00.001-05:002008-03-28T09:16:15.350-05:00Helluva(n) IkeaI know, I know. I've been quiet lately. No good reason, really. Sick of myself? Sick of school? Needing of an extreme soul makeover? Ok, I'm not really full of existential angst; I just come across that way sometimes.<br /><br />I spent some quality time shopping on the IKEA web site this morning. Why oh why don't we have one here?! I spent about $400 in my head, and my house looks better already. Just wait, you big blue and yellow box, my oversized piece of heaven, purveyor of lingonberries and all things Swedish. I am coming for you.<br /><br />Ok, so I know too much retail therapy will land me on Oprah and/or Dr. Phil, but it just feels so good. If only I could give myself this kind of makeover: blow a few hundred bucks, go eat some meatballs in the cafeteria, overload the car, spend several hours cursing and sweating as I put some furniture together, and presto/chango new self!<br /><br />Now I know this seems like I'm crying for a spiritual awakening. Perhaps I should go read that <a href="http://www.amazon.com/New-Earth-Awakening-Purpose-Selection/dp/0452289963">Eckhart Tolle book</a> that Costco has in boxloads. Except that I've never been one for New Age self-improvement. No, in my case I decided to change my blog colors, a la HGTV, to make myself feel better. A little interior decorating if you will. Maybe I'll actually rearrange the furniture one of these days and pick a new format. If Blogger HAD a template that looked like an IKEA store I'd pick it. In the meantime, I'll keep churning these muddled thoughts around in my head and try to be more diligent about sharing them.JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-74693647574791954122008-02-25T17:19:00.002-06:002008-02-25T17:32:37.777-06:00When You're So Tired of Yourself, the Only Thing Left to do Is BlogI'm in a February funk. <br /><br />I freaking HATE this time of the year. It's cold. It's dark. And there is not enough good TV or food in the fridge to satisfy my needs. All I want to do is watch Oprah and eat cheesy poofs.<br /><br />I know, I know. That's not a very healthy attitude. Not to mention SO not figure flattering.<br /><br />I actually got my sad, tired, ever-expanding ass on the treadmill today and wogged (that's right, only wogging accurately describes the pace at which I move) a little over 3 miles. It should have felt good. When I was finished, all I wanted to do was eat all the carbs in the house and take a nap. Bleh.<br /><br />I'll pretty much snap out of it when it's finally March (thank gawd), but in the meantime I'm trying to avoid the self-loathing that seems to consume me and cause me to watch daytime television. I tried to watch Dr. Phil save a really, really sick girl with the worst eating disorder I've ever seen. Usually that sort of stuff makes me hate myself a little less, but it didn't work today. <br /><br />Now that is one bad funk.<br /><br />I like to think exercise will knock some sense into me, but as I'm really too lazy to do it as often as I should (more than 2-3 times a week), the results are negligible. I'm chasing the elusive runner's high, but I'm pretty sure it's a myth. Runner's delirium? Sure, I get that all the time. You know, like when your legs are so wobbly you fall off the treadmill instead of stepping off?<br /><br />It may have to do.JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-48974126863833912612008-02-14T08:23:00.007-06:002008-12-11T12:40:41.657-06:00Red Hot Love<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UnBXPbxmhQ0/R7RQZdLoXfI/AAAAAAAAACE/cM20rQH1Igc/s1600-h/bemine.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166843070761164274" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UnBXPbxmhQ0/R7RQZdLoXfI/AAAAAAAAACE/cM20rQH1Igc/s320/bemine.jpg" border="0" /></a> In case you haven't noticed, it's Valentine's Day. I haven't been able to traipse through Target without running into heart-shaped love since the Christmas decorations went on sale. Suddenly everything seems to be red or pink, and you can buy Hershey's Kisses, <a href="http://www.necco.com/OurBrands/Default.asp?BrandID=8">Sweethearts</a>, and High School Musical valentines in bulk. Ok, maybe I made that last one up because I haven't actually seen these, but I suspect they exist. If they make High School Musical panties, they make valentines.<br /><br />Sweethearts are made for the text message generation. While my friends and I thought it was quaint to read "fax me" on a candy heart, I can only imagine how the youngsters are gaga over "UR Gr8", "I <3 U", "143" or "459" (That's I love you in text message shorthand.) And if you're not sure how you feel, my personal favorite "BTWITIAILW/U" (by the way I think I'm in love with you). Um, yeah.<br /><br />In the olden days (aka the 80s and 90s), we passed notes: "Check yes or no if you think I'm cute." There was always the nagging fear that you might get caught in study hall, but it made clandestine love all the sweeter. And you really knew who your BFF was, cause she never hesitated to ask the guy you liked if he liked you back or even like-liked you back.<br /><br />Mortgage Partner and I make lots of V-Day jokes using our 9th grade humor, and yesterday I helped sell raspberry mocha vaginas on sticks at the university. But truth be known, I think Valentine's Day is pretty sweet--even if it involves manufactured love in a box. At least people are taking the time to share their love. I might be a bit of a cynic, but that doesn't mean I don't enjoy pink and red, heart-shaped love once a year.JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-13128151683876312112008-02-13T08:45:00.002-06:002008-02-13T08:59:57.897-06:00Happy Valentine's Week...Brought to You by the Pharmaceutical IndustryRecently I read an article where someone reminisced about the Valentine's Days of her childhood--complete with decorated shoeboxes for the valentines. I remember these days. Now I find it kind of humorous that we dutifully trotted around the classroom dropping our Bugs Bunny or Strawberry Shortcake valentines into people's construction-paper-covered Stride Rite boxes. I'm not sure what these rituals were made for other than an excuse to eat Smarties and chocolate cupcakes covered in pink goo.<br /><br />As an adult, it seems Valentine's Day choices are less heartfelt. Ha.<br /><br />I can get Mortgage Partner a card that plays an REO Speedwagon song, and perhaps I should tape a Cialis in it. You know, the pill they're talking about while the couple playfully wrestles the squirting kitchen hose? <br /><br />Now while I joke all the time that MP is old, he's not that old. Not old enough to need a Cialis (although the couple in the commercial looks about 35).<br /><br />He might be old enough for REO Speedwagon, but I won't rat him out.<br /><br />I would like to know where my generation fits into this Valentine's Day commercial package.<br /><br />Where is my card that plays Pearl Jam? What is our pharmaceutical of choice? When you're too young for Restasis, where do you turn?JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-46306929322233441852008-02-07T12:09:00.000-06:002008-02-07T12:17:56.325-06:00Suspension of DisbeliefRight now, at the very moment I'm typing this, Mitt Romney is <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2008/POLITICS/02/07/romney.campaign/index.html">suspending</a> his bid for the presidency. Now, I have to ask what that means. To me, it sounds like in this season of perpetual vitriol, he is creating a kind of political purgatory. <br /><br />He's not dropping out, so in essence he's not really out of the game. CNN's link has a very decent explanation of what a suspension means, so I won't go there. But dang, this just gets weirder and weirder.<br /><br />I have to give the businessman props for being a businessman--he knows when to hold 'em, knows when to fold 'em, knows when to walk away, knows when to run.<br /><br />Believe me, he's counting his money.<br /><br />The talking heads will surely be giving him accolades for truly acting like a conservative and, gulp, not spending money stupidly. If only more conservatives, ahem, recalled this principle.<br /><br />Don't get me wrong. This guy freaks me out. I'm pretty sure he's a cyborg. But at least he's not beating the dead horse before it ends up in someone else's bed.JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-37260505335758155382008-02-05T07:29:00.000-06:002008-02-05T08:00:15.937-06:00My Big Fat Super TuesdayIn case you haven't heard, you need to get out and vote today. And then you can put your party beads on and do all those bad things you're going to swear off for Lent 'cause it's Mardi Gras.<br /><br />Here in middle America, the excitement of Super Tuesday is being dampened by our crappy weather. We're supposed to get rain, freezing rain, sleet (not to be confused by freezing rain), wintry mix, and snow. Our polling location is up the street at the neighborhood Catholic church, so I'm not overly concerned about getting out the vote. I could actually walk if I were so inclined, but I probably won't because I'm lazy.<br /><br />Last night MP and I were discussing whether old people or youngsters would likely be more hindered by bad weather. I say the kids (I know them so well) because the old people like to get up early and do these things, thus they'll miss the worst of it. Since MO is a bellwether state for the Dems in this election, that could be a determining factor how this election will go. I'm not actually sure if I believe that, but I like the word <a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/search?r=2&q=bellwether">bellwether</a>.<br /><br />And because it's not enough for the universe to have Super Tuesday and Fat Tuesday on the same day, it's also my friend <a href="http://www.surrenderdorothyblog.com/">Dorothy</a>'s 34th birthday. She's a little anxious, although I think her birthday has little to do with it. The big green tax machine for which we both work is laying people off today. I've told Dorothy many times that she's responsible for me having real, grown-up jobs in the years since grad school, so I hope her goodness covers both our asses in this situation.<br /><br />In the meantime, we'll see how the roll of the dice works in this election season.<br /><br />Laissez les bon temps rouler!JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-82091096631346843422008-01-23T15:37:00.000-06:002008-12-11T12:40:41.920-06:00Sweet Old Lady<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UnBXPbxmhQ0/R5fAvBfbRXI/AAAAAAAAAB8/Vts7EnaseEI/s1600-h/JettaLegHug.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158803812262823282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UnBXPbxmhQ0/R5fAvBfbRXI/AAAAAAAAAB8/Vts7EnaseEI/s320/JettaLegHug.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div>Tuesday MP and I said goodbye to Jetta. We knew it was coming--God knows that cat has more than her allotted nine lives--but it was still incredibly difficult. We were able to find a veterinarian who would come to the house and help her (and us) let go. Suffice it to say, she didn't go without a fight. In true Jetta spirit, she had to have the last word.</div><br /><div>As an homage to a cat who has brought more light and life to me than I ever thought possible, here are a few of our greatest memories. Nine for every extra life she had and one for good measure.</div><br /><div>1. The first night I had Jetta home, I tucked her into bed with me. She was about 6 or 8 weeks old. In the middle of the night, I noticed she'd disappeared. I was convinced our really large tuxedo cat, Ernie, had eaten her. I found her curled into a tiny ball under my bedside table.</div><br /><div>2. Jetta in her kittenhood climbed my parents' godawful 1970s-era grass wallpaper. She would climb all the way to the ceiling and then be stuck there, mewing her head off for someone to come get her down. She also managed to climb the Christmas tree and various drapes.</div><br /><div>3. Jetta has always had a penchant for carrying toys around. From a young age she has preferred either gold strings (like those found on Godiva boxes) or furry things. She liked to carry these around and howl mournfully. She especially liked to leave her "baby" (it looks like a raccoon tail with eyes) in bed next to me.</div><br /><div>4. Jetta's perfect meal--in no particular order--would include bacon, a burrito, Haagen-Dazs, and Butterfingers. Chicken, hamburgers, and pork tenderloin aren't too bad either. She mastered the art of swiping food off a plate, and has more than once tipped a cereal bowl from my hand. She and Lena once tag teamed the perfect food scam: Lena chased her tail like an idiot, and while we howled in laughter over Lena's stupidity, Jetta stole sausage off of MP's plate. I don't think Lena got anything out of this deal, which was probably part of the plan all along.</div><br /><div>5. While she was still able to jump up on the bed, Jetta liked to wake me in the morning by standing on my hair and chewing on it. If that didn't work, she'd meow (m'row) until I fed her.</div><br /><div>6. Five pound, declawed, snaggle-toothed Jetta bitch-slapping our 70 pound Collie-German Shepherd mix, Mattie, into submission. 'Nuff said.</div><br /><div>7. Jetta has always thought she was part monkey. She would ride on anyone's shoulders who bent over long enough for her to walk up. The pads of her feet are like soft little hands, and she liked to pat my face when I'd hold her.</div><div> </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>8. One day, when I was especially upset with MP and bawling my eyes out, Jetta walked over to me and bit me. It was like "Ok. I've heard enough. Get over yourself." It cracked me up so much I stopped crying. She told me exactly what I needed to hear in that moment.</div><div> </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>9. I could never close a door on Jetta without her having a say in it. Jetta has been known to stand and paw at a bedroom door (in particular) for as long as took someone to give in to her. If you've ever heard a cat paw at a door, you know there's nothing quite like the sound of their paws thumping on wood. </div><div> </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>10. No one who has met Jetta could ever resist her. Jetta had the innate skill to locate the non-cat person in the room, and sucker him/her into total admiration. I've seen many self-proclaimed cat-dislikers melt after a few moments of the Jetta treatment.</div><div> </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>I am grateful every day that I have spent two-thirds of my life with such an amazing soul.</div>JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-18266539303315153722008-01-19T21:41:00.000-06:002008-12-11T12:40:41.996-06:00Hard Times<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UnBXPbxmhQ0/R5LDynlTmbI/AAAAAAAAAB0/GvPry2_nFi8/s1600-h/mail.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5157399797678971314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UnBXPbxmhQ0/R5LDynlTmbI/AAAAAAAAAB0/GvPry2_nFi8/s320/mail.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Right now in our household we're dealing with the fact that our beloved cat, Jetta, is quickly fading. She is, in fact, 19 1/2 years old. Pretty spectacular for a cat. It's the equivalent of being about 95 if you're a person. </div><br /><div>She walks, or rather hobbles, from one rug in the kitchen to a bed under the buffet. And that's about it. I fear it's time to make a judgment call, but it hurts me to do so.</div><br /><div>This post isn't about eulogizing Jetta. That'll be for another day. But for now, I'm trying to keep some perspective about how she must be feeling.</div><br />The picture above is about 3 years old, and was taken not too long after Jetta scampered out the front door--only to have it close on her tail. This resulting in sewing her tail back together, thus the shaved tail with a pompom at the end of it. She was still quite active as a 16-year-old cat. And really remained so until about the last year or so, when she's gradually grown frail before our eyes. She looks so...plump in the picture, it's hard to believe she was ever that big. She's probably 9 lbs (actually pretty petite for a cat) in that one. If she weighs 4 lbs now I'd be surprised.<br /><br />My niece has remarked that she can't believe Jetta's not a kitten because she's so tiny. And indeed sometimes I think of her that way too. It's the same way that old people become like babies in the end of their lives too. Yet instead of having that robust quality that kittens keep underneath their baby facades, Jetta is truly delicate. I feel I need to protect her all the time.<br /><br />My friend <a href="http://surrenderdorothyblog.com/">Dorothy</a> said she knew it was time for her cat in the end because she stopped purring, but Jetta hasn't reached that point yet. But I'm afraid it will come. I hold my hand to her ribs to feel her heartbeat, and my finger to her throat to feel her purr. They're still there. But the energy that used to emanate from her grows fainter daily.JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-52627160035265209762008-01-15T21:13:00.000-06:002008-01-15T21:43:58.205-06:00NoodleI love Mortgage Partner, but we cannot really discuss politics. It's not like we're Carville and Matalin, mind you, but I get way too emotional when he beats up on Hillary. And it's not like I even know if I'm going to vote for her. I just don't like confrontation. Those of you who know me know this. I cry in the face of adversity. Unless I'm pissed off. Then I just yell a lot (in a fabulous, articulate way).<br /><br />Life around here lately has become Indecision 2008. I feel like we eat, sleep, breathe politics. We're even considering letting an Obama staffer sleep here. We don't call it a night without checking up on our friends, Barack, Hillary, and John.<br /><br />I wonder all the time how I went from being a fairly apathetic Independent to actually giving a damn. When I was in high school, I worked on the newspaper with a guy who's a lot like MP. Opinionated. Pushy. Rabid. (Ok, to be fair, MP is pretty balanced. But he watches political debates like someone else might watch a Packers game, or in fact, how he watches Packers games.) He was in my face all the time about Ralph Nader--a name I can't invoke without smirking, just a little. At the time, I couldn't vote, so I really didn't give two hoots. Two years later, when I could vote, I registered Independent because I figured that's what I was--pragmatic, seeing across party lines, and ultimately, on the fence.<br /><br />Voting didn't register in my way of life. Not even in 2000 when I attended a Gore rally with my unable-to-vote-in-America German roommate. We took pictures. It was a little like seeing any other celebrity.<br /><br />Fast forward four years, and my thoughts on politics, and voting, changed dramatically. I saw the error of my apathetic ways. No longer would I worry about someone else to take care of the issues in the country or in my city. Since then, I have voted pretty much every time something comes up. I care about the direction of this country, and being a homeowner in the urban core has made me care even more about my city.<br /><br />So at this point in the blog, you're all probably wondering why I would call this post "Noodle." Because I'm an English major nerd above all, I'm currently reading <em>Bleak House</em> by Charles Dickens. It's one of the freaking funniest things I've ever read (and I'm not kidding--I think the title is a huge joke on all of us who think the book is going to be dreary).<br /><br />At one point in the novel, Dickens writes: "What follows? That the country is shipwrecked, lost, and gone to pieces [...] because you can't provide for Noodle!" <br /><br />In the notes it says: "Noodle: The name for a fool, especially a political one." And I really think that about sums things up. About me. About how MP and I battle over to Clinton or not to Clinton. And while I wouldn't say that we're Noodles, I think we're both fighting against Noodles. <br /><br />And that's something we can actually agree on.JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-54565511189605716082008-01-10T08:11:00.000-06:002008-01-10T09:04:07.238-06:00You've Come a Long Way, Baby (not so much)Enough with the crying already, people. When I wrote the post the other day about people making a big deal of Hillary crying, I had no idea it would continue for several more days. Really, isn't there other news out there? Good grief. <br /><br />I will say though, the whole issue raises a few points that I have seen reiterated in the blogosphere lately. Let's call it the anti-Virginia Slim phenomenon. <a href="http://talesfromclarkstreet.blogspot.com/">Blondie </a>posted her take on the book <em>Don't Be That Girl</em>. I'm not sure how this book stacks up against others in its niche (Amazon suggests comparable titles like <em>Man Magnet</em> and <em>Why You're Still Single</em>), but books like these aren't new--they've just become increasingly better marketed and more flashy. I loved Blondie's take on the book and her own list of types of guys. <br /><br />I remember when I was about 21 the dating book du jour was <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Rules-Time-Tested-Secrets-Capturing-Heart/dp/0446522910/ref=pd_bbs_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1199975324&sr=8-2">The Rules</a>. This book is a creepy reminder of my early 20s when I hated myself enough as it was. What the hell was I thinking? I wasn't trying to land a husband. Even if I was, I'm pretty sure the rules portrayed in the book wouldn't have helped me net the kind of guy I wanted or needed.<br /><br />Which also reminds me of a <a href="http://www.blogher.com/baby-got-back-purity-dances-and-virginity-balls">post</a> Dorothy wrote the other day. Which pretty much scared the bejeezus out of me. Purity balls aren't a new idea to me, but that Dorothy wrote about them juxtaposed with Hillary crying on TV seemed to bring a couple of ideas up with alarming synchronicity (and I don't mean in a good Police kind of way). What I mean by this is the disturbing double standard that exists for men and women (and yes, there are other double standards out there that are equally disturbing, but those are for another day, <a href="http://hopefulcurmudgeon.blogspot.com/">Cranial Midget</a>). <br /><br />Why don't we care when Mitt Romney cries? (other than that he's a creepy dude we'd rather not think about) Why do we feel the need to "preserve" our girls for marriage? The whole idea of having an intact hymen freaks me out so much I can't even go there. But I will. I think one of the weirdest things I heard when I was a self-loathing adolescent was from one of my friends who said her mom wouldn't let her use tampons because "those are for married women." Huh?!<br /><br />I guess my point here about Hillary and dating rules and purity balls is that despite all the progress women have made, we still haven't figured out what to do with them. Are we feeble or are we strong, because by God, no one (including some women) knows what to do with us if we show both faces.JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-22350798061217185542008-01-07T17:08:00.000-06:002008-01-07T17:31:33.403-06:00Hillary CriedI have to blog about the attention being paid to Hillary Clinton <a href="http://axcessnews.com/index.php/articles/show/id/13637">tearing up </a>on the campaign trail today. I know there are plenty of people who have full-on animosity toward her (and one lives in my house), as well as others who are passionate about her running for president. Me, I'm on the fence about the whole deal. I have to say that a female candidate is extremely appealing to me, but I do have doubts about whether Hillary is the person we need right now.<br /><br />But back to the crying.<br /><br />The fact that anyone thinks this is news isn't surprising. The presidential campaigners can hardly breathe under the watchful scrutiny of voters and the media. And that's as it should be. But that one of the candidates has a *human* moment during this scrutiny is apparently newsworthy. I feel for Hillary here. You know she has to be tired and frustrated, and no doubt, just a little mad too. Good lord, people, she really does have feelings!<br /><br />My worry is that her breakdown (which is not exactly what I would call it) will be misconstrued as her "working" the crowd. I suppose that's possible. She is savvy to political maneuvering. Political candidates can't eat a piece of cherry pie without the act pointing at their patriotism.<br /><br />On the other hand, maybe she cried because she was moved to do so. How very girly of her! How weak, how pathetic. How typical! The naysayers will have a field day with this one. <br /><br />As many woman know, crying in moments of duress is part of the hormonal package. I have been accused (more than once) of crying to manipulate something in a situation. Yet, that's rarely the case. More often than not, I've had to fight the tears back, to look strong, to NOT act like a girl. When the tears have flowed it's because I couldn't hold myself together enough to keep them in.<br /><br />This is probably the situation Hillary found herself in earlier today. Call her calculating or even false (a lot of people do), but I sincerely believe her tears were not a theatrical production today. And while it's refreshing to know that a politician might have a moment of vulnerability, I suspect Hillary will be accused of being weak. (That is, if she's not accused of faking it.)JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-64581710341362528802008-01-06T12:02:00.000-06:002008-01-06T12:23:37.442-06:00We Love "The Wire"...and That Ain't No BunkMortgage Partner (aka <a href="http://hopefulcurmudgeon.blogspot.com/">Cranial Midget</a>) and I are hurriedly catching up on season 4 of <a href="http://www.hbo.com/thewire/">"The Wire"</a> so we can hop into bed with the latest and final season that begins tonight. If you're not familiar with the show, go rent the first season and prepare to cringe. A lot. As with many other HBO shows, this stuff is not for the faint of heart. <br /><br />What it will give you is a glimpse into the world of cops, gangsters, and politicians. As someone who lives in one KC's more historic hoods, I treat "The Wire" as a lesson in living in the big city. This scares me just a little, but I'd rather know what's out there than live in an ivory tower (or a beige box in a 'burb) and not consider what goes on in the rest of the world. <br /><br />There is something just a little strange about finding reality in scripted television, but I know the little piece of heaven MP and I have scraped together isn't the only way people live. I guess you could call it roadkill fascination--like a mess so bad you can't help but look at it. Which is probably why most of us watch reality TV if you think about it.<br /><br />Only "The Wire" is better than that. People are nastier, funnier, and more believable than they are in real life. And you will find yourself loving them--even the gun-toting thugs--because you realize even they have a little humanity in them. Most def.JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-48317949672060484992008-01-03T09:26:00.000-06:002008-12-11T12:40:42.273-06:00A Caucus Race<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UnBXPbxmhQ0/R30BiXlTmaI/AAAAAAAAABs/m9wRUOav05o/s1600-h/dodo.gif"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151275238739384738" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UnBXPbxmhQ0/R30BiXlTmaI/AAAAAAAAABs/m9wRUOav05o/s320/dodo.gif" border="0" /></a>I'm so happy to know I'm not the only one who thinks of Lewis Carroll when I see the word caucus. I've included a handy <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alice">link </a>here for those of you who aren't up on your Alice in Wonderland. Indeed, as it is the day of the Iowa Caucus, there are other bloggers out in the universe making this reference. However, I'm not sure how many of them are considering the etymology of the word.<br /><br />On this news this morning, the announcer suggested the word has roots in Native American language (Algonquin--I had to look this up). The suggestion is that it comes from <em>caucauasu</em>--one who advises.<br /><br />However, the dictionaries generally credit Latin <em>caucus</em> or Greek <em>kaukus</em> (hey, if you use a k, it makes it Greek, right?). Both these suggest a cup or vessel and might relate to what the caucus-goers are doing, namely drinking. In Alice in Wonderland, the caucus is used to dry off. And everyone knows that drinkers need an opportunity to dry off, or dry out.<br /><br />Frankly, I kind of prefer this meaning. I'm not sure how much advising goes on in a caucus. Methinks there is more running around in circles. If the Republicans weren't so worried about turning off their base, they would be cracking more jokes about the Democrats running around in circles a la Lewis Carroll. But that would be WAY too liberal literati. Apparently the Republican caucus is more organized, more 6th-grade class election-like. Everyone places a piece of paper in a box. Democrats run around a room and pile up under signs designating their choice. To me, that is much more in the spirit of a caucus.<br /><br />In other news, I promise to be a more faithful blog contributer this year. My life is slightly less frantic than it was. And I know you've been waiting with baited breath to read up on word meanings and other random musings.JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-56648756467545979242007-12-06T16:54:00.000-06:002007-12-06T17:10:04.071-06:00Is a Month Long Enough?I need to try to regain my sanity. Seems like this may not be the week. I've not blogged in so long that all three of my readers have probably stopped reading me. It's been a bit of a trying time lately. Between writing papers for Brainy Linguistics Prof and Brilliant Irish Studies Prof, teaching, freelancing, and navigating the murky waters of my personal life, I'm freaking tired.<br /><br />My mom may end up being committed to a hospital--if we're lucky. In the meantime she's causing obscene amounts of stress for my saintly sister and moderately obscene amounts for me. I feel guilty every day. Not for my mom--she's burned too many bridges for us to feel bad about her situation. I just wish I could help my sister more. She's in the moment all the time, and I have the luxury of long distance keeping Mommie Dearest at bay. Seriously, our mom makes Joan Crawford look pretty good sometimes. Wire hangers be damned!<br /><br />I don't know how things will come together, but I know that my sister deserves the little spare time she has to spend it with her family rather than being at the beck and call for the tyrant next door. I'll do what I can, but at this moment I'm not sure what that is. <br /><br />In the meantime, I'll be looking for some holiday cheer. The snow is beautiful outside, and for now, it's making the world a little bit more sparkly. This is something I can be grateful for.JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-81479740189409691742007-11-09T16:30:00.000-06:002007-11-09T17:22:04.875-06:00Why I Love Garth (and Trisha too)Last night, Mortgage Partner and I benefited from my friend <a href="http://www.surrenderdorothyblog.com/">Dorothy's</a> illness and hit the new Sprint Center for a Garth Brooks concert. MP was a willing accomplice; although, I must say he wasn't nearly as excited as I was about the event. The truth is, I secretly (well, it's not a secret any more) know all the words to a heck of a lot of Garth Brooks songs. Don't ask me why. Maybe it's because I grew up in South Dakota and had country cousins, or because I spent two miserable summers in southeastern Kansas where there isn't anything else on the radio.<br /><br />Last night I had the opportunity to share my, er, skill with MP and thousands of others. It was a whole hell of a lot of fun. <div></div><br />Trisha Yearwood, Garth's talented and voluptuous wife (and as tabloid legend would have it long-term lover while he was married to another) opened the show. I was surprised to discover (cause Lord knows I didn't really think about it) that I knew most of the words to the songs she sang as well. She even had me tearing up when she sang "How Do I Live." Well, shucks.<br /><br />Garth's portion of the show (he rocked out--or would it be country-ed out? for over two hours) was an energetic collaboration with some incredible bandmates (loved the fiddle and steel guitar in particular). It started with a guy playing what looked like a white baby grand piano, and then the fiddler came out of the piano. Garth apparently jumped out of the stage (it looked like he came out of nowhere) in his western shirt, tight Wranglers, boots, and cowboy hat. Well, yeehaw!<br /><br />He was all about the audience sing-along, and he even signed his guitar (?!) for someone in the audience named Jane who had a birthday yesterday. I have to hand it to the dude--he's really engaged with his fans. Both he and Trisha made serious eye contact with the audience. Man, I just melted (because he does have kinda dreamy eyes--who knew?)<br /><br />But the moment that Garth chuckled, swept his cowboy hat off his wispy, graying hair and said, "You guys are great. You're singing along to all my songs, and here I am up here just trying to hold in my gut..." Well, that's the moment I decided I don't feel so bad about my illicit affair with the cowboy and his songs.JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-48515669092882164122007-11-08T08:08:00.000-06:002008-12-11T12:40:42.299-06:00Up With Sheeple!<div>Yesterday, Mortgage Partner had a great <a href="http://www.hopefulcurmudgeon.blogspot.com/">blog</a> about philanthropy. Or rather, he linked to a blog about philanthropy. Whatever. Same thing. Also yesterday, while I was grading reading responses from my students, one of them commented that it seems charities really ramp things up during the cold months but seem to stagnate when it's warm. That got me thinking about the connection between giving and the so-called holiday season. I admit I'm prone to charitable acts this time of year--you know, the whole <a href="http://www.salvationarmyusa.org/usn/www_usn.nsf">Sharing is Caring </a>thing. And yes, the Salvation Army does some stuff that's a little too fundy for my liking, but the organization's heart is in the right place. I'd rather give to the red kettle than the panhandler asking for a downpayment on a cheeseburger. <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UnBXPbxmhQ0/RzMcqlF5U4I/AAAAAAAAABk/D3KFAMcy2jg/s1600-h/donate_online_en.gif"></a></div><br /><div>But why is it that we open our hearts up so much this time of year and seem to want to forget that people are starving/needing medical treatment or shelter the rest of the year? What is this connection between the "holiday spirit" and philanthropy? </div><br /><div>After all my family-related stress this fall, I'm planning to keep this Christmas low key in the gift-giving department. And for that matter, I'm kind of thinking that's how it should be year-round. I look at my own house and life and realize I don't need anything, and in fact, I have plenty to give. Not money really, because we're squeezing by as it is. But I have things to spare, and if I look hard enough, I even have time. </div><br /><div>Now I know that my readership isn't tremendous, but those of you faithful readers who do come by here occasionally, I'd like your feedback on the whole philanthropy-holiday connection. I know most of you personally, and I also know I'm preaching to the choir here. But maybe you know of some people whose ears could stand to be bent a little. As I noted on Mortgage Partner's blog, we need to be thinking about Phil Anthropy and not Phil Entropy.</div>JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-6634004786955180142007-10-31T08:59:00.000-05:002007-10-31T09:38:11.161-05:00Boo frickin' hoo!Well, thanks to the overwhelming response regarding my new blog persona...ok, not really. Seriously, despite the fact that I know I'm writing for myself, I'd like to think there's <em>someone</em> out there who'd be willing to help me out with my name (besides CM who I know will always persist in suggesting cunninglinguist--I did like Lingenie, but I'm still thinking about it).<br /><br />Whatever. I'm not here to grouse (ok, who are we kidding?), mainly I'm here to pose the following question:<br /><br />What do we do when we need to parent our parents?<br /><br />My sister and I have been going through a ridiculous amount of stress and drama with our parents (mainly our mother) in the last year--longer really, but we're ok with letting some of those things be bygones. I'm heading up to the homestead this weekend to help my sister deal with our mother's crap. I know I've written about this before, but it pretty much consumes my thoughts (that is when I'm not thinking about school, work, how much work it is to keep my own house clean, and the fact that I'm able to gain weight just thinking about food). <br /><br />My mom buys things/collects things/refuses to donate or throw away things because things make her feel better. Granted, I sort of get this. I like going to Target because it makes me feel happy to buy new pillows or even air fresheners. But I don't do this on a regular basis, and I don't buy so much stuff that it swallows up my whole house. Yesterday, my sister came across a pile of clothes in our mom's secret lair (they covered an entire sofa) that for the most part had never been worn--the tags were still on them. Now, I try not to air my family's dirty laundry too much, but my mom is constantly complaining how she has no money, no one ever helps her, and she shouldn't be forced to live the way she does. <br /><br />We <em>know</em> she has problems--I've seen these people on TV before on Oprah or Dr. Phil. But how do you even begin to do an intervention on someone like this? I think this goes beyond Suze Orman territory; she needs a psychiatric evaluation because this is getting into what resembles manic. <br /><br />The thing that just kills us though is how she complains to us, to anyone who will listen, that we're such ungrateful wretches to let her life get this way. Are we? From her point of view, she thinks we should be regularly toting that barge and lifting that bale over at Momtown. I''m not so sure that she didn't have kids just to put them to work. From our point of view, we worry that maybe we're enabling her when we do bail her out (which seems to happen on a very regular basis). <br /><br />Where do you find the happy medium? I know this woman needs some serious tough love, but we're not sure how to start. It's easier when you're the parents because you do have authority over your children. But when you're the kids...well, the channels are a lot more obscure.<br /><br />One thing I've noticed as an adult is that I tend to surround myself with friends who are stable. I don't have time for drama (although in the past I have often stepped in to be the voice of reason in many situations--I'm seriously old beyond my years). Additionally, my stable posse seems to have pretty freakin' stable parents themselves. Indeed, many of my friends have parents I covet. You know, happily married, frugal, healthy, and sane enough to travel and spend time doing fun things with their adult children. I have no idea what this might be like, but it always looks pretty awesome to me. Perhaps this is just another case of the grass being greener--this case in someone else's family tree (weird, weird mixed metaphor there).<br /><br />You can't pick your families, it's true (although God knows I'd pick my sister if I had a choice because she rocks). But how do you deal with the fact that you can't exactly write them off either?JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-65001041233707730752007-10-23T16:45:00.000-05:002007-10-23T16:59:56.504-05:00Define Me!Hey blog-reading friends! I've never been overly attached to my blog persona (moniker? not sure--you know, the thing I call myself), and I'd love to hear your suggestions for a new one. No offense (in fact much praise is owed) to David Bowie for the creation of JeanGenie, but I think I can do better and be more original. Remember, it should be creative, original, and not my "real" name. I'm not sure what I can offer, other than fame on this here blog for helping me out, but I'll try to think of something.JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1986276932637128667.post-91082928161871972002007-10-23T16:16:00.000-05:002007-10-23T16:42:19.551-05:00Always the Babysitter...Oh hell! <a href="http://www.surrenderdorothyblog.com/">Dorothy</a> just gave me a fab shoutout, so I thought I'd write a blog seeing as how what I should really do is edit, grade papers, work on my presentation for tomorrow, or write up a research proposal. I'd much rather blog. It's so cathartic. <br /><br />Dorothy's post about finding a good babysitter gave me so many ideas, I pert near don't know where to begin. I've been babysitting since I was 11, so I guess that gives me 20 years' experience. Now I don't know why I was trusted with another child (though in her parents' defense mine were just across the street and said child was a very demure 7). I've seen it all--angels, hellraisers, whiners, pukers--but my favorite babysitting story comes from a time when I was a nanny. <br /><br />I spent my first stint in grad school being REALLY poor, and I was a part-time nanny for a delightful family to supplement my puny teaching award. One night when I was babysitting, the oldest child, N. did something that merited a timeout in his room. Now, he was probably 6 or 7 at the time, so a timeout in his room really meant playing with Legos and Bionicles. But, he was still pretty pissed. At some point I walked by his room and spied him doing various ninja poses in his room. This itself isn't weird, except that they were accompanied by him giving the bird (to whom or to what I don't know). As a seasoned babysitter, I decided to let it go. Mainly it was funny.<br /><br />Later, when his parents came home, I told them the story and asked them what they thought. His mom noted he had seen a driver giving another the bird one day, and N. asked what it meant. His mom told him that the bird-giving driver was angry at the other, and that the finger gesture was a rude one that shouldn't be done to other people. I liked her logic here--it sort of fits with those things that kids will do (flashing, touching themselves) that aren't inherently bad, but certainly aren't meant for polite company. So, N. interpreted this to mean you just don't give others the bird (but hell, no one said anything about the privacy of your own room!).<br /><br />I have to say that I've found myself re-telling this story over the years. It's a great tidbit of parenting, and my demonstration of ninja moves with the bird is pretty hilarious.<br /><br />Being able to share this has been good for me today. I'm overstressed, overworked, and generally hating of all things relating to my doctoral program (hello! Chomsky! I need to have a word with you!). I think I'll go in my room, channel my inner ninja, and give him the bird.JeanGeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16926551757448081526noreply@blogger.com1