23 July 2000

Hello, my faithful! I'm back! While I was gone, I wrote up the part of our vacation that was my brother's wedding, so I thought I'd give you that today (along with a few pictures, even!) and tomorrow, I'll finish it up with our visit to Chicago. How's that sound?

Well, tough, I'm going to do it that way anyway. Our trip started on Wednesday, the 12th of July:

Wednesday:

We worked until 2:00, then came home and finished packing. We were on the road by around 4:30. We drove up to Washington, D.C., where once again we struggled with terrible directions. A few days earlier, I'd called the hotel in D.C. to confirm our reservation and get directions from an actual person, since we've had terrible luck with internet map services in the D.C. area.

The directions I'd been given went like this:
"From I-95 North, get onto I-495." Well, 495 goes in two different directions, but I figured I'd just follow signs toward Dulles Airport. And if I went in the wrong direction, it would make our trip longer, but we'd get there eventually, since 495 is a loop. What I didn't count on was that there had been quite a bit of road construction in that area since I last had to be on 495 for any reason, and the sign for Dulles didn't appear until after it was too late to take the first exit anyway. Luckily, we'd guessed correctly and decided to take the second exit anyway.

"From I-495, get onto Rt-267 East." That seemed pretty straightforward, until we saw signs for Rt-267 West, but no corresponding signs for going East. Just as a guess, we took the West exit. Our guesses were confirmed since almost immediately we saw signs for the next part of the directions.

"Get on the Dulles Toll Road." This was actually accurate, and there was no direction to choose, but it was confusing nonetheless, since getting on the toll road involved crossing six lanes of high-speed traffic in less than fifty yards, trying to read signs pointing in every direction imaginable, all with the sun shining directly into our faces and making the signs almost invisible.

"Take exit 9B." When I'd asked the person giving me the directions how much the toll on the Toll Road was going to be, I didn't get a very confidence-inspiring answer, but they were fairly certain that fifty cents figured into it. I'd taken several dollars in quarters, which was good, because it wound up being fifty cents to get on the road, and then thirty-five to get off. We panicked a bit until Matt found a dime to go with one of our quarters, because there was no way to get from the lane we were in to the lane reserved for non-exact change.

Once we got off the Toll Road, the directions to the hotel were fairly accurate, and we checked in with relief after the harrowing traffic. By the time we'd gotten our bags in and moved the car to long-term parking (we left the car at the hotel while we were gone) we were exhausted and hungry. We walked across the street and wound up in a sports bar ironically named "Scrooples". I say ironically because there weren't any in evidence. Our fries that we'd ordered as an appetizer came with our hamburgers, and the waitress waited until my third glass of iced tea to tell me that there were no free refills. (I don't think I've ever been anywhere before that didn't have free refills on iced tea!)

Anyhow, we tromped back across the street after we'd eaten, took showers, set our alarm clock for Way Too Early, and dropped off to sleep.

Thursday:

We got up Way Too Early and dragged our bags to the hotel's lobby to catch the 5AM shuttle over to the airport. The ride was quiet and uneventful aside from the overpowering scent of perfume from the woman in front of me. (Who on earth puts on perfume for an airplane ride? And if you answer "me" to that question, let me tell you: Stop it right now! If you can't stand the idea of being met at the other end of your flight smelling like only yourself, then put the bottle in your carryon and apply it on the ramp! I'm only mildly allergic to perfume, and I was ready to strangle that woman!)

When we checked in at Dulles, we encountered a soft-spoken gentleman with somewhat broken English who made it understood to us that Matt and I would not be taking a single flight from Dulles to Great Falls. I tried to explain that this was the arrangement our travel agent had provided us (a single-stop flight, meaning the plane would land at some point, but that we probably wouldn't get off) but he was confused. There was no such flight, despite my printed itenerary. We'd be flying to Minneapolis/St. Paul, enduring a three-hour layover, and then flying on to Great Falls.

Well, obviously, something had changed between March and July, and this was not the fellow to tell us what it was. At least we did have tickets for both legs of our flight, and somehow we'd gotten first-class seats for the longer first leg, so we didn't complain too much.

We worried a little about whether our rental car reservation would still be held for us in Great Falls - car rental places sometimes cancel if you don't show up within half an hour of your expected landing time. And we wished we could get in touch with our family in Great Falls to let them know we'd be several hours later than planned, but there was really nothing we could do. They'd just have to worry that we were late. At least no one was planning on meeting us at the airport!

A day spent in airplanes and airports isn't worth recalling. When we arrived in Great Falls at 1pm local time (that is, 3pm EST, meaning we'd been up and travelling for about 11 hours) I got off the plane with two priorities in mind: First, going to the bathroom. Second, getting to the rental counter to see whether they still had my car.

I was so intent on those two priorities that it took Matt several tries to direct my attention to the beaming face of my father, who was unexpectedly waiting for us. After I'd hugged him hello, I backed up half a step to see my brother with an even bigger grin. I haven't seen John since Easter, so I gave him a huge hug, and then - unable to ignore my shrieking bladder any longer - headed for the bathroom. Matt called me back and I turned around to see my cousin, aunt, and grandmother, as well. I laughed, and pointed to the bathroom door, promising to return swiftly.

It looked like the entire clan had gathered at the airport. What on earth...? I took care of my first business, then returned to exchanging hugs and greetings with my family. My grandfather, uncle, and mother were already down by the baggage claim area. My dad had indeed come out to the airport to meet us at 10 or 11, and been told about the flight change. He went to the rental car desk to make sure we wouldn't lose our reservations, and the fellow running that counter knew exactly what had happened: apparently, when we'd made our reservations, NorthWest was still on winter scheduling. I was a little irritated that the vastly changed schedule hadn't shown up on the travel agent's computer, but there was nothing for it now. In Minneapolis I had re-verified the rest of our flights, so they were all up to date with no harm done.

The reason the entire clan was there was explained: My aunt and uncle's flight out of Japan (they live in Thailand) had been delayed by five hours, causing them to miss their flight out of Los Angeles. They'd been awake and in the same clothes for almost 48 hours, and had landed less than half an hour before Matt and I. After a little confusion, we got sorted out to follow each other from the airport to the hotel.

John relayed the message from Sam: I was to call her parents' house as soon as possible, to arrange to meet them to get my dress fitted. As far as I was concerned, it was not possible to call anyone until after I'd checked into the hotel and had a chance to breathe for a few minutes. John shrugged, his duty done.

The hotel, it turned out, was the base site for another wedding that weekend, as well as host to a convention and a bunch of rodeo cowboys who were in town for a major event. They had been completely booked the night before, and the cleaning staff was four people short. In short, our room wasn't ready yet, though we could expect one in the next hour or so. We gathered up the family and went out to lunch.

The room was ready - barely - when we got back, and we rested for a few minutes, telling stories and such. John had to go back to the Wynia's anyway, so I caught a ride with him, leaving the keys to my car with my mom. (For reasons almost too complicated to explain, there was a shortage of cars that evening. The reasons involve Bill and Sharon's lost luggage, Sharon's somewhat neurotic turn of thought, and the separate bridal shower and bachelor's party. Apparently, of the three cars we had at the hotel, we were going in four different directions.)

Anyhow, I wound up at the Wynia's, where Mrs. Wynia marked the hem of my dress and I tested the fit. Then I waited around for a while - talking with John and Sam, who came in just as Mrs. Wynia was finishing with me - until it was time for the shower. I caught a ride with Sam to her sister's house just down the street.

I thought my own showers were sortof boring, so I was fairly unexcited about Sam's. Not to insult Sam's sisters, who had obviously put a lot of work into the party, but I'm so shy, I hate being surrounded by a lot of people I don't know, and I'm not very good at small talk. I explained about seven thousand times that I was John's sister and fielded at least four thousand questions about my origins and my career. That was one bonus: Samantha's family are all extremely artistic, in one way or another. Most everyone I talked to seemed to run into a brick wall when I said I was a computer programmer, and they moved on to more creative conversationalists.

After a while, my mom approached me. "It's almost nine," she said, "I think we'd better gather up your aunt and grandmother and go." I could hardly believe it. John had said something earlier about how the sun didn't set until around 9:30, but I hadn't really absorbed it. Not only did it not look like 9:00, it didn't look like the sun would set for at least another hour! I was flabbergasted all the way back to the hotel.

I'd meant to wait up for Matt when we got there, but after puttering around a little getting undressed and putting things away, I looked at my watch (which I hadn't reset with the changing time zones) and realized that it was nearly midnight, East Coast time - and that I'd been up since four. I fell into the bed and crashed hard, despite the throaty growling of the broken air conditioner.

Friday:

The hotel window curtains didn't close entirely, and the window faced east. As a result, Matt and I were both awake long before the alarm went off at 8:00. We took our showers and dressed, then trooped down the stairs to find my parents. I got an address from my dad, consulted our map of Great Falls, and we took off for the photography studio.

With John and Sam deciding to live in Great Falls, my uncle's world-travelling job, and my grandfather's steadily declining health, my dad decided we should take advantage of the opportunity presented for a family portrait. We just had one last year, but as Dad said, we never know when the family will be able to all be together again. My uncle's two older children couldn't come, but the photographer thought he could take digital photographs of them and paste them into the family portrait.

The photo session lasted almost two hours, and at 11:45, Sam and I left everyone else chatting amiably and making plans for the men to pick up their tuxedos, and headed to her parents' house. The other two bridesmaids had already arrived, and I finally got to meet the Charity and Jen that I'd been receiving joint e-mail to for months. ("Dear Charity, Jen, and Liz...")

We all piled into Sam's mini-van, and she drove us to a restaurant on the far side of Great Falls (about a 15 minute drive) called "The Lost Woodsman" for the bridesmaid's luncheon. This was a place with character. Everything was decorated in carved wood - statues carved from logs of gold prospectors and indians; elaborately carved doors; chair and table legs that looked like simple bark-stripped wood... Barstools carved in the shapes of horse and mule behinds left us laughing. The food was excellent, and there was plenty of it. If you ever find yourself in Great Falls, I highly recommend the place.

We ran a couple of brief errands with Sam after lunch, and were back at the Wynia's around 2:30. I had another brief dress-fitting session, and then was back at the hotel by about 3:30. I relaxed for an hour, and then Matt put his tie back on while I checked my makeup, and we headed to the church for the rehearsal.

We met the wedding coordinator, who struck me exactly like every other wedding coordinator I've ever met - a bossy busybody, which is why I didn't use one. But she was efficient and did her job of getting us organized. The minister was a pleasant older gentleman, humorous and patient - he earned high marks from me by including the three younger girls (junior bridesmaids and a flower girl, aged 8-10 or so) in the ceremony without condescending to them. My mom started crying on the first run-through, and luckily my dad had an extra handkerchief to loan her.

I did have a bit of a confrontation with Sam over the marching order. The extremely logical lineup of attendants at the front of the church left me walking down the aisle with a friend of hers rather than Matt. If Matt hadn't been an attendant, I wouldn't have said anything, but since he was there, we both strongly preferred to walk with each other. Poor Sam, caught up in the pre-wedding stress and frenzy and running on only two hours of sleep, she locked up and couldn't comprehend a change to her plans. Luckily, Sam's mother and the wedding coordinator suggested that Matt and I walk together, but still stand at our assigned positions, and she agreed to that. Actually, I think that actually wound up looking smoother in the long run, because I was the first bridesmaid to appear, while John and my father were both already at the altar when the processional started. Matt coming before the other groomsman prevented a strange hole in the lineup on the men's side. (If that didn't make sense, don't worry about it. No-one looks at attendants anyway.)

It was during the rehearsal that I found out that the church - while sporting a stunningly beautiful sanctuary and enough electronics equipment for a small television studio (they broadcast services, I discovered) - wasn't air-conditioned. In the 95-degree heat, we fanned ourselves in the vestibule and hoped the weather would be more cooperative the next day, because filling the sanctuary with guests would only increase the heat.

After the rehearsal, we went to the country club where the reception was being held. There was some initial confusion generated by the fact that the reservation was in the name of Sam's brother-in-law - the club sponsor - rather than in the name of the wedding. And then they'd set only three tables instead of four. But they moved quickly and set the fourth table, and we sat down to a slow but delicious meal. When we got back to the hotel, it was almost 10:00, and we nearly collapsed into bed, knowing the next day would be very long.

Saturday:

Samantha wanted us at the church by 10:30 so we could be dressed and ready for the photo session at noon. I thought this was almost absurdly early (and because my sense of tact had apparently been left behind in Virginia, I actually said so at one point) but to ease her stress, that's when Matt and I went to the church. To be fair, I'm glad I did, because I was the only one who had a camera while Sam was being made up and dressed, and I got some nice pictures while I was waiting.

Charity and Jen arrived just after Sam was dressed, and we oohed and aahed over Sam's dress - which was gorgeous without being overblown - and then dressed ourselves when Sam went up to the sanctuary to begin the three-hour photo session. (Bride and groom at 11, add attendants at noon, and then family arrangements at 1.) Between the three of us, we'd brought everything we needed. We zipped each other into our dresses, shared out knee-high hose (thank goodness for long dresses), traded around nail files and polish, complained mutually about the shoes, and checked each other's makeup.

The photo session was pretty tiring, and I was grateful when I was allowed to escape downstairs into the social hall, which was much cooler than the sanctuary. They'd set up sandwich, cheese, and fruit trays for us, and I grabbed some food and a soda while I eased my throbbing feet and talked with my family.

The clock sped up, and suddenly it was time for us to be lining up in the vestibule. The wedding itself went fairly quickly. I felt pretty conspicuous as I shifted from foot to foot (I never wear dress shoes, and the crunch on my toes was only making things worse) - I was sure I was fidgeting worse than the little girls. While Charity was singing, I felt a lump rise in my throat and then spill over into tears, and I started crying. I'd forgotten to get a handkerchief before the ceremony started, and now it was to late. I wiped my face and tried to sniffle quietly, but I couldn't stop crying.

I could see both my dad and Matt across the aisle, and could tell they were both tempted to run over and give me a hanky. The worst moment was when John and Sam turned to face each other for their vows, and John glanced past Sam at me, and I could see tears forming in his eyes as well. He managed to control his, at least, and speak his vows in a clear voice.

It was over quickly after that, and I managed to grab my brother for a hug before heading out to the front steps to see them off. They did something really nifty instead of rice that I've never heard of before - guests leaving the church were given tiny bells on a ribbon, and we rang the bells as John and Sam left.

They left the church in her father's old white convertible, sitting up on the back of the seat so everyone could see them. It was only a few blocks from the church to the reception hall, and my dad told me later he drove maybe 15mph the whole way, and layed on the horn whenever he passed anyone else.

The reception was fairly nice - hors d'oevres and dancing. About the time I was sure it must be getting late, I checked Matt's watch and realized it was only coming up on seven! Things wound down quickly after that, though, and Matt and I headed back to the hotel after giving John and Sam final hugs and farewells.

There was another wedding in progress at the hotel when we got there, much to our amusement. We changed into more comfortable clothes, and spent the next couple of hours chatting with the family and cooling our aching feet. At one point, I decided I was recovered enough to maybe go across the street to the Dairy Queen and have a cone, but Matt pointed out that the DQ was probably closed at 10. With that realization, exhaustion crashed in again, and we staggered back to our room to sleep.

Sunday we spent mostly in transit between Great Falls and Chicago, so there's not much to tell. I'll pick up the story tomorrow with the things we did in and around Chicago. Yes, I'll let you know as soon as I get the photo album up - I took four disks' worth of pictures, so it might be a while!

12 July 2000

Well, here we go. You won't hear from me after this for almost two weeks, until the 24th. Tonight we'll drive up to DC (and would you believe, that's the shakiest part of this whole trip, as far as I'm concerned?) and stay overnight, catching the hotel's shuttle to the airport tomorrow at some ungodly hour (the plane leaves at 6:30 AM) and we'll be landing in Great Falls, after a six-hour flight, in time for a late breakfast.

Which I'll certainly need, because I won't be eating anything on the plane. I simply can't use plane bathrooms. I'm too fat. Heck, I could probably lose a hundred pounds and still be too fat for airplane bathrooms. It's one of the things I dread about airplane travel. I wind up scheduling an entire day around when I can and can't expect to be able to use the toilet. And this one's a doozy - six hours straight on the plane. I need to remember to eat a big dinner tonight.

To be honest, plane travel always makes me a little nervous anyway. It's not a full-blown fear; I've never hesitated to get on a plane or schedule a plane trip. But always, about a day before the flight, I start getting a little queasy (aside: remember to pick up some Dramamine before you leave town) and about the time we're actually boarding the plane, my palms start to sweat. How long it lasts depends on the length of the flight and how smooth it is. I can only really sustain my nervousness for about half an hour after we're off the ground. Though the first time Matt and I flew back from Chicago, we came home through mild but unending turbulence, and my hands shook until after we'd collected our baggage.

Six hours. I'm glad we're going to Chicago and not straight back home after my brother's wedding. The trips from Great Falls to Chicago and from Chicago back to D.C. are both in two stages, and shorter even including the layovers.

I can't believe my little brother's getting married.

Well, okay, the young man I made friends with while I was a graduate student who still doesn't write me except to forward e-mail anecdotes... Yeah, I can believe he's getting married. He's attractive and intelligent and romantic and fun to be with. He's got some weird hangups, but don't we all? I wouldn't want to marry him, because if we're together for more than a few days or one of us is particularly tired, we start fighting. But yeah, I can see any number of women falling for that guy.

But my little brother... The one who used to sit at the top of the playground slide because he was afraid to slide down. The one who kicked over my sandbox castles just as I was finishing them. The one who threw bugs on me when I was in the pool. The one who always got the cool toys when my grandparents went on a trip, while I just got an addition to my de facto doll collection. The one who let his friends sneak into my bedroom when I wasn't home to look at my bras and underwear. To me, he was a fat slobby crybaby, and I'm sure to him, I was a prissy snobbish know-it-all tattletale.

He was Han Solo when the neighborhood kids converged on my dad's pickup truck as the Death Star. He faired poorly in school, being a kid who hated reading, coming only a few years behind a sister who would rather cut off her legs than be separated from books. Teachers always tried to judge him by my standard. Even when I hated him, I could see that wasn't fair. Why couldn't they? He turned to art when I'd become interested in music and theater, I think just so he'd be able to do something I couldn't.

We sat together through dozens of family functions at which we were endlessly greeted by older relatives we were certain we'd never met before. We had picnics in the front yard when we were small. When we were older, we found the shortcut through the woods to the candy store together. He was always in trouble, but never ratted when he wound up taking the rap for my mischief. (Don't look at me like that. It didn't happen that often.)

And now he's in Montana, which is a hell of a long way away. (Six hours on a one-stop flight from Washington, D.C.) And he's getting married in three days. My husband and I will be standing attendant to him and his bride, and I don't think I'll believe it until I actually see it. (Note to self: Remember to pack a handkerchief and to make sure I'm wearing waterproof mascara.)

Word of the Day: persiflage - frivolous bantering talk

Hey, considering the amount of it we do, how come my friends and I have never come up with this word before? Of course, we don't usually talk about our banter. We just do it. It's sortof strange, actually - if I step back from it and pretend I'm a stranger, it's like listening to another language altogether. The shortcuts, the punchlines unattached from their jokes, the silly quotes and slang... Our persiflage is finely crafted for our group.

11 July 2000

This month's On Display topic is restlessness, and the Word of the Day is scrutinize - to examine closely and minutely.

It's not an easy topic for me, because I'm not a very restless person. Pretty much the opposite, in fact. When I was in high school and all my friends were trying to see how far away they could go for college, I wanted to go to William and Mary, half an hour from my parents' house. When I finished graduate school, I couldn't come home fast enough. When I'm looking for jobs now, I limit myself to this area. I say I want to travel, but mostly I just want to look at things in other places and then come home at night to sleep. Matt bounces his leg constantly with a kind of restless nervous energy. I don't get it.

I'm just not a restless person. I'm a staid homebody with little or no ambition.

Every now and then I'll feel restless. I've been more restless than usual in the past couple of months. Usually, if I just ignore it, it fades away. But this time, each new restlessness has been feeding another. Job dissatisfaction. The Hall plot a month or so ago and its attendant need to write. Philosophical and spiritual cravings. A desire for more variety in my social life.

And all of those things are linked, I think, one way or another. But they're not fading. Oh, with the Hall plot resolved, I'm not struggling with character feedback any more. But I've still got this desire to write, only I can't seem to stick to or finish anything but scenes and vignettes. I'm working on the philosophical and spiritual cravings, but I have to go slow, because my mind has been trained to reject instantly and violently any hint of being told what it can and should and can't and shouldn't do by any external source. My expressed desire for a more varied social life only churned up a lot of worry and turmoil among my friends, and now I'm not sure where we all stand. My job hasn't gotten any more satisfying, but I've so far failed to think of another track that I think would suit me better.

I wish I knew what caused the feeling. I'd choke it until it died, or else drag it out into the light so I could satisfy it. As it stands, it's like putting my hands into a river and trying to pull up handfuls of mud from the bottom - I can touch it, but it slips from my fingers before I can pull it out.

It feels like there's a step that has to be taken, only I'm not sure how to take it. I wonder if this is what causes seemingly content and happy people to commit suicide - are they overwhelmed with this peculiar restlessness until they finally decide that the only way to still it, the only possible step to take, is to move on to the next life, the next world? I can't imagine that's right. Life is a gift, and to reject it without having plumbed it to its depths is wrong on a scale I can't even comprehend.

But what, then? Maybe it's a warning from my subconscious not to get stuck in a rut. This is the longest I've ever gone without some sort of major change. (No, being laid off and changing jobs doesn't count. I'm doing the exact same job for Logicon that I was doing for 3GI, right down to the individual projects. It's almost eerie how similar they are.) But what am I supposed to change? No matter how closely I scrutinize my life, I can't seem to see the piece that's going bad, the part that needs to be removed or replaced or repaired because it's contaminating the rest.

Mental restlessness. This, too, shall pass.

10 July 2000

Well, you're not going to hear much from me for the next couple of weeks. Well, I'll post today (obviously), tomorrow, and Wednesday, and then you won't hear from me until almost the end of the month.

I got e-mail from my brother's fiancée this morning, and boy am I glad we're going to be relaxing in Chicago for the week after this wedding! Wednesday evening we're driving to Washington, D.C. to stay overnight at a hotel near the airport. We'll spend all of Thursday morning in an airplane (I need to make sure I charge up my Palm before we go), and between landing in Great Falls on Thursday and leaving Sunday, I've got a shower, a photo session, a luncheon, a rehearsal, a dinner, a hair appointment, another photo session, a dress fitting - oh yeah, and a wedding and reception. Not to mention coordinating with my family to make sure Matt gets his tuxedo picked up and to the bachelor's party baseball game. And Sam warns in the e-mail that she's got "individual jobs" for the attendants. My poor Palm will be smoking by the time we've boarded the plane for Chicago.

I'll be taking its recharger, so if I get a slow moment (there are always slow moments, no matter how packed the schedule looks) I'll try to take notes so I can post a journal entry when I get home.

We've got a lot to do in Chicago, too, but it will be a more relaxed pace. Of course we'll want to visit all the available relatives and friends, and we've got plans for at least one day in Chicago proper, and Matt's mom wants to take us to the movies one day... But as I said - much more relaxed. I just need to remember my anti-inflammatory drugs for the day in Chicago.

Look for Matt to go completely bezerk any day now as I start to stress over the packing and planning.

We had a good weekend, I think. We were going to game with K.T. and Kevin on Friday, but K.T. had acquired a desire for steak for dinner, so we went out to eat. By the time we got home, she decided it was too late to game, so we popped The Shadow in the VCR.

Saturday, I'd been planning on risking a trip to the Barnes & Noble for a copy of the new Harry Potter book, but there were a couple of copies in the comic book store when we stopped for our comics. I weighed the discount Barnes & Noble would be offering against the probability that I'd be having to fight dozens of kids and long lines for the book, and decided to pay full price for it at the Cube instead.

So I spent most of Saturday draped over the living room chair, reading. I hadn't quite finished the book when we went to bed, but since we had plans for Sunday that meant I shouldn't sleep in too late, I decided not to stay up late to finish it.

Just as an aside, now that I've finished it... There had been an uproar on one of my mailing lists about this book, mostly anger at parents' groups who wanted the book banned from schools because it portrayed magic and witchcraft in a positive light, and encouraged rebellion against authority. Now, I'm with my fellow list members on the magic/witchcraft thing - kids do understand the difference between reality and fantasy, and it's absurd to think that they'd become Satanists or anything just because they read about magic in a book. And up until I read the book, I was with them on the discussion of rebellion - I do agree that kids need to be taught to think for themselves, and I don't think quetioning authority is necessarily a bad thing. But there were things in this book that disturbed me, and would have disturbed me further, I think, if I were a parent. They boil down to this: cheating, with no punishment or ill-effects - that is even represented as the only way to achieve the desired goals, and assisted by an authority figure.

Now, I still enjoyed the book, and I appreciate Harry as a normal kid, mischevious but basically decent. I love it that he's got his share of personality flaws, and I think he represents a good role model for modern children. The stories are fun, with just enough plot twists to keep me guessing, without becoming so convoluted that I can't follow what's going on. They must be fantastic to kids - a protagonist they can relate to in a story that neither insults their intelligence nor preaches. So, all in all, despite my discomfort, I still think they're the best thing to happen in children's literature for years.

Sunday, I got up and finished the book, and once we were both up and showered, we headed over to K.T. and Kevin's again. We went out to get some lunch, and then over to the movie theater to catch Fantasia 2000. The movie was brilliant. I thought it was too short - only 70 minutes - but the little kids in the theater started getting restless just at the beginning of the last piece, so it was just a hair too long for them.

Actually, I have to say I was surprised at how well-behaved the kids were. I had mentally groaned at the number of parents with little kids (like four or so) coming into the theater. Fantasia is beautiful, but I couldn't see such little kids sitting still for it. Heck, I'd been bored by the original Fantasia until I was in college. Luckily, this one featured a lot less in the way of abstract visuals, and some of the pieces were downright funny, so I guess that helped.

Word of the Day: effigy - an image or likeness, especially of a person, as a sculpted image on a tomb, or a crude figure representing a hated person

There was a guitar player and singer at the restaurant we went to Friday night. He was set up in the bar area, but you could hear him in the lobby and the first dining room of the restaurant. He was awful. While we waited for our table, we heard him butcher several songs we recognized, and even the songs we didn't know were terrible. We considered burning him in effigy, and then for real, but instead Matt requested a table as far as possible from him.

7 July 2000

So, now that it's official, I guess I can talk about it. Braz just accepted a job offer here in Williamsburg, so he and Kris will be moving here. Braz starts at the beginning of August, so the fact is they'll be here before we even know it. Matt and I are both very excited!

I told K.T. about it yesterday, since she'd promised to feed the cat for us while we were gone to Montana and Chicago, and I thought she should know that we'd promised to let them stay at our house over the weekend we'll be gone so they can look for a place to live.

Her first reaction - which she admitted seemed a little paranoid and insecure - was to wonder if, with Braz around, she'd ever see Matt again. She asked me if Braz would be joining either of our games.

Well, as a matter of fact, I'd mentioned to Kris while we were visiting them that I'd love to have Braz in my game, and made clear that she, too, was welcome to join (though I know gaming really isn't her thing). Kris told me that she didn't think Braz would join - that he might join in an occasional game, but that he really wasn't into gaming any more and that she didn't think he'd want to participate in a regular game.

I was disappointed, and so was Matt when I mentioned it to him. I'll be completely honest - I wondered if maybe the fact that Braz isn't really into gaming anymore has more to do with Kris' lack of interest than his own... But it doesn't really matter. I got the impression from Kris that she'd be unhappy with Braz if he did join a twice-a-month game, and so I doubt he'll join even if he wanted to. I sighed with disappointment (Braz is a great role-player) and moved on. It's not like we're not going to see them if they don't game with us, after all!

I told K.T. that I didn't think Braz would be joining the game, and she wondered if Matt would continue to game if Braz wouldn't be there. I told her that I was pretty sure Matt would still be gaming, even without Braz. Again: It's not like we don't already have plenty of plans to see Braz and Kris during the week! She sighed and muttergrumbled about how little gaming we've been doing.

The funny thing is that I haven't missed the gaming. I didn't miss it when we went on hiatus over the holiday season, and I'm not missing it now. I'm not going into "gaming withdrawal" and I'd actually been thinking about either quitting or scaling back the gaming. Gaming is a social thing, for me. And I've been having at least as much fun running around with water guns, or going to the movies, or just sitting around shooting the breeze. It seems to me that there are dozens of things we could be doing instead of gaming that could be just as fun: I've heard there's an ice skating rink in the area, but I've never been; there are several museums and parks; there are college theater productions; we could go roller skating or bowling...

I think what I'd actually like to do is get together with my friends on a (more or less) regular basis, and do stuff. K.T. had actually suggested it a while back, but we never got around to doing it. Why? Well, part of the problem was Kevin's schedule, and part of it was that we were spending every Saturday night gaming. We all need some time to ourselves, and some time to run errands and do chores. No matter what they show on TV, you can't spend every night socializing. My thought is that gaming could be on the list of "stuff" to do, but that we could add other things to the mix. I'd even be willing to write a program to keep track of the possibilities and select one at random for us when we can't decide!

But I don't know that anyone would believe me that Braz and Kris moving here isn't the impetus for this thought - that it's a thought I've been having for months, but been uncertain how to voice.

Oh, how exciting! My dad just came into my office... Wait. Note: John and Sam, it's probably best for you to skip to the next section if you're reading this before the wedding. Just trust me. (If you're not John or Sam, don't worry. I don't think either of them actually reads this journal. I'm just covering my ass, here.)

My dad's been trying to plan a bachelor party for my brother for next Thursday evening, the same night as the girls' bridal shower. He thought it would be neat if he could take all the guys to a baseball game, but was unsure whether there would be a home game that night. His backup plan was to take the guys to a local cowboy bar with some minimal historic value.

He just came into my office with a print-out of an e-mail from Samantha's dad. It turns out that the CEO of the minor league ballpark there is a member of his church, and they talked, and the CEO is offering to set them up with box seats, catered with pizza and hamburgers and hotdogs, and maybe even getting John to throw out the first pitch!

Doesn't that sound fantastic? Now I'm jealous! Who wants to go to a boring shower when you could be at a baseball game?

Matt researched yesterday the possibility of us going to a Cubs game while we're in Chicago. They are, in fact, playing the Phillies the Thursday that we're there, so we're planning to make a day of it. I'm very excited about this, actually, despite my pathetic grasp of baseball.

Cubs fans are a breed apart from other baseball fans. They really are. It's amazing. And it seems like everyone who's ever lived in or near Chicago is a Cubs fan. I think there's something in the air or the water. (Maybe it's that green stuff they put in the river for the St. Patrick's Day parade.) Cubs fans really are fanatics, and they don't try to hide it.

And I've been told by more than one source - even from one source that isn't a Cubs fan - that Wrigley Field is a great place to watch a game; that it's a field with a lot of character and fun. An experience totally unlike any other baseball game. (This from the non-Cubs fan, even!)

So I'm looking forward to it. I'm looking forward to the whole trip, actually. Just don't expect me to come back well-rested!

Word of the Day: shell game - a swindling trick involving a small ball or pea placed under walnut shells or cups; a fraud, especially involving the substitution of something of little value for something valuable.

I'm going to try to talk to my manager sometime today or next week. It's time for me to think about my career - not only what I want to be doing tomorrow or next month, but next year, and five years from now. I'm tired of being on the sucker end of the corporate shell game, and I'd like to begin transitioning elsewhere.

The only question is: where?

6 July 2000

(This entry written for the Waning Poetic collaboration project for July.)

When I was ten, I hated my life. I won't say I was the least popular kid in my class, but I was right up there. (Down there?) I went to a private school, because when I was about six, I'd taken some tests and my parents were told that I'd do better in small classes. And so they scraped together the money to send me to a private school.

Intellectually, that school was the best thing that could've ever happened to me. Their classes were at least a year ahead of the public schools, so I was challenged without having to skip a grade. (When I was in kindergarten, they'd tried to skip me to the first grade. I refused - all my friends were in the old class, and I didn't want to be the baby.)

But socially... Well. My parents were convinced that the reason the other kids didn't like me was that they came from families much wealthier than ours. I'm not sure that was the case at all. I think they didn't like me because I was shy, and they instinctively sensed that I could be easily upset.

Kids have a much more stratified and protean social structure than adults. Every child needs to know they're not at the bottom. Every one needs someone they can push around and abuse - even if they're nice enough not to actually do it, they need to know that whipping-boy is there. (Yes, even your precious angel.) That was me.

I think kids are innately cruel. Not evil, in the way that cruel adults are evil - but thoughtlessly honest. I'm not saying kids don't lie. The gods know, I told enough of them in my day. But the lies kids tell are almost always for their own benefit. It would never occur to a kid to lie to save someone else's feelings.

I was in the fifth grade when I finally felt enough of an outsider that I told my parents that I wanted to go to a different school. Being as shy as I was, that was an enormous leap for me. And I guess it told my parents something, too - that I would rather face an entire room of people I didn't know at all than go back to the familiar abuse. It was probably something of a relief for them, anyway. We weren't poor, but we weren't rich, either.

Public school was a revelation for me. It was like an entire new world had opened up before my eyes. And it was infinitely better than private school had been.

But now, when someone talks about how they'd like to go back to being a child, I'm unable to resist qualifying it - that I'd only go back if I could remember being an adult. Because I can remember being ten.

Word of the Day: abstemious - marked by restraint, esp. regarding food or alcohol

I've thought of becoming at least partially vegetarian. Not out of any abstemious desires, or even because of health or moral reasons. And I couldn't do it completely - the smell of bacon frying or beef cooking sets off a Pavlovian response in me that requires satisfaction.

But at least ninety percent of the time, I'm not all that interested in meat. I find myself lately having to force myself to eat the pieces of chicken in my dinner rather than pick them out. And when I serve myself, I actually try to get as little meat as possible onto my plate.

Listen to your body, they say. Maybe my body is telling me it doesn't need any more protein for a while. Or maybe it's starved for vegetables and fruits. But how do I reduce my meat intake without depriving Matt or cooking two meals?

On the other hand, I ate an enormous rare steak when we were at the Outback a couple of weeks ago. Maybe it's just a summer thing. Or maybe it's just a chicken thing - maybe I just need to take a break from the chicken for a while. Ah, well, I'll figure it out...

5 July 2000

Well, we had a fantastic long weekend. We drove to Lynchburg Saturday, getting to Braz and Kris' around two. We admired their house (the last time we'd seen it, it had been packed to the gills with boxes and in dire need of some paint) and argued for a while about where we were all sleeping. ("We're not sleeping in your bed while you sleep in a tent!" "We like sleeping in the tent!" "We can sleep on the couches just fine! Really!") They won that argument. ("You can sleep on the couch if you want. We're still sleeping in the tent.")

Then we went to Sam's Club to pick up stuff for the party. Another argument ensued over whether Matt and I were allowed to pay for any of the party supplies or if we were confined to paying only for "our" things. We won that argument by stealing things off their cart when they weren't looking.

They tried to take us for a walk along a trail in a new park along the track of an old railway. It was heavily forested area, and Matt and Braz soon decided they were going to turn it into the next big money-making themepark: a Vietnam theme park, complete with live ammo and tiger traps. While they were having fun describing the multitudinous ways to be eviscerated in their new park, Kris and I were being eaten alive by gnats. We decided after only about a quarter mile or so to give up and turn around. Maybe we'll go back sometime when it's not so hot and buggy - the trail was actually very pretty (barring the boys' strange senses of humor).

Sunday was the Independence Day picnic. We spent most of the day setting up for it, and being eaten by the gnats in the backyard. Kris and I finally decided that we couldn't stand it anymore and went up to the drugstore for big citronella candles, an outdoor fogger, and an incense-like anti-bug device. We figured between all those things, one of them had to be able to discourage the bugs. Kris and I argued about whether I should help pay, which I solved by just stuffing $15 in her purse while she wasn't looking.

The four of us started the festivities a bit early with a "preliminary" watergun fight, and then people began arriving. The picnic was a great success. If I'd known how many people were going to bring food, I'd have told Kris not to bother with half the stuff we picked up at Sam's! I never did get to try a "Brazburger" - but don't let that fool you into thinking I went hungry at all!

We had several watergun fights over the course of the afternoon, ate a ton, and eventually set off the fireworks at about 8. (Yes, the sun was still up, but we were getting tired and other people had to be heading home anyway. They were still quite impressive.) As a result of poo-poohing Matt's concerns, I developed a splendid sunburn across my shoulders. (I'd been wearing my bathing suit and some shorts during the watergun fights.)

We spent Monday mostly just being lazy and recovering from the party. I got Braz to take me to the store for some aloe for my sunburn, and he tried to trick me into letting him buy it along with the things he was getting. He did a good job of it, too - if Kris hadn't found the $15 just before we left for the store, I might've believed him when he said he'd get it rung up separately and let me pay him back!

We went to the Silver Pig for lunch - Carolina barbeque and hush puppies that were just fantastic. Then we went to the mall to see Me, Myself, and Irene, which was hysterical (though not for the squeamish or puritanical of mind).

That evening after dinner, we played a game of Spades, Matt and Braz partnered against Kris and I. It was great fun, though I'm still convinced that if Kris hadn't actually taunted the boys, they'd never have been able to recover enough to beat us! I'm looking forward to the next game, though I think to keep things fair we should rotate partners every so often.

Kris' family had plans for the Fourth that didn't include Matt and I, so we parted ways Tuesday morning around eleven. It's probably just as well - Matt and I had laundry to do, and by the time we'd finished burning our sparklers on the front lawn, we were exhausted.

It was a good weekend, with the additional bonus of a short week in front of us.

Two short weeks, as Matt reminded me over dinner last night - next week we'll be taking Thursday and Friday off to fly to Montana for my brother's wedding. I think by the time we get to August, I'm going to be so tired I'll barely be able to stand up!

Word of the Day: procrustean - arbitrary, often ruthless, disregard of individual differences or special circumstances

I've long thought that out school system should be changed. The relentless march of grade levels from kindergarten up through graduation - especially combined with laws that prohibit anyone from being held back more than once - display a procrustean attitude toward education that really satisfies only the few average students. Exceptional students go unchallenged, leaving potential wasted and the student bored; while slower students are harried along, "learning" what they have to learn by rote without ever really understanding any of it. It's a disservice to the child, a disservice to the community, and a disservice to the country.

The entire system needs to be scrapped, and built over again from whole cloth: a system of education in which a child's age matters less than their intellectual capacity; in which physical maturity is secondary to emotional maturity.

Of course, it will never happen. I'd be happy if teachers were only paid what they deserve.