Valerie Bertinelli is on the cover of AARP's July/August 2010 edition. She was always Daddooooo's favorite girl on tv, and TBG and I most heartily agreed with him. The article is typical AARP put a smile on your face fluff, but I can't get past the fact that she's 50. I know that I am aging, but the iconic characters of my youth should just stay there..... in my basement on the console tv. I don't remember giving her permission to age.
*****
Making reservations for a mini-vacation in August just about fried my brain yesterday afternoon. I'd been gathering information for a few days - which weekend, how long in a hotel and how long at Roomie's house, which airport worked better - and yesterday it was time to make the plans. At one point I had 5 different Kayak tabs with 5 different searches open on my screen. Yes, it's a 17" screen, but it was still crowded. Planning to meet MTF at the airport required coordinating sites and times and dates. Was it less expensive to leave on Monday, and if so could we stay with Roomie for one more night? How early did I want to wake up and did I want to drive to Phoenix instead of leaving from Tucson? If we wandered Manhattan on Monday, what would we do with our suitcases? There used to be lockers in Penn Station, but I think they were removed after 9/11. Can I pack for 5 days in a bag I can carry around? I know I'm going to have a great time, but the planning gave me a headache.
On the upside, it's only $40 more to go to Chicago first and visit the Little Cuter. And this way I only have to change planes on the way home. I love it when a plan comes together.
*****
The beekeeper/killers were here today. I thought I'd be able to take photos and make a whole post of it, but there really wasn't very much to see. They used a camera on the end of a wire to verify that the bees were where they thought they were, and then it was just a matter of pulling the comb out and cleaning the inside of my walls. I now have more pink insulation stuck in that corner of the garage; the bees had built themselves a home in the space the contractor had left between the insulation he installed and the wall itself.
There's a pheromone trap to entice the remaining bees back into their former abode. It smells like their queen, but they'll be glued to the cardboard if they follow their instincts and return to the hive. I didn't like having bees nesting in my house, and I didn't like the honey dripping down the garage door, but I don't like the notion of a silent killer snaring unsuspecting worker bees, either.
And then there's the matter of disposing of the trap. There's a string hanging from the downspout; I'm to pull it tomorrow and toss it in the trash. Just the thought of doing it makes me squeamish. I think it may be time to ask my next door neighbor if her teenage boys want to earn some easy money.
*****
TBG and I have spent the last 10 days watching seasons 2 and 3 of Mad Men on On Demand. We reveled in the freebie and the fact of good, scripted television in our living room once again. The Big Cuter turned us on to it, just as he reminded me to watch Justified. There are many reasons that having children was a good decision; this is just one of them.
There aren't many characters in the show who are happy, fulfilled, content or admirable. Yet we sat, mesmerized, for hours on end watching their lives unfold. The Little Cuter's watching it too, and the scenes where Betty goes to the hospital to deliver her third child prompted a frantic phone call: "Is that what G'ma went through? Did you? Will I?" Yes, no and no calmed her down, but it was another reminder that the 60's were a different time, entirely. All the women are wearing bras that make their bosoms look like bulwarks. The men wear hats; there's not a baseball cap to be found. Elevators have uniformed men guiding the passengers to their assigned floors. And don't get me started on gender roles and limited opportunities for talented women. The only person of color in the show is a housekeeper.
As I've ranted and raved and fumed and stewed over the state of the USofA over the past few weeks, it's been helpful to have Mad Men to remind me that we have made progress over time.
*****
Making reservations for a mini-vacation in August just about fried my brain yesterday afternoon. I'd been gathering information for a few days - which weekend, how long in a hotel and how long at Roomie's house, which airport worked better - and yesterday it was time to make the plans. At one point I had 5 different Kayak tabs with 5 different searches open on my screen. Yes, it's a 17" screen, but it was still crowded. Planning to meet MTF at the airport required coordinating sites and times and dates. Was it less expensive to leave on Monday, and if so could we stay with Roomie for one more night? How early did I want to wake up and did I want to drive to Phoenix instead of leaving from Tucson? If we wandered Manhattan on Monday, what would we do with our suitcases? There used to be lockers in Penn Station, but I think they were removed after 9/11. Can I pack for 5 days in a bag I can carry around? I know I'm going to have a great time, but the planning gave me a headache.
On the upside, it's only $40 more to go to Chicago first and visit the Little Cuter. And this way I only have to change planes on the way home. I love it when a plan comes together.
*****
The beekeeper/killers were here today. I thought I'd be able to take photos and make a whole post of it, but there really wasn't very much to see. They used a camera on the end of a wire to verify that the bees were where they thought they were, and then it was just a matter of pulling the comb out and cleaning the inside of my walls. I now have more pink insulation stuck in that corner of the garage; the bees had built themselves a home in the space the contractor had left between the insulation he installed and the wall itself.
There's a pheromone trap to entice the remaining bees back into their former abode. It smells like their queen, but they'll be glued to the cardboard if they follow their instincts and return to the hive. I didn't like having bees nesting in my house, and I didn't like the honey dripping down the garage door, but I don't like the notion of a silent killer snaring unsuspecting worker bees, either.
And then there's the matter of disposing of the trap. There's a string hanging from the downspout; I'm to pull it tomorrow and toss it in the trash. Just the thought of doing it makes me squeamish. I think it may be time to ask my next door neighbor if her teenage boys want to earn some easy money.
*****
TBG and I have spent the last 10 days watching seasons 2 and 3 of Mad Men on On Demand. We reveled in the freebie and the fact of good, scripted television in our living room once again. The Big Cuter turned us on to it, just as he reminded me to watch Justified. There are many reasons that having children was a good decision; this is just one of them.
There aren't many characters in the show who are happy, fulfilled, content or admirable. Yet we sat, mesmerized, for hours on end watching their lives unfold. The Little Cuter's watching it too, and the scenes where Betty goes to the hospital to deliver her third child prompted a frantic phone call: "Is that what G'ma went through? Did you? Will I?" Yes, no and no calmed her down, but it was another reminder that the 60's were a different time, entirely. All the women are wearing bras that make their bosoms look like bulwarks. The men wear hats; there's not a baseball cap to be found. Elevators have uniformed men guiding the passengers to their assigned floors. And don't get me started on gender roles and limited opportunities for talented women. The only person of color in the show is a housekeeper.
As I've ranted and raved and fumed and stewed over the state of the USofA over the past few weeks, it's been helpful to have Mad Men to remind me that we have made progress over time.
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