It's Snowing!!!

It's snowing. This I know because I've been out in it. However, even if I hadn't gone outside today, even if I hadn't looked out a window, I would have known it was snowing courtesy of our local news.
While I was in college and studying to work in television, we were told Denver is one of the best television news markets in the U.S. Being a newscaster in Denver is considered one of the best gigs you can get. Look around. Heck, even the local news talent in L.A. is pretty bad and you'd think there'd be no shortage of pretty people who can read in that town. (The 'gotcha' is the reading part of the job description).
All in all the newscasters in Denver are pretty good unless it starts to snow or the Broncos play a game. It suddenly becomes 24 hours of hound journalism with every outlet trying to out-report the others about the snow. 'It's snowing in Denver - it's snowing at the airport - it's snowing at the shopping mall - it's snowing on the bridge - it's snowing on this highway -it's snowing in the mountains - it's snowing in the suburbs - it's snowing on the plains - it's snowing at this gas station - it's snowing at this park'. It's ridiculous is what it is. And oddly enough, I'm compelled to keep watching.
Those bastards! I could just as easily look out a window, but between seeing some poor schlub (a poor schlub outfitted in pretty decent outdoor wear) standing on an overpass and watching all the doppler, double-doppler, triple-doppler, nextrad and future-cast radar, sonar and lord knows what else blip across the screen, well, it's mesmerizing.
Typically the Denver weathercasters are wrong with their predictions, but given the chance they nail the report, they're ready to suck each other off with promotional spots showing their previous reports predicting the impending storm. Their colleagues clean-up the knob polishing by proclaiming 'so and so' a top-notch meteorologist. And then they go in for seconds by recapping their super-powers and how it benefited society more than the friggin' small pox vaccine or something.
Anyway, that's what we're up to and my thoughts on the matter - Oprah's getting ready to end so I have to go watch the evening news to see what's going on in the world. Oh wait... it's snowing!
BTW - spellcheck wanted to change 'weathercasters' to 'weathercock' and 'Oprah' to 'ovary'. I should have accepted both suggestions.

Once In A Lifetime

"And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack - And you may find yourself in another part of the world - And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile - And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife - And you may ask yourself-'well...how did I get here?'"

There's probably only one other lyric that was ever more true to me at this point in time.
I managed to keep myself from following the standard route of get married, buy a house, have kids, and settle down for much longer than many of my contemporaries. Whether it was determined by outside forces or my own doing, I found myself in my early 30s living a lifestyle I enjoyed in my 20s. Staying out late, roughhousing on my weekends, generally having a good time. I made fun of friends who were married and having children; spending their nights and weekends working around the house and attending soccer games. And then, something went terribly wrong.

Falling in love has a way of rearranging your life. Suddenly you're doing things you would have never done otherwise. For instance, and to get to the point of this post, you buy a house that needs some work.

A week ago the wife and I closed on a 'new' house. 'New' to us and apparently 'new' to updates and maintenance. For whatever reason, the house we decided to make 'ours' must have had a previous owner who didn't know how to use a vacuum or a feather duster. Finally, the phrase 'I ought to have my head examined' is fitting.

We've torn up carpet, pulled nails and staples from hardwood floors, peeled wallpaper, hung drywall, painted, fixed toilets, showers, sinks, and this is just the list of things that need done before we even move in. My weekends are no longer mine to enjoy. Instead, we are up early (to walk the new dog, right?) and head to the 'new' house to get scraped, banged, bruised, and just about every other malady you can come up with. Add to this the fact that, although I renounced my 'Jewishness' years ago, I'm still Jewish enough to not be very 'handy' as well as, shall we say 'thrifty'. Not sure about how we're coming out in the battle of saving money by doing it ourselves versus fucking things up by doing it ourselves. To the best of my knoweldge, there was only one Jewish carpenter, and we all know how that turned out.

I'm now learning the ins, outs and what-have-yous about Home Depot. The wife and I are enjoying such scenes as wandering aimlessly looking for something we don't know what it looks like, what it's called or what it does, but we know they must have it, and someone told us we need it. There's nothing more pathetic than openly arguing with your spouse about whether to get 1" or 2" masking tape (and here I'm not even sure if the figging double quote mark denotes inches or feet). I'm planning on writing a letter to Home Depot recommending they add a Divorce Department.

"And you may ask yourself 'How do I work this?' And you may ask yourself 'Where is that large automobile?' And you may tell yourself 'This is not my beautiful house!' And you may tell yourself 'This is not my beautiful wife!'.

So now another weekend has passed and we're probably still another week away from getting moved into this house. In more accurate words, I have another week house projects ahead of me, and the beauty is we're only fixing the stuff we know is fucked up. Imagine the exhiliration we'll feel when we discover all the crap wrong with the house that we don't even know about! Friends now call to laugh and ask how things are going while they're riding bikes and watching football. I'm not on the outside looking in at a life I once mocked, shunned and ridiculed.
I suppose this is the part of the post where you're expecting me to wrap everything up with 'but it's all worthwhile as we build our dream house together'. Instead, I'll leave you with the 'truer' lyric:
"And you may ask yourself, 'Where is that beautiful house?' And you may ask yourself 'Where does that highway go to?' And you may ask yourself 'Am I right? ...am I wrong?' And you may say to yourself, 'My god!...what have I done?"

Girls Night Out!

The scene: any upper-middle class restaurant and bar in a south suburban shopping mall.
The setting: dimly lit, except for the company who were moderately lit, but well on their way.
The cast: The Queen, Andretti, the Stranger and Badzilla. Four very different, but oh so very similar women with whom I know in various ways, but sadly not carnal ways (well simultaneously anyway). Oh, and me.
I arrived unsuspectingly after a cold and chaotic work-week. It seems something was in the air as the women shared the same sense of relief for Friday evening as I. My plan was to surprise the cast with being the only X chromosome (or is it Y? - I'm never quite sure)... My plan was to surprise the cast with being the only penis at the table (that I'm certain of, well maybe not certain), and thereby crashing their evening.
I immediately realized I was out numbered, yet entered the den anyway with the thought that my man-view and padded-seat residency would keep them from 'being themselves'. So naive. When the number of women is four times the number of men, the tales told don't politely dwell on defensive schemes and car repairs. No. And to be quite honest, the tales told don't dwell on any one topic long enough for my attention-challenged brain to tune in, acknowledge and respond.
My head was on a spindle, turning as if I was tracking a tennis match on a double-decker court. My ears became sensitive to the slightest tonal change toward creating emphasis. My facial expressions swiftly adjusted between surprise, concern, understanding, amazement and joy... even if I never new what was being said.
I heard about the perils of shopping while drunk and learned the difference between Nordstrom (no possessive 's' I'm told), Macy's (possessive 's', go figure) and Neiman-Marcus. I also got the skinny on whose relationships were rocky, soiled and otherwise ruined. Oddly, none of these relationship alert levels involved anyone actually at the table.
While I felt acceptance among the hairspray and make-up set, I knew this conversation wasn't the no-holds barred kibbutzpalooza it could have been. Certainly I was infringing upon expulsion of the really salacious content. I could appreciate my limited membership into this soiree, but I knew the real fun wouldn't begin until I left.
With that I excused myself, gave hugs all around and made my way back home. It was good to spend some time with friends and all, but an evening watching a DVD with the wife was the perfect nightcap. Plus, it was something I could understand. Animated talking cars.