Here are Christine's top 10 favorite Michigan pasttimes:
10.
Battling crazed, elbow-throwing soccer moms for the perfect pumpkin at the Zeeb Road pumpkin patch.
9.
Shuffling along leafy sidewalks on crisp fall days, wearing everything I own, while joggers dash by in tank tops and shorts.
8.
Answering my doorbell at 10 p.m. to see two women with a cat. They had found the animal that afternoon and were ringing doorbells to find the owner.
7.
Driving over orange traffic cones along Interstate 94 with other cheating Detroit drivers near the 8 Mile Road exit.
6.
Walking into an insanely large discount store for a pack of hot dogs, and walking out with three cases of Snapple, a pumpkin carving kit and a stuff-it-yourself beanie sofa.
5.
Staying up to midnight, watching the Giants throw the World Series.
4.
Restaurant baked potatoes smothered in cheese, bacon and onion -- no vegetables available.
3.
Reading the "restaurant inspections" column in the Ann Arbor News:
"Bottle of disinfectant mixed with salad dressings"
"Rat poison, grated cheese look suspiciously alike"
"Frozen meat patties used as hockey pucks"
2.
Marching in Saturday's anti-war protest in Ann Arbor with demonstrators and dogs wearing signs ("Bark for Peace"). Then we grabbed some lunch and spent the afternoon at the House of Sofas.
AND THE NUMBER ONE FAVORITE PASTTIME IN MICHIGAN ...
Attending a 4-year-old girl's birthday party that lasted until 4 a.m. and involved jello shots and bounces in a rented, blowup moonwalk in the back yard.
##
Monday, October 28, 2002
Sunday, October 13, 2002
Christine and Ron settle into Ann Arbor
Well, we're now down to the last few boxes, thank God. We've stacked our pictures in the office, shoved our 17 boxes of books in the spare closet, and propped our rolled-up rugs against the basement wall.
My life is like a Memory card game, punctuated with Ron's wails of "Where's my backpack? Where's my EMU mug? Where's my birth certificate? Where's my blue sweater?" If he keeps this up, his next question will be "Where's my sleeping bag?" because he'll be sleeping in the car.
Ah, the car. Yes, we did buy a car -- a VW beetle. The color is a newfangled "platinum gray," which is a fancy name for um, dark gray. I fret sometimes that it blends in with the highway pavenment. We pulled the daises out of the bud vase on the dashboard and keep pens in it instead. I like to name my cars, so we call it George after the singing Beatle.
When I'm not tooling George around town, I'm nursing my wrists in preparation for National Novel Writing Month. Thousands of people all over the world have signed up to write a 50,000-word novel between Nov. 1 and Nov. 30. I've signed up (I actually arranged it with a friend in Detroit last spring) and plan to write a science fiction novel. I plan to write 2,000 words a day. Wish me luck. Better yet, sign up! It's www.nanowrimo.org. I even ordered a T-shirt.
Why am I doing such a crazy thing? John Longenbaugh of Seattle Weekly said it best:
"For one month I wanted to be a novelist. I wanted to drink too much and wander the streets contemplating plot points. I wanted to ruthlessly strip-mine my friends' lives for events and gossip to work into my fiction. I wanted to sulk and have tantrums and be gloriously self-obsessed."
Sounds right up my alley. One NaNoWrimo write plans to bring in talking animals to pad his word count -- first a talking walrus will walk in and comment on his characters and the action, then later on a zebra will add commentary on a plot twist, and so on. I plan to start every chapter with a chapter heading, a subtitle and a pertinent quote.
And if I get really stuck, I'll just throw in some ninjas.
People ask me if I'm more relaxed these days, away from the frenzy of Bay Area life. Actually, I feel like I'm permanently stoned. Everything moves so much more slowly. I laugh more, I listen more, I draw more and I feel like a little kid skipping school. When I wake up in the morning, I can't wait to get started on something, anything. I talk to my houseplants and my potholders and to the little green Buddha guys on my mantle.
I also do my yoga and I'm trying meditation. Meditation doesn't really work for me, though. There I'll be, sitting crosslegged on the carpet going "ohmmm," and suddenly I'll think, "Which Gabor sister was on the TV show 'Green Acres?' Was it Zsa Zsa or Ava? Wasn't there another Gabor sister? Wasn't there a pig on that show? What was its name? Wilbur? No, that was 'Charlotte's Web...'" and on and on.
Then the bell chimes and I'm screwed. I haven't been gathering my energy inward, my controlled breathing's shot to hell and now I'm wondering if Arnold was the husband or the pig. Damn.
In my more lucid moments, I'm taking more of an interest in the world around me: I ponder the day's temperature, the threat of war on Iraq, why the neighbor's cat likes our deck so much, etc. I read three newspapers a day and yell at the articles I don't like. I call up my friend L. if I'm really steamed:
Me: Did you read the Detroit News? They ran a full-length article on recliners on the features cover!
L.: I like recliners.
Me: But is that really appropriate? Look, there's this
fawning illustration of a dozen $600 recliners, a
graphic showing the 14 things to look for with
recliners and interviews with idiots describing their
favorite recliners!
L.: I like the new ones with the built-in coolers.
Me: It's a flagrant surrender to corporate advertisers!
L.: Who gives a shit? (hangs up)
Well, at that point, there's nothing to do but shop. I'm buying most of my fall clothes at Target since I don't need professional clothes. Picked up some bell bottom jeans at Express just to make my sister crazy. Then I ran over to Target and grabbed a dozen $14-dollar sweaters and shirts from the Juniors/Misses section. I feel like I'm on the Style cable channel.
##
My life is like a Memory card game, punctuated with Ron's wails of "Where's my backpack? Where's my EMU mug? Where's my birth certificate? Where's my blue sweater?" If he keeps this up, his next question will be "Where's my sleeping bag?" because he'll be sleeping in the car.
Ah, the car. Yes, we did buy a car -- a VW beetle. The color is a newfangled "platinum gray," which is a fancy name for um, dark gray. I fret sometimes that it blends in with the highway pavenment. We pulled the daises out of the bud vase on the dashboard and keep pens in it instead. I like to name my cars, so we call it George after the singing Beatle.
When I'm not tooling George around town, I'm nursing my wrists in preparation for National Novel Writing Month. Thousands of people all over the world have signed up to write a 50,000-word novel between Nov. 1 and Nov. 30. I've signed up (I actually arranged it with a friend in Detroit last spring) and plan to write a science fiction novel. I plan to write 2,000 words a day. Wish me luck. Better yet, sign up! It's www.nanowrimo.org. I even ordered a T-shirt.
Why am I doing such a crazy thing? John Longenbaugh of Seattle Weekly said it best:
"For one month I wanted to be a novelist. I wanted to drink too much and wander the streets contemplating plot points. I wanted to ruthlessly strip-mine my friends' lives for events and gossip to work into my fiction. I wanted to sulk and have tantrums and be gloriously self-obsessed."
Sounds right up my alley. One NaNoWrimo write plans to bring in talking animals to pad his word count -- first a talking walrus will walk in and comment on his characters and the action, then later on a zebra will add commentary on a plot twist, and so on. I plan to start every chapter with a chapter heading, a subtitle and a pertinent quote.
And if I get really stuck, I'll just throw in some ninjas.
People ask me if I'm more relaxed these days, away from the frenzy of Bay Area life. Actually, I feel like I'm permanently stoned. Everything moves so much more slowly. I laugh more, I listen more, I draw more and I feel like a little kid skipping school. When I wake up in the morning, I can't wait to get started on something, anything. I talk to my houseplants and my potholders and to the little green Buddha guys on my mantle.
I also do my yoga and I'm trying meditation. Meditation doesn't really work for me, though. There I'll be, sitting crosslegged on the carpet going "ohmmm," and suddenly I'll think, "Which Gabor sister was on the TV show 'Green Acres?' Was it Zsa Zsa or Ava? Wasn't there another Gabor sister? Wasn't there a pig on that show? What was its name? Wilbur? No, that was 'Charlotte's Web...'" and on and on.
Then the bell chimes and I'm screwed. I haven't been gathering my energy inward, my controlled breathing's shot to hell and now I'm wondering if Arnold was the husband or the pig. Damn.
In my more lucid moments, I'm taking more of an interest in the world around me: I ponder the day's temperature, the threat of war on Iraq, why the neighbor's cat likes our deck so much, etc. I read three newspapers a day and yell at the articles I don't like. I call up my friend L. if I'm really steamed:
Me: Did you read the Detroit News? They ran a full-length article on recliners on the features cover!
L.: I like recliners.
Me: But is that really appropriate? Look, there's this
fawning illustration of a dozen $600 recliners, a
graphic showing the 14 things to look for with
recliners and interviews with idiots describing their
favorite recliners!
L.: I like the new ones with the built-in coolers.
Me: It's a flagrant surrender to corporate advertisers!
L.: Who gives a shit? (hangs up)
Well, at that point, there's nothing to do but shop. I'm buying most of my fall clothes at Target since I don't need professional clothes. Picked up some bell bottom jeans at Express just to make my sister crazy. Then I ran over to Target and grabbed a dozen $14-dollar sweaters and shirts from the Juniors/Misses section. I feel like I'm on the Style cable channel.
##
Tuesday, October 08, 2002
Elizabeth's 30th Birthday FAQ
ELIZABETH'S 30TH BIRTHDAY FAQ
Q: Is it really ELIZABETH'S 30TH BIRTHDAY?
A: That is correct. If she was a Galapagos land tortoise, she'd just be a baby. If she was a box turtle, she'd still be a teenager. If she was a Egyptian camel, she'd be middle-aged, and if she was a blue-spotted grouper fish, she'd be dead.
Q: What is the best way to celebrate ELIZABETH'S 30TH BIRTHDAY?
A: In today's uncertain times, all celebrations for ELIZABETH'S 30TH BIRTHDAY must be approved by the Anti-Birthday Terrorism League of Omaha, Neb. Proposed celebrations must be submitted in writing no later than Oct. 8, 2000. The ABT League is currently accepting proposals for Elizabeth's 40th birthday, which ought to be a real hoot.
Q: What if I never submitted a proposal for ELIZABETH'S 30TH BIRTHDAY?
A: Unauthorized celebrations will be prosecuted by the ABT League and the illegal participants will be
punished after a closed hearing following 90 days of detention. Flagrant abuses will result in an exile to Berrien County, Mich.
Q: What is the spiritual significance of ELIZABETH'S
30TH BIRTHDAY?
A: This event was prophesied in 1200 B.C. An ancient prophet preached of a cataclysmic event on Oct. 8, 2002, shrouding the world in darkness and boiling away the seas. He pointed out that the name "Elizabeth" has nine letters, which corresponds to the nine planets. This indicates a dark future for Elizabeth on a cosmic scale.
Q: Doesn't the name "Christine" also have nine letters?
A: Shut up.
Q: Didn't they only know about seven planets in 1200 B.C.?
A: I said, shut up.
Q: So why haven't the seas started bubbling yet?
A: Yesterday, an astronomer announced a new object he discovered orbiting the sun. This throws the prophecies out of alignment and prompts scholars to concentrate on women with October birthdays named Antoinette.
Q: Is this lousy FAQ all that Elizabeth will receive for ELIZABETH'S 30TH BIRTHDAY?
A: Certainly not. She will likely be honored at the combined birthday celebration in the SFBT conference room. That is, if no one has stolen her birthday card.
##
Q: Is it really ELIZABETH'S 30TH BIRTHDAY?
A: That is correct. If she was a Galapagos land tortoise, she'd just be a baby. If she was a box turtle, she'd still be a teenager. If she was a Egyptian camel, she'd be middle-aged, and if she was a blue-spotted grouper fish, she'd be dead.
Q: What is the best way to celebrate ELIZABETH'S 30TH BIRTHDAY?
A: In today's uncertain times, all celebrations for ELIZABETH'S 30TH BIRTHDAY must be approved by the Anti-Birthday Terrorism League of Omaha, Neb. Proposed celebrations must be submitted in writing no later than Oct. 8, 2000. The ABT League is currently accepting proposals for Elizabeth's 40th birthday, which ought to be a real hoot.
Q: What if I never submitted a proposal for ELIZABETH'S 30TH BIRTHDAY?
A: Unauthorized celebrations will be prosecuted by the ABT League and the illegal participants will be
punished after a closed hearing following 90 days of detention. Flagrant abuses will result in an exile to Berrien County, Mich.
Q: What is the spiritual significance of ELIZABETH'S
30TH BIRTHDAY?
A: This event was prophesied in 1200 B.C. An ancient prophet preached of a cataclysmic event on Oct. 8, 2002, shrouding the world in darkness and boiling away the seas. He pointed out that the name "Elizabeth" has nine letters, which corresponds to the nine planets. This indicates a dark future for Elizabeth on a cosmic scale.
Q: Doesn't the name "Christine" also have nine letters?
A: Shut up.
Q: Didn't they only know about seven planets in 1200 B.C.?
A: I said, shut up.
Q: So why haven't the seas started bubbling yet?
A: Yesterday, an astronomer announced a new object he discovered orbiting the sun. This throws the prophecies out of alignment and prompts scholars to concentrate on women with October birthdays named Antoinette.
Q: Is this lousy FAQ all that Elizabeth will receive for ELIZABETH'S 30TH BIRTHDAY?
A: Certainly not. She will likely be honored at the combined birthday celebration in the SFBT conference room. That is, if no one has stolen her birthday card.
##
Monday, October 07, 2002
Christine and Ron Move to Michigan
9:42 a.m. - 2002-10-07
Well, pinch me, I must be dreaming because we now have cable and high-speed Internet. So now I don't have to trudge down to the Ann Arbor library every time I want to check email, which has changed my life.
I'm trying hard not to be mesmorized by my new cable TV. Fortunately we mostly get the loser channels: Oxygen, Court TV, etc. My new vice is the Style channel, where perfect young women run around and assemble outfits for less than $100. Then they presumably take the clothing home and stuff the pieces down the garbage disposal.
One style maven raided the little girl's section at Target, emerging with a weird pink-and-purple shirt. She turned it inside out, jaggedly cut the edges, cut a big hole in the chest and bravely declared that yes, she really would go to an L.A. club in it. Yeah, sure.
We're settling in here fairly well. The new ad director, M., at Ron's startup has arrived with his wife (he worked at WorldCom in SF, small world). M. is a big guy and he likes everything big: they brought over a big SUV from SF, they just bought a big, big house 50 miles from Ann Arbor, and last week they got themselves a big 20-pound, bull mastiff puppy. They certainly have a firmer grip on the Midwest American dream than we do; you wouldn't believe the flak we're getting for buying a VW beetle.
That's one big side effect of moving to your home state of course, close family and friends think nothing of questioning every choice you make. My latest bitchy comeback is "It's not up for discussion." My other -- more craven -- defense is not to tell anyone what we're doing until we've already done it. I swear, if we decide to have a kid, I'm not telling anyone until after it's born. Maybe not even then. We'll hide it in the closet when folks come over.
Second big side effect: Kids' birthday parties. We've arrived in prime birthday party season. This used to
happen in my family. My aunts and uncles threw a birthday party for every damn kid every year. Nice in theory, but I had about a dozen cousins and most were born between September and December.
This meant that every other Saturday night there was a party, and all the Usual Suspects (aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents) turned up with presents and eat cake. Then the men would watch TV and the women would sit around the table and listen to my Aunt O. talk about her sons' evil teachers. I was an early rebel regarding these affairs (we were across the state in Detroit, thank god). When I was in college and then in my 20s, I'd make a token appearance, generally bringing a date and leaving by 8:30. Oh, the guilt. When my youngest cousin turned 16 (the official end of the birthday party for each child), it was one of the happiest days of my life.
I thought those days were over, but now all my friends and family are throwing big birthday parties for all their kids. The modern mother brings some new twists to these celebrations. Before you tossed up some streamers, laid on the cake and ice cream and called it a day. No more. Now kids' birthday parties have THEMES -- usually some commercial kids' character. My sister's kid's theme is Sponge Bob Square Pants (don't ask) and my friend L.'s kid will celebrate her birthday this month with Scooby Doo.
And get this, now kids REGISTER for their birthday gifts. Really! L.'s daughter is registered at Toys R Us. What is she trying to do, complete her china pattern? If you think I'm schlepping over to Toys R Us and getting a printout of everything a sugar-crazed 4-year-old pointed at with her electronic registering gun, you're nuts. She's getting a couple of books.
##
Well, pinch me, I must be dreaming because we now have cable and high-speed Internet. So now I don't have to trudge down to the Ann Arbor library every time I want to check email, which has changed my life.
I'm trying hard not to be mesmorized by my new cable TV. Fortunately we mostly get the loser channels: Oxygen, Court TV, etc. My new vice is the Style channel, where perfect young women run around and assemble outfits for less than $100. Then they presumably take the clothing home and stuff the pieces down the garbage disposal.
One style maven raided the little girl's section at Target, emerging with a weird pink-and-purple shirt. She turned it inside out, jaggedly cut the edges, cut a big hole in the chest and bravely declared that yes, she really would go to an L.A. club in it. Yeah, sure.
We're settling in here fairly well. The new ad director, M., at Ron's startup has arrived with his wife (he worked at WorldCom in SF, small world). M. is a big guy and he likes everything big: they brought over a big SUV from SF, they just bought a big, big house 50 miles from Ann Arbor, and last week they got themselves a big 20-pound, bull mastiff puppy. They certainly have a firmer grip on the Midwest American dream than we do; you wouldn't believe the flak we're getting for buying a VW beetle.
That's one big side effect of moving to your home state of course, close family and friends think nothing of questioning every choice you make. My latest bitchy comeback is "It's not up for discussion." My other -- more craven -- defense is not to tell anyone what we're doing until we've already done it. I swear, if we decide to have a kid, I'm not telling anyone until after it's born. Maybe not even then. We'll hide it in the closet when folks come over.
Second big side effect: Kids' birthday parties. We've arrived in prime birthday party season. This used to
happen in my family. My aunts and uncles threw a birthday party for every damn kid every year. Nice in theory, but I had about a dozen cousins and most were born between September and December.
This meant that every other Saturday night there was a party, and all the Usual Suspects (aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents) turned up with presents and eat cake. Then the men would watch TV and the women would sit around the table and listen to my Aunt O. talk about her sons' evil teachers. I was an early rebel regarding these affairs (we were across the state in Detroit, thank god). When I was in college and then in my 20s, I'd make a token appearance, generally bringing a date and leaving by 8:30. Oh, the guilt. When my youngest cousin turned 16 (the official end of the birthday party for each child), it was one of the happiest days of my life.
I thought those days were over, but now all my friends and family are throwing big birthday parties for all their kids. The modern mother brings some new twists to these celebrations. Before you tossed up some streamers, laid on the cake and ice cream and called it a day. No more. Now kids' birthday parties have THEMES -- usually some commercial kids' character. My sister's kid's theme is Sponge Bob Square Pants (don't ask) and my friend L.'s kid will celebrate her birthday this month with Scooby Doo.
And get this, now kids REGISTER for their birthday gifts. Really! L.'s daughter is registered at Toys R Us. What is she trying to do, complete her china pattern? If you think I'm schlepping over to Toys R Us and getting a printout of everything a sugar-crazed 4-year-old pointed at with her electronic registering gun, you're nuts. She's getting a couple of books.
##
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