We got our tree. They didn't have the size we wanted so they cut it down. But there was a large-ish gap between the low branches and next level so it's a somewhat misshapen tree.
Emmett has lectured me at least three times already about how Christmas isn't about the perfect tree.
Matilda was very excited to get the tree. She danced around in front of it yelling: "Party, party, party! 'Tilda Party!" as we carried it home. Then she looked very serious and held on to a branch to help us. Then she got bored and zigged and zagged in front of me in a clear attempt to cause a trip-and-fall. Ultimately Emmett picked her up and she rode on the tree the last half block home. This pleased her greatly and amused the guy in the car at the corner.
There's a strand of purple lights in the tree that JZ will clearly need to rejigger when she gets home. We're going to need a high-waisted skirt for this tree.
My roomba is great, except when it gets suicidal and jams itself under the futon. It's kind of obsessed with doing that.
My nephew T LOVES the tree. My brother says he stands in front of it and starts just shrieking with delight and doing the overwhelmed-too-much-joy body shimmy. I definitely heard the first part of that when on the phone. Brother is thinking he may end up staying in 'bama. He's got a good offer there. But he's not totally sure yet.
It's funny to me how blond I was when I was little. My dad's sister looks very much like her mother did. And you can see Pomps in my brother very easily.
Anyone who feels they've gotten a substandard tree should pause to consider my father [link] and I think you'll find you're doing okay.
I use Twitterific. Or, well, I have it installed. In the event I ever remember I have a Twitter account.
I just found out via my neighborhood Yahoo group that my subway station bathroom is apparently a known cruising spot for gay sex. Really guys? 'Cause I guarantee you there are better options on the F line for anonymous gay sex than a subway bathroom in Brooklyn.
Your subways have bathrooms?
Some of them, yeah. They're icky.
My aunt, who is possibly one of the least hip people in the world, just recommended one of the Jewish hipster blogs to me. (One I've been reading for a few years, actually, but one that pretty much has the reputation of being mostly obsessed with "underground" Jewish music and being more-progressive-than-thou. I've seen posters there declare "too mainstream" a guy who had one video that had some airplay on MTV for about a week and performed once or twice on the late-night talk shows.) But anyway, I sent out an email to a few family members about a new version of the dreidel song put out by Sasha Baron Cohen's brother, with a link to the youtube video for the song. There's a wall of graffiti featured pretty prominently in the video which has "Yeshua," the Hebrew for Jesus, written in huge red letters. My email was essentially, "Does that say what I think it says? And if so, huh?" She responded with "It sure looks like it says what you think it says. You should take a look at what the posters on [blog] have to say about it."
I'm puzzled.
Here's the video, if anyone's curious: [link]
brenda, your dad cracks me up.
