Shameless Plug

Well, I've always wanted to have a newspaper article written about me, me, me, all about me...wait, did I type that out loud?  Did I post this?  Hopefully, with this cute little introductory narrative, everyone will know that I am  really, deep down, quite humble, thankful, and self-involved...shoot, I did it again!

Oh, well, you know me by now, anyway...

http://newssun.suntimes.com/search/19120846-423/blog-log-constant-yammerin-terry-wiesen.html

Yes, It's My First Rodeo

I recently visited a friend in Texas who treated me to a favorite local pastime - going to a rodeo.  I am going to let you in on a little secret.  Rodeos are apparently the last bastion of a tough-minded, earn-your-own-way, pull-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps philosophy.  No liberal, mamby pamby, everyone-gets-a-trophy decline of the American way of life here, no ma'am.

The fact that the arena was air conditioned was the only concession to modern cushiness I could find.

Our announcer started off by invoking his freedom of religion rights and praying fervently like no preacher I have every seen for the cowboys and various types of bovines involved.  This was followed by the Star Spangled Banner and a patriotic montage of our military personnel around the globe.  So far, so good, I thought.   These are all activities guaranteed by our constitution and it does the heart good to see everyone here united in a cause.

Then things got a little rougher.

My first clue this was a little more demanding sport than, let's say t-ball, were the 10 to 12-year-old boys who started off the events by trying to ride slightly smaller steer than their adult counterparts.  Some (only some?) had vests and helmets on which attested to the dangers and unforgiving nature of this sport.

But then it got a little more rigorous.

The equivalent of an Easter Egg Hunt on steroids followed with approximately 100 children chasing down two steer with ribbons on their tails.  Much face planting and trampling ensued after which the two lucky winners who scored the ribbons were awarded basically the equivalent of a Happy Meal.  Tough way to earn a cheeseburger.  But this was not the most disturbing aspect, oh no; when the sometimes crying, aimlessly wandering children tried to exit the arena, some were confused as to which way to find their parents.  No Amber alerts, just the announcer saying, "If ya brought one, pick one up ya'll!"  Yikes.

It was at this point I realized there was to be no 8th place award or participant ribbons for everyone.  This is Texas, folks, we raise 'em tough here.  No sooner had that thought entered my mind but I was enthralled by a DCFS contact worthy event called Mutton Bustin'.  The participants are aged 4 to 7 - yes, that's right, 4-year-old, barely potty-trained, preschoolers.  Most dropped instantly off their sheep right out of the gate.  But they dusted themselves off and toddled off into the sunset.

The finale, of course, is the well-known, hold-on-for-dear-life or 8-seconds (whichever comes first) bull-riding.  Just to spice it up a little, audience members (volunteers?) were "invited" into the ring to sit on folding chairs covered by a plywood box with bars to watch from a bulls-eye position, so to speak.  Had they thrown some Christians and lions in the ring or sacrificed a virgin at this point I would not have been surprised.

Just good, clean fun.

God Bless America and especially Texas!  

The Anti-Bucket List

Unless you've had no communication with the outside world or seen a movie in 10 years, you've probably heard of the concept of the "bucket list."  You know, like life didn't hold enough pressure as it is, now we have agendas to complete before we "kick the bucket."

Well, in the way I approach most things - I am taking the opposite approach.  I have a harder time really nailing down my holy grail activities as much as I definitely know what things I, no matter how long I live, will never want to do.

I call this my "f*** it list"..er, um, ahem, sorry, let's just say it rhymes with bucket list and leave it at that.

My list to date:

1.  Getting a tattoo. (There is no place on a 54-year-old body that a tattoo will enhance in any way or that I want to draw extra attention to or will not sag or already has.)
2.  Getting any additional piercings.  (See # 1)
3.  "Antiquing." (I'm sorry, it's just old stuff - usually, dead people's old stuff.)
4.  Paintball (Really?  Adults running around with fake guns creating more laundry??)
5.  NASCAR (Cars endlessly circling around a track, people interested in this, gas fumes, did I mention the people?)
6.  Seeing another movie with the word "sisterhood" in it.
7.  Fishing, hunting, camping. (Anything that purposely denies the amazing ready made amenities of modern day life like Filet o' fish, duck à l'orange, and Marriotts.)
8.  Alaskan cruise. (Snow on the Lido deck?  I don't think so.)
9.  Traveling to any country for which I must get shots for yellow fever and malaria, among other diseases.  (Seriously?  I am purposely going someplace which is rife with diseases for which I have no immunity while here in the United States I routinely sneeze into my elbow to avoid passing on my germs, use hand sanitizer religiously when I touch a doorknob- and speaking of religiously, apparently now people use hand sanitizer in church right after the sign of peace - ironic?, and get a flu shot even though it only covers the 5 main strains of flu for that particular flu season?)
10.  Striving to make lists of things that have perfect round numbers like 10, because, yeah, in life everything comes in tens that oh so neatly wrap up what you need to know.  What, you can't have the top 9?  It has to be be 10?  What are we all drinking the Letterman Koolaid - does he dictate to us that 10 is the only number that is acceptable for any and all lists?  Is this another plot to force us to use the metric system that is based on...you guessed it...10!  Wait, what?  Oh yeah, ahem, sorry.

A "Bachelor" Primer

Here is a short instructional for you under-a-rock dwellers who have not watched or seen even one clip of the stupidly successful love franchise:

1.  For an entire generation of 20-somethings who, instead of dating, travel in packs, texting as they go, you will see some of the most unique, inventive, and creative YouTube-worthy couple experiences ever...all dreamed up by the producers.

2.  Each date will have some sort of metaphorical symbolism:
      a.  jumping off something - taking a "leap of faith" into love
      b.  climbing something - reaching that peak or goal with your loved one
      c.  doing something scary - feeling safe or protected by your partner

3.  The Love Richter Scale:
      3.5 - I think I could see myself maybe falling in love with you.
      5.0 - I feel as if I am probably falling in love with you.
      6.5 - I am definitely close to falling in love with you.
      8.0 - I have absolutely, completely, irrevocably fallen in love with you. (Cue the aftershocks.)

4.  Transportation vehicles are varied:  limos, helicopters, seaplanes, horse-drawn carriages, numerous boats (many large enough to jump off of), and an occasional ambulance (don't ask).

5.  There will be one schizophrenic contestant who "is different in the house" than with the much-coveted bachelor/ette.  Anyone with a pulse or sentience above a lichen can observe this, however, it will take at least 6 cocktail parties, 4 rose ceremonies, 2 hot tub get togethers, and many puzzled expressions until our beloved bachelor/ette realizes it and promptly kicks the rose-less imposter to the curb.

6.  The families of the potential mates will be much involved in the selection process and their approval and opinions are mightily considered in the decision.  If this were to happen to the rest of the population no one would ever get engaged, married, or even date.

7.  When the final choice is made between the last two contestants, they will be engaged for exactly three commercial breaks, split up, get back together, and appear on various "tell all" TV specials discussing their break up-getting back together.  Various hot rejects from the show will appear again in the skankier, retread show "Bachelor Pad."  One of the remaining finalists will then be the next bacherlor/ette, thus continuing the circle of life according to ABC.

Season Finale Dramatization:

Art by Jake Wiesen

Facebook Failure

I am a Facebook failure.

I was recently bullied into signing up for this maniacal social media tool by friends I see about once a year.  We would have a pleasant get together, catch up with all the activities of each other and our respective families, and that seemed to work just fine.  One gets the highlights of the year - the social Cliff notes.  They, however, unbeknownst to me, (Where did that word come from?  Leave it to the Elizabethans to combine 18 different words - unbelievamazincrediblest!) anyway, they had been keeping up throughout the year through Facebook, so they thought I should do this too.  "Just think of all you're missing!"

Well, I have found out all that I have been missing.

I have found that everyone has way more "friends" than me.  Oh, when I first signed up and stated where I went to high school, I was bombarded with friend requests from old high schoolmates with whom I had not talked to in close to 40 years.  So now I get to follow their lives on a daily basis.  Awesome.

Also, I have found that Facebook is like one on-going, continuous, Christmas newsletter delighting me with all the travels, activities, achievements, and accomplishments of my friends.  So now I know on a daily basis that everyone has more of a life than me.  Sweet.

Apparently, all my friends have this incredibly close relationship with their children as well.  They comment on each other's pictures, postings, and "likes."  I am afraid to request that my own children be my friend.  As it is, I get an occasional text and a phone call from time to time.  If I were to try to take the relationship to the next level, such as "friending" (which is apparently a verb now, much like "tasking" or "disrespecting") I am unsure of what response I want - do I want to be "friended" and know all the intimate details of my children's lives?  Or if they don't "friend" me, are they protecting me from too much information or do they really not like me?  And even more important, is "facebooked" now a verb, too?  Wonderful.

In addition, because I cannot figure out how to post a profile picture, each time I go to my "wall" I am confronted with a stark grey outline of a phantom person which makes me feel like I am in witness protection.  Swell.

So, I am reduced to "facestalking" (will someone please help me with this language?) - logging in every time I get an email alert that someone has "tagged" me (OK, now this is just getting ridiculous!) or posted something new, only to find out it's because I am only just on their friend list and every time they post something I am included.  It's like being at a wedding and you only know the bride, (who, of course, is very busy with all her guests and has no time to talk to you) so you are at the cousin's table and everyone is talking about stuff you know nothing about.  And they are letting you sit there because of course your reception place card authorizes your presence there but they have absolutely nothing to say to you because you don't know them and were too late in signing up for Facebook to have developed a relationship with them, because they already have enough "friends."  Peachy.

Breaking Down Breaking Dawn (Spoiler Alert)

At the risk of much backlash, I'm going to weigh in on the last installment of the Twilight Saga - Breaking Dawn - Part 2.  (Doesn't the "Part 2" kind of ruin the grandeur of it all?  Kind of like: The End of the World - Rough Draft.)  Anyway, I made my two sons accompany me (they probably figure they're in the will no matter what now) and my husband (who probably figured he could get a nap in and I wouldn't be talking for about 2 hours) because, well, just because I really wanted to test that whole "unconditional love" thing.

Anyway, I, too, was a rabid reader of all the Twilight books, but I remember Breaking Dawn as my least favorite because the first half of the book was the whole gross, vampire-baby-killing-me-from-the-inside, then the second part of the book was all about "the battle."

So, I felt there were many product placements throughout the movie - see Bella's cute new red irises?  Wouldn't you like red irises like hers?  Buy Vampire Contacts - a great stocking stuffer for Christmas!!  Then, how many times are we going to look at her oh-so-unique wedding ring?  Thinking of proposing at Christmas? Buy Bella's beautiful wedding ring for her.  She'll love you FOREVER....

Then, the grand assembling of the vampire "cousins" for the battle all in their native garb and makeup...what about our German cousins?  Couldn't they come in lederhosen???  And don't we have some distant relatives from Holland with those cute wooden shoes???  It was like Vampire EPCOT!!!  However, I did like that there was one plus-sized vampiress - of course, she has had about a thousand years to get in shape, and we all know blood is super low-calorie because all the other vampiresses are totally hot and fit, but you go, girl!

Also, lots of head tilting and palming the cheek by Renesmeenessie...whatever her name is...are we supposed to be able to read their minds and figure out what is going on?

I did love that the battle never really happened - nice twist...speaking of twist - why was it so much more difficult to twist off the Volturi leader Aro's head??  Are the bad guys' heads somehow more adhesive?  Also, when one of the werewolves sacrificed him/herself - are we supposed to remember which one had which fur?? I couldn't keep track of who was whose mate and who is now ticked off and will go after whomever!!!

And what about the wondrous battlefield shot to show just how epic this conflict is going to be with all the opponents staring each other down, just waiting to attack?  I think the grip, best boy, or whatever that person is called panned the camera back a little too far.  Based on the cinematographic puny dots they presented on the landscape, it looked like the Jets and the Sharks could have taken them handily.

And how convenient that Running Bear (or whatever HIS name was) shows up at just the right time (Honey, aren't you cold in that loincloth?  There is snow on the ground, you know!) to say, "Hey, I'm a half-breed also (apologies to the Native American Nation) and it works, so back off."

My favorite part?  Bella's new closet.  Which, of course, she turns her little non-materialistic nose up at.  Really, slow down, Bella, let's check out all those bags and purses nicely hanging there.  Hey, what about those shoes?  Come on, there has got to be more than the dress, some casual wear perhaps?  Anything in my size?

And, if anyone had any questions at the end like, "Hey, was that in the book?"  They thoughtfully flipped through the pages just to show you the exact page where, for example, the word "forever" was.  Thank you, I can do my book report now.

Road Rules Religion

My particular driving belief system has two sacred tenets:
1. Misplaced politeness is a sin.
2. Do not, under any circumstances, prematurely merge.

By politeness, I do not, of course, mean common courtesy, like giving the parking spot to the first driver there, or not cutting (or flipping) someone off in traffic. No, I mean "directing traffic" - and not that cute, standing in the middle of an intersection, tweeting your little whistle, choreographing cars as they go by - oh no, I mean that very dangerous, seemingly innocuous, little wave that says, "go ahead."

Imagine you are in your car, trying to turn left onto a busy highway from a nice little neighborhood. You've been waiting for some time for a break in the traffic, but to no avail.

So, here comes Mother Teresa, driving along in her environmentally-friendly Prius, sees your dilemma, and, apparently, in a fit of do-goodedness, wants to do her part to promote world peace. This angel of mercy screeches to a halt in a 50-miles-an-hour speed zone, smiles beatifically, and waves that little wave that says,

"Go ahead, I'm a good person, just pull out in front of this line of bone-crushing metal projectiles which prevents you from seeing the outside lane where no doubt a huge double tractor trailer carrying a wide load is currently approaching which will smash you like a bug on a windshield...literally. Have a nice day."

But, if you detect that I feel strongly about left turn chivalry, it pales in comparison to my fever pitch feelings about merging. This is altruism gone horribly wrong - this is militant selflessness.

If these drivers even glimpse a "Left Lane Closed - 10 Miles Ahead" sign from a distance, they instantaneously swerve to the right lane, lest they blaspheme the interstate gods with their unbridled defiance of staying in the left lane until it is actually closed. Evangelicals that they are, they spread the good word by straddling the middle line, thereby blocking 9 pristine, open miles of perfectly good pavement so you too can join the ranks of driving saints.

Now this is where science and religion collide - I believe there is actually a mathematical physics principle of flow equation that states,

"All cars in both lanes shall progress to the exact point of merge thereby making the most efficient use of available asphalt and maximizing the speed of all involved vehicles, especially Terry's."

This should be taught in school, I'm thinking from kindergarten on. And posted next to the Ten Commandments on judicial buildings...just sayin'.