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The Boy has an ongoing interest in the manly arts. His latest creation is a rod iron Christmas candle holder for the house. Sometimes rod iron is called wrought iron, which I mention so as to remain clear on the particulars.
Last week, after he zipped through his literature final, the teacher cut him loose and he moseyed over to metal shop where he won five bucks in a friendly game of poker. I suppose it should bother me a bit, but it doesn't.
Oddly enough, in public school's crazy, zero-tolerance, alternate universe, where no student has any rights worth respecting, playing cards are tolerated. Back in the days of my vagrant yoot, a pack of Bicycles would get you the boot as quickly as a pack of Marlboros.
Don't get me started on pen knives, random drug searches, or ibuprofen. Did somebody say it's a free country?
On her way from the dishwasher to hang up three sparkling clean wine glasses, The House Blond got a little distracted and jumped into animated conversation mode. As she became engrossed in relating the story, a particularly emphatic hand gesture sent all three glasses flying. Two of them exploded instantly, sending glass shrapnel in every direction. The third slammed onto the ceramic tile and skittered across the kitchen floor where it then ricocheted out from under the kick space and came to a halt by the sink. Undamaged.
Plastic? Nope. We have plastic wine glasses for the boat, but not at the Casa. These are roomy, good looking, twenty ounce Italian glasses, with enough swirl room to satisfy even guys the Kosmik Kid, who need a lot of glass to enjoy a big, bold red. The titanium reinforced stems also add strength and they'll hold up to the dishwasher.
I was a bit skeptical of Luigi Bormioli's claim that the glasses were nigh on unbreakable, but the proof is in the puddin' so to speak. I watched the glass bounce across the floor and it didn't break, chip, or mar, which may explain the twenty-five year warranty.
Wish I'd had unbreakable glasses hanging up when the wine glass rack let loose one night and left this mess behind.....
These are perfect every day glasses but they are classy enough for your exquisite holiday table. They'll also make a wonderful holiday gift for the wino in your life.
They ain't Reidels, but you can buy sixteen unbreakable Luigi Bormioli Symphony wine stems for the price of one Reidel, which is guaranteed to shatter upon impact with ceramic floor tile.
Back in the days of my pre-vagrant yoot, I was crazy for this cute little Jewish girl, except I didn't know she was Jewish or even what that meant. After Christmas Vacation, er, ah, I mean Winter Break that year, I asked her about her Christmas gifts. A puzzled look crossed her face and she simply said that she didn't do Christmas, which confused more than enlightened. Kids don't always understand mad crushes or the subtle distinctions that delineate things in the real world.
I suppose that my parents meant well as they explained that Jan lit the Menorah and well, what if you grow up, fall in love, and have kids? What ever will you do? On the the bright side, they were relieved she wasn't Catholic.
Decades later, in a bit of irony, my cousin (Mr Macintosh) married a lovely Jewish girl, had kids, and they worked it out. Pretty sure they light the Menorah and the Christmas tree.
That said, for some inexplicable reason, this video brings my dear Mrs TWC a disproportionate amount of enjoyment. White Christmas? Meh. Run, Run, Reindeer? Just OK. Adam Sandler? Whole 'nother thing. Might be her favorite Christmas song. Don't give up before you get through the intro.
Last weekend, the House Blond performed a very un-Christmasy rendition of Bill Bailey at her piano teacher's final recital. Ruth has been involved in the music scene in one way or another since childhood and at eight-six decided to call it a day. She spent many years in the Big Easy, writing and producing musicals in the French Quarter, all of which was lost to Katrina. Guess hard drives aren't the only thing that need backin' up.
Sidebar: Ruth the piano teacher's cousin, Stanley Ann Dunham, was President Obama's mother.
Being that this was Ruth's last show, all four of her kids were in attendance as well. Gotta love entertainers, they know how to, well, entertain. Might be learned behavior or genetic, but her daughter Laurie put together a delightful catered lunch for us proud parents that would have been right at home with a bottle of good wine.
As the crowd thinned, a dapper, familiar-looking, guy slipped in behind the keyboard and called out for Ruth. Someone wheeled her up front and her son-in-law smiled broadly and began to play an absolutely awesome rendition of the finest Christmas tune ever written.
As he finished, he smiled broadly again and said simply, Merry Christmas, Ruth. It was definitely a Kodak moment. That's Tiffany holding the mike for Dorian.
And this is the guy who started it all.....
TWC could have easily recorded Dorian's performance and therein lies the lesson. When you don't know what's coming, record it anyway. The delete key looms large, but opportunities don't knock twice. I think Laurie's husband recorded it (look in the upper left hand corner of the picture) and we could have a copy I'm sure. But you know how that goes. We'll forget to ask and time will slip away.
Oh, and lots of you know why Dorian Harewood is familiar looking. I think Tiffany referred to him as Mr. NBC.
The holidays aren't cheerful for everyone and for the gentleman in question, especially not. He's been off the sauce for a couple of years, put down the drugs, but none of that made him especially happy. His best girl won't celebrate Christmas with his family and ran off to the big city to be with her family until the 27th. His mother is on the far side of dementia and his dad has been gravely ill, in and out of the hospital for the last several weeks.
Most of us can cope with that but this man decided to end it with a phone call to his girlfriend and a revolver in the mouth. The 911 call went out and they sent a SWAT Team that was poised to break the door down. Fortunately a friend of the family had a spare key which spared the destruction of the entry door.
Flash. Bang. The SWAT cops were in. There he was, sitting on a stool with the barrel of the gun in his mouth. Surrounded by militaristic cops in full battle regalia, the commander demanded that he remove the gun from his mouth, uncock it, and toss it away from him or THE SWAT TEAM WOULD KILL HIM! That's fine for a movie starring Bruce Willis, but it strikes me as a less than ideal approach in reality. WTF?
Thankfully, there was no suicide by cop. They rushed him after he threw the revolver aside. Why they needed to wrestle him to the ground at this point is unclear to me.
It's been a couple of decades since I've dealt with the suicidal, but if it comes up again you can bet I'm not calling 911.