Thursday, October 30, 2008

Christmas Letters, Maybe I'll Write One

To my knowledge, my mother (and father) has never sent a Christmas letter.

They could, if they wanted. It would look something like this:

Captain graduated from X University in the May. Emily visited from Pacific Northwest for the festivities and took all of us winetasting in Virginia before she left.

Charlotte and Emily are happily married to their husbands.

Okay, it would look nothing like that. I can’t even finish the mock letter because it so quickly has descended into “These are the accomplishments of my children! Graduating and married life!” As if Winifred would write, “Now I am waiting anxiously for my daughters to bear me a brood of grandchildren.” BLECH.

Plied with enough wine I could do better, if anyone wants my services. I’ll stray from domestic events and focus on the events in your career and community. I’ll include how patriotic you were when you didn’t vote for John McCain.

Winifred doesn’t write Christmas letters because she doesn’t need for her children to compete against the morons Winifred knows. (Which is my way of saying, we really enjoy the letters we receive from our family, which does not contain a single moron. I especially enjoy Aunt Ina’s letters.)

And because we do not write letters, we only receive the good letters, sparing the face-to-palm action caused by the parents of morons. Morons like Michelle Bachmann, Republican Representative of Minnesota.

Before I continue, now seems like a great time to urge, beg, plead, and bargain with Minnesotans to vote her out of office. I know that Minnesota is full of bright, friendly, charming, and intelligent people. I expect those people to eradicate her career. Now.

Bachmann’s letter from 2003 has surfaced. She doesn’t drone on about anti-Americans. Instead she extols the feminine virtues of her daughters and makes it her mission to find her son a subservient woman. (Lady would change her mind if she saw Audition, don’t you think?)*

In short, Winifred would never do the following:
  • Refer to her teenager as an “fantasy treasure” for the opposite gender

  • Refer to any of her children as “Utter Perfection”

  • Disclose the size of our bodies or clothes (unsurprisingly, Bachmann applies this only to her daughter)

  • Refer to her kid as a “magnet” or “magnate” (this is listed as [sic] but I suspect Bachmann knows what she’s doing—wouldn’t it be fabulous if her son owned women? Her daughters are property, collectible like Monopoly tiles, I wouldn’t put it past her) for the opposite gender

  • Patronize any of us as “organized,” a desireable attribute for the woman who will run day run her husband’s life, those silly men can’t organize their way out of a paper bag! To be fair, Emily is the only one with the life skills for organization. Charlotte and I don’t stand a change against her refined and mature skills. Apparently his hasn’t devastated Charlotte’s aptitude for marriage, though it did set back my family one goat.

  • Announce our inadequacies in landing a man. If Winifred did, it would be a long letter this year, detailing the failings of her last remaining unwed single daughter.

  • Relate her children to the participant of a harem. Nay a Boleyn here!

Future wives of Bachmann’s children, beware! You will clean up behind the slob, be expected to dance, often and well, have dinner on the table when he comes home, financially support him through medical school, and support him emotionally. Snap, this is where Daniel Abraham got it from! Fox News and Michelle Bachmann! Future husbands, you know what your ladies are being groomed for.

And, because I wasn’t born to Bachmann’s family, we’d never be able to announce that The King had opened some Christian-themed loony center, and Winifred would never brag about her cleaning habits. Of course, not only will Winifred never do any of this out of principle (we’re private people, except you know, the one on the Internet), but she’s too busy reading a book. Bachmann could benefit from a reading list, no?


*Charlotte, that was kind of for you.

Tuesday, September 30, 2008

I've turned into my mother

Winifred likes to remind people—as frequently as possible—that the killer’s in Fargo WERE. NOT. FROM. NORTH. DAKOTA.

Then, to goad her, I remind her of that one time, how that old cranky man was in somebody’s yard causing a scene, and someone hit him with a shovel!

The shovel incident happened more than thirty years ago. Maybe more than fifty years ago, and she likes to add, “He had it coming. That old man was cranky!” This would seem harsh unless you know my grandfather, who never raises his voice or freaks out about anything. (By comparison it takes only a sound bite of John McCain or Sarah Palin to get me worked up and freaked out.) You could say that Grandpa’s age is a factor, but to Winifred’s recollection, he’s only been mad twice. And she wasn’t even living at home the second time because she was in the Army! (She just got to hear about it, as older sisters often do.)

But I digress. Among Winifred’s other claims that life is peaceful and non-violent in North Dakota: No one has ever been deliberately poisoned in the last fifty years (so far no evidence holds up), there are no pedophiles (as compared to the “fictional” town in Downtown Owl), and the firefighters exist to get cats out of trees. Gas is always eighty-nine cents a gallon. Everyone is voting for Obama to make up for how insane South Dakota is, etc.

 

This predilection has driven me crazy because it ruins the idea that The Grass is Greener on the Other Side. Yeah, the grass is green, but I bet the meatloaf in that kitchen sucks, and I bet the cable reception is lousy. I’ll eat the cooking here, watch my television under the comfort of my own blankets, and bask in the imperfections of my life here. And if you allege that somewhere, anywhere, things are perfect, it makes my imperfect little life look… well, kind of crappy. And I like my life! I like my quirky cast of characters, the way Metro is always slow, and how even the rampant problems of Baltimore have a gleam of charm.

 

But without meaning to I’ve set out to defend Baltimore, guns-a-blazin’. My friend IMmed me an article and included his comment: “THIS IS WHY I HATE BALTIMORE.” That’s not the right way to start a conversation. I didn’t even read the article before I set out in ALL CAPS to let him know that this isn’t even Baltimore County! This is Calvert County! “SAME THING,” he said.

It was all downhill from there as I had to set him straight. My Baltimore, which yes, had murdered a former council man last week (to my infinite grief), was NOT the same as Calvert County. God, had I even been to Calvert County?! (Not really, only to travel through it.) Moreover, the clearly disturbed woman had never even lived in Baltimore! City or County! She’s from Godforsaken Rockville! Rockville is where dreams to go die in a hell of suburbia! We have our own problems that we’re fixing (crime has dropped compared to rates last year, there are plans to bring truants back to school, etc.) don’t add any more!

 

Oh. Wow, did I get a little out of control, there? Maybe a little too defensive? May I have implied that My Baltimore is sunshine and lollipops? Because it is, you know.

 

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Palin Population

Winifred is from a small town in North Dakota. ND is a big state, and there are (shockingly) many people from The Peace Garden in my hometown, home state, and general tri-state area. ND is so big you could fill it with 5.7 of mine. It’s also so sparsely populated that you could fit ND’s population into mine 8.7 times. (That’s all the math I’m doing today, folks!)

 

Winifred is fiercely protective of the Peace Garden State. If you are a lone stranger to the Quimby family (unlikely), keep that in mind:

 

Me: According to Approximately as many people as Wasilla, Adobe employs as many people as the population of Wasilla.

Winifred: And how many people is that?

Me: Willa has 6,000. Adobe has 6,959. That’s almost a thousand more than Wasilla!

Winifred: …

Me: So she’s not qualified to run Adobe! Or be the mayor of [redacted], your hometown!

Winifred: Really? [To population not qualification]

Me: Yeah! [Redacted, ND] has 16,000+!

Winifred: And how many people are in Wasilla? You’ve been to [redacted], it’s a small town.

Me: 6,000! I looked up [redacted] last night to compare it to Wyndmere. Wyndmere is where Chuck Klosterman is from. He grew up on a farm in a town with 533 people! And they weren’t all old, either!

Winifred: Hey! [Redacted] has way more people than Wasilla.

Me: Yeah!

Winifred: That’s great!

Me: I wonder what the population of Alaska is if it’s the 47th least populated state. 683,478! …Oh. North Dakota is the 48th least populated. Darn. I wanted Alaska to have less than 16,000 people.

Winifred: That’s…not possible.

Me: I wonder how many people live in our hometown! 57,000! That’s way more than in North Dakota.

Winifred: Hey!

Me: And way too many people for Sarah Palin!

 

 

Monday, September 22, 2008

=


I found this video post in the Inspiration on Sweet Juniper. It's by John and Faith Hubley, and they recorded their children and would later animate their conversations. (Jim posted about this a year ago with Cockaboody, and linked to my favorite, Moon Bird.) I dispensing it because the conversations of the Hubley children, Emily and Georgia, remind me of Charlotte and Emily. Or in this case (princesses!), Charlotte and Captain or Emily and Captain. And as an added bonus, this is the kind of animation I preferred when I was little, the weird squiggly vintage episodes of Sesame Street.

Saturday, September 20, 2008

Dear Internet,
Last Saturday Winifred dragged me into the puppy store in the mall to look at the pets. Then she reminded me that because she doesn't want to see me happy, I couldn't take home the Boston Terrier, even though I really want one.

Today she said we were going to have ice cream later, which meant we were going to the local establishment, which has the BEST ice cream. When we came home she went out side for two hours to read (most of it was spent on her phone). When she returned she said "that ship had sailed." She sunk it herself, apparently, without telling me.

These two examples are proof that Winifred must not love me. What a tease.

Love,
Captain

Saturday, August 30, 2008



If you watch the jaw of John while Sarah is talking about shattering the glass ceiling, you will see, aside from the fake smile, a clench and a twitch. Talk about body language!

Friday, August 29, 2008

We Are Not Puppets

Dear John,
Do not think picking a woman for your running mate will bring any Hillary supporters to your side. Do not underestimate our intelligence. Do you think Sarah Palin "worked hard enough" for her position? Did she simply "work harder"? Is that what attracted you to her? Or was it her Penecostal--Assembly of God religious affiliation? Did you think we needed another John Ashcroft slap in the face? Perhaps it was because her son is in the Army? Since the two of you are so interested in saving the unborn from abortion will she show some consideration now for the lives of the soldiers you are so interested in keeping in the fight? Do you really think the intelligent women of America will vote for you because you have chosen a female running mate and not realize the age longevity in your family? Do we not know you have a certain amount of longevity in your family? We know your 96 year old mother is still tooling around C hevy Chase, getting speeding tickets. Do you think we don't know just how often a vice-president actually takes over the office of the presidency? Do you really think we believe,with your history with women, that you will actually ask Gov. Palin what she thinks? Even if you did, we don't care what she thinks--we already know! Please do not think you have pulled the puppet strings of women in America simply by choosing a token for your running mate. Will you help her look at herself in the mirror when she realizes you are pulling those strings? We are no longer available for your slaps in the face. Do not count us out. We are female Weebles--we may wobble but we don't fall down.