Updates #3

Going Postal

After the mailman offered me the bike, he avoided me for a full month. When we finally ran into each other again, he told me that someone had stolen it “right out of the yard,” at which point I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I don't know that we could have forged a friendship based on the fact that he delivers my mail and once scared me with the doorbell.

The unlikeliness of a workable friendship was also apparent the day that the kiddies and I came back from the beach for school orientation, the mailman knocked on my door and said “If you had called me, I would have brought your mail today. The notice said you were coming back tomorrow.” I said, “Well, when I filled out the form, I wasn’t sure when I was coming back,” and he said, “If you had called me, I would have brought your mail today.” I wasn’t sure if he was looking for an apology or a promise to call him the next time I had mail held, and I wasn’t sure exactly why he thought I had his phone number, but if he is such a high-maintenance mailman, I can only imagine what sort of friend he is.

In other news, he’s growing back his ponytail, so I’m very curious as to why he cut it off (if we were friends I guess I could ask him). I wonder if it is a slow-moving (1/2-inch per month) defiance of the mailman grooming code.

Ole! Ole, Ole, Ole! Ole! Ole!

The US Team’s World Cup performance: P-U! P-U, P-U, P-U! P-U! P-U!

Even with the crappy refereeing, I still enjoyed the tournament, but Italy should never have won. Also, if a humiliating showing by the US was necessary to finally oust Bruce Arena (who I’m sure is a lovely man), I’ll put this World Cup behind me and cross my fingers for another four years.

Thomas Edison Would Be So Proud

My affection for the continuous spray sunscreen lasted approximately 3 days, which is how long it took the four of us to go through 2 cans. At that rate, we would have been through 40 cans by the end of the summer, and I likely would have had an annex of the Sussex County landfill named after me. I still wish sunscreen could be that easy, but if the can can’t be recycled, I can’t (Does anyone else have the can-can song going through their head?) justify it to my long lost chemist self.

In Search of a Perfect Snow Cone

While visiting auntie Erin in DC this summer, a trip that I started to chronicle prior to being sucked in to the wine bottle at my parents’ house, the kiddies had a chance to sample the Good Humor snow cone of my youth. I can report to everyone, that it has not changed in 30 years. At Aislinn’s insistence I bit into hers, and it was exactly the way I remembered it – completely disappointing. I showed the kids how to pull out the ice chunk and drink the juice at the bottom, but even the juice was tasteless. When I looked at the wrapper, I saw that they only have 30 calories, probably because more sugar would make them melt faster (ding!ding!ding!ding! the expensive college education pays off!). But the kiddies declared them delicious and powered through them, probably because they hadn’t eaten any lunch.

The Brother's Right

I was being annoyed by Miles O'Brien, so apologies to Shepard Smith. But he's on Fox News so chances are he's annoyed me too.

Ten Things I Need To Get Off My Chest (In a Shamelessly Rip-offy Fashion)

Dear Power Surge,

I had just convinced Marty that going back to hourly care was going to be a nonstop laugh riot. Why would you come through at exactly 9:00 and set off the fire alarm, just as I’m reaching for the pen to sign him in? On 9/11 no less? Clearly the power has gone to your head.

You’re grounded – Shannon

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Dear Weather Channel,

Good God enough already! I think you can rest assured that all of America considers you THE HURRICANE AUTHORITY, and no little start up weather channel is going to try to steal your thunder (hah). No one is going to turn on ESPN or HGTV looking for hurricane updates. Although American schools may be failing, most people can probably figure out that when you want to hear about the weather you should look on the Weather Channel. Oh, and please, please, get Jim Cantore a hobby – no one should wear a look of such intense concern for such a long period of time.

Love, THE ANNOYANCE AUTHORITY

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Dear Vacuum Cleaner,

I wish you were a person so I could tell you how much I hate you.

Hatefully, Shannon

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Dear Roller Skates,

I know Lauren was getting too big for her britches, saying she had you figured out, but was that really necessary? To twist her ankle in a manner that makes the Joe Thiesman/Lawrence Taylor leg break look like a mere stumble over a bump in the sidewalk?

You are very lucky that she is made of rubber - Shannon

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Dear Fly in the Kitchen,

How exactly has evolution allowed you to live, when instead of resting on a half eaten cookie, you insist upon resting on my head? That sort of behavior can only bring about a rampage that will be visited on your head (actually your whole self) and all of your ancestors/descendants.

When you least expect it, expect it - Shannon

PS. Whoever named you a “fly” was obviously a linguistic genius.

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Dear Carroll,

Why do you hate me? Don’t sit there and pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. What possible other explanation could there be for leaving this open and running on the toyroom computer? That’s not what sisters do. I have a problem and you’re the one who gave me the crack.

My children are dirty and unfed, and it’s your fault - Shannon

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Dear Spider Solitaire,

How can you consider yourself a game when there is no guarantee that you have a solution? How am I supposed to know if it is your fault or my fault when I can’t complete you? Why can’t you be more like your cousin Freecell?

Go away! – Shannon

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Dear Hair,

What happened to you? My entire life is based on the fact that I can usually get you in order, even if everything else is a mess. Suddenly you have become some sort of humidity junkie and insist upon sticking out and being frizzy if there is a drop of water anywhere within a three mile radius. Can’t you read the descriptions on the product bottles? I’ve got four things at work trying to keep you down, and still you’re out there nipping at the humidity.

Cut it out… or I’ll cut you - Shannon

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Dear Miles O'Brien,

I saw your staged dog rescue after Hurricane Katrina. I can still see you standing there, having your makeup retouched, waiting to go live while that poor dog was trapped. Do you think Walter Cronkite would have put on such a performance? Anyway, once you said: “What’s that? I hear something! I think a dog may be trapped in this debris pile!! Come here! Let’s check! There is a dog! Helloooo pupppeee!!! Good doggie!! Oooooo pupppeee, such a good boy!” etc, etc, you lost all credibility with me (granted, I had never seen you before, so I don’t know if you would have ever had any credibility with me). You are a twit.

The only reason I stopped on your newscast this morning is that I saw you were interviewing the HP’s boss from Afghanistan. First you quote an editorial saying that we do not have enough resources in Afghanistan. Then you asked the general how the poppy crop could have increased this year (in a manner, I might add, that seems to indicate that you think the American troops may have planted the additional poppy crops). Then when the general was attempting to explain the situation to you, you interrupted him to reask the question because you remembered you wanted to say “How could this situation literally BLOOM under your noses?” Sooo clever! That’s not “asking the tough questions,” that’s “being a moronic ass.”

Get Over Yourself - Shannon

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Dear Erin,

How does it feel to have your signature blogging format unapologetically stolen by your big sister? Hee hee hee hee!

Update your blog - Shannon

Thinking About John Farrell

Today a number of bloggers are posting remembrances of the victims of 9/11. I knew one person who died that day – John Farrell. When I looked up the posts about him, both had the familiar picture of John and his cute little niece, and both identified the niece as his daughter. One mentioned his wife although he was not married. I know that the bloggers were using their tribute to him as a jumping off point for their own stories of 9/11, and I don’t have a problem with that. But since they described his life wrong, I feel like he wasn’t really being remembered, so I’m doing it myself, in my patented lame ass fashion.

John Farrell was a year behind me in college, but he was assigned to the same hallway of the dorm that housed all of the guys that my friends and I dated/hated and hung out with. I met him and his friend Jim, and they quickly became part of the crowd. They were memorable and fun to be around just because of their New York-ness - the accent, the animation, the inexplicable devotion to their sports teams. We were friendly acquaintances, and whenever we passed each other in the hall or met up at a party we would smile and say hello, make a little small talk and drift back to our friends. When I think of John, he is always standing in that wide, dingy hallway wearing a pair of sweatpants and he's got a big smile on his face under the remnants of bed head. We never had a long conversation or even a drunken heart-to-heart, but he was never too deeply engrossed in a heated debate about New York sports team to do a reverse nod (chin up instead of down) and say “Hey, Shannon,” with that unmistakable New York accent and smile.

By 2001, I hadn’t seen John in 10 or 11 years, and since we were not in the same reunion class, I might never have seen him again. But I feel sad that he is not out there, that I’ll never hear that one of my NYC friends ran into him at a bar or read about his wedding in the alumni news. After 9/11, I never really said much about John, because I felt like people might think I was stealing some of the sadness that wasn’t mine. We weren’t close friends, but after thinking it over for a while, we did have a connection. We didn’t know each other well, but we wished each other well. It’s good to have people on the friendly fringes, people who don’t know all your crap, people with whom you always have a positive encounter, even if it’s just a nod and a little banter. So this post is just my reverse nod and a “Hey, John,” from someone who does remember exactly the kind of person we lost on 9/11. To read more about John Farrell, try this or this.