Friday, July 06, 2007

Appearance Reminder

I'll be signing Drink to the Lasses (with a pen, as in autographing, not like "You complete me") tomorrow at the Glenway Waldenbooks in Cincinnati from 11 AM to noon.

Today was the time-honored, highly romantic Official Bridal Eyebrow Wax, so be on alert for the most surprised-looking author ever.

Also, the Department of Homeland Security has compelled me to post the following:


You have been warned.

little V's at:

Thursday, July 05, 2007

"But he's already got the license. And the ring!"

The only way to celebrate the birth of this great nation of ours is to hurl yourself into the massive governmental bureaucracy we so cherish as a people.

Meet the Hamilton County Marriage License Bureau, where the Bench of Doom awaits you.

Josh The Pilot and I did not have to sit at the Bench of Doom. There wasn't a line at all, just three computers with sets of rolly office chairs side by side, possibly so that one could wheel a rejected intended directly down the elevator shaft. The Hamilton County Courthouse is all about your convenience.

If nothing else, this provided an opportunity to enlighten the groom of his earlier assumption that getting the license meant we were married ("Oh. So it's like a hunting license. It means we can shoot a duck, we just haven't yet.")

We had to fill out an electronic information form that wanted our mother's middle names and then we sat in front of a woman who made us hold our right hands in the air, and swear and all, and gave us a huge fake license and bunch of envelopes full of crap and told us that once "the Father" signed and mailed the real license, we would get it back, along with... this was the absolute best wedding gift one could ever hope for... two wallet-size souvenir licenses.

This little present assumes three things: That you need a souvenir marriage license, that you need one on your person at all times, and that you need two of them. I freaked out when we almost went to the courthouse both wearing shirts proclaiming the University of Airplanes. I certainly don't need matching squares of cardboard pukosity. What do people do with these? Laminate them? Whip them out in bars as a seduction tool? As identification in some sort of emergency? ("This guy's having a heart attack! Is anyone here a doctor?" "Don't worry, I can help. I'm a married person. See? Gold lettering.")

SUPer Almost-Married Persons!

fifteen points if you can name the movie from the post title quote at:

Wednesday, July 04, 2007

Florida Flashback

Originally published in July 2003

You can’t get more corn-pone than this: On the Fourth of July, I’ll be walking down a Main Street parade route at the Magic Kingdom, hoisting a gigantic American flag with some 200 other people who have attained the stringent requirement of owning a pair of white sneakers and checking in anywhere over 5”3.

“Wear sunblock,” a co-worker warned me. “That flag isn’t going to protect you much.”

Oh! I thought. Irony! The sheer symbolism! Beneath her words, was she telling me that my political ideals, strong as they were, could never shield me from strife and pain…. or did she mean that patriotism was blinding me from the problems of my country…. or was she implying that we as a nation were hiding behind America’s greatest accomplishments, resting on our laurels when we should be striving forward?

Or perhaps she was merely saying: You are the whitest woman I have ever met; perhaps the palest person in the universe, and without SPF 75 you are going to fry.

Most people with a conscience or the merest glimmer of spirituality have gained a new appreciation for normal life since 9/11. We drive to work in a traffic jam and think, “Isn’t it wonderful that I have a job.” We inhale, feel the strong breath and not the shaking gasps of fear. We automatically slip off our shoes in the airport security line, delayed but not disgruntled. We hurry to pull out of the way for a wailing fire truck, less annoyed, more grateful.

Go ahead and hoist a corn on the cob on me today. Make the cold beer your own and leave the fretting for another day. Inhale. Rest; for sometimes a gigantic American flag is merely a gigantic American flag.

Monday, July 02, 2007

Happy Bastille Day, Pending

on a calm day at:

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