The Big Blue Mess

I’m on vacation. Yes, a real bona fide vacation. A long over-due break from everything - this is where I sit in my robe, look around the house and occasionally attack something with Clorox for eyeing me funny (and flaunting its dirt). My last vacation was in May 2007 and the one before that was September 2006, so I feel completely ok with myself when I plop down on the bed and watch every “Dead Like Me” episode we have in the house while Sam snacks on some article of clothing we’ve forgotten on the floor. (Sam usually does this on the sly and we go through the routine of acting surprised – we can’t get mad at Sam for being Sam, but I could kick myself because I liked those jeans – eh, back to the robe.)

Maybe it’s an only child thing or a disposition thing, but if I go on vacation from work, I end up working overtime on me – sometimes known as engaging in self-deprecating behavior where I over-analyze every flaw I possess. Why inventory the good when it’s easier to make a laundry list of the bad? I don’t find the chinks in the armor, I find the big gaping holes that make me appear naked. As a master of this particular game, I also know when to cry “uncle” and back down. If I can be the biggest me bully on the block, then I have to be the biggest defensive older sister; it’s a balance.

That brings me to the Big Blue Mess. I don’t like it at the moment. My writing needs work and posting once a week for two years hasn’t really improved its quality. It hasn’t even made me a “writer”; I’m just some random person who slaps words together on a blog that would make my college writing professor cringe. Most real writers have up and down days and personally I can smell a bad post even before I hit “publish”. I can even tell you what made it bad – where it wandered – where I lost the point as I rushed to wrap everything up before you got overly bored. (Hey, I’ve seen the numbers for the average time spent of my site. I have an idea of your threshold.)

What that means is that I’m going to try to find a way to get some feedback from writers. I’m not quite sure how I’m going to do that, but it became my goal after I had a small meltdown last night. It also means that I’m going in search of some writing classes (God forbid they make me write a story; I’m just not that kind of a creative writer (well, that goes without saying)).

I will continue to blog (I hate that word, for the record) and the stories will still continue to be up and down in terms of quality – what you’ve come to expect here. I do want to say that I appreciate all of your support – my friends and family who come and read more out of a love for me (and because it’s a slow work day) than for the content. Thank you guys for the times you’ve said to me “Beth, when you said … in your blog, that was really funny.” Those comments made my day.

Back to the ol' drawing board.

Not a Suzuki

Not a Suzuki
Originally uploaded by Beth Doughty

This weekend Jay got his new car, which is NOT a Suzuki. This is the Honda Fit straight off the showroom floor (apparently, they sell fast). It was one of three the dealership had. We got to watch them move cars around to get this out of their building - fun! We were actually at another dealership earlier where they had none, but offered to let us crawl through someone's who had brought their's in for service. No, thank you.

We highly recommend Round Rock Classic Honda - ask for Matt Alpers - very helpful, knowledgeable, easy to work with. One of those guys that when Jay said he didn't want pinstripes (the ones on the car), they scraped those little guys off - no haggling - no "do you want an antennae ball with that?".

Empathy

I have a condition – well, actually several and though I feel a little shy about presenting them in such a public forum, my hope is that some good will come of it. My conditions or issues or problems or whatever euphemism you want to apply to make yourself feel more comfortable usually manifest after I’ve read one too many news articles or journals or spoken with one too many people who have an ailment. I set down the paper, walk into the living room and demand from Jay, “Do you think I’m autistic?” “What?!” “Autistic! You know… am I autistic?” “Why do you think that?” “Well, it says here something about being adverse to strangers touching them and I don’t like stranger touching me. Do you think I’m autistic?” … and then Jay stares at me, because he knows deep-down that I misdiagnosed and I’m actually “retarded”.

I don’t think I’m alone in this either. In our endeavor to empathize – to put ourselves in someone else’s shoes – we come out wearing their entire skins – ailments and all. Combine that with the current trend where nothing is our fault (it’s our parents, our neighbors, our genes, our exposure to violence on TV) and you’ve got an excuse for being both an empathetic listener and schizophrenic all at once. Plus, it makes you a better conversationalist at parties.

Who hasn’t walked into a crowded room and heard “Well, I met the host after a raging case of athlete’s foot? I lost ELEVEN toe nails! It was awful! Mmmm hmmm!” Then your job, as the empathetic soul you are, is to come up with an equal or better story so the other person doesn’t feel so alone in their plight, “Oh, that’s terrible! I once had athlete’s elbow and it ATE MY DOG!” I was recently ostracized at a party from a conversation because I didn’t have the right pathological creds and though I tried, I couldn’t think of a single person who had anything related to the current debilitating ailment of conversation. I was relegated to sitting quietly and offering up lamely, “ummm, I’m mildly autistic? Self-diagnosed. Oh hey, appetizers!” Then I went to rock in place because that’s what they say someone in my condition is supposed to do on the bad TV dramas.

A friend once said she had a co-worker who spent a lot of time reading through the Merck Manual and eventually correctly identified a rare disease she had after several misses and getting a line in her general practitioner’s file that read something like “Approach with extreme caution. Have tazers at the ready.” I think what I was supposed to take away from that was “the girl is nuts” – instead I got, “with a little perseverance and careful reading you too don’t have to go to medical school to identify what ails you.” YAY!

So, today I make this pledge to my friends and family. To be a better friend, dinner guest and partygoer, I will do my best to identify as many psychological and physiological disorders (some of them brought on by my family tree, my neighbor’s dog and not having an iPhone to call my own) as I think apply and because I love you guys, I’ll even throw in some extras for debate.

The Return of "Quality" Suzuki (part 2)

I'm trying to pretend that I'm surprised, but I don't think I can really sell it to anyone but the most gullible. Suffice it to say that the car that was being shipped from Alabama, the one that was supposed to be here YESTERDAY, mysteriously didn't make it (no real reason was given). BUT hope was not completely lost, Jay was told they could order one directly from Suzuki. I'm sure it was from the CEO himself (or that may have come when the one from Suzuki fell through). I give the salesman points, he called this time. I'm not sure what came over him; he must have lost his mind.

On Saturday, we'll be hitting another dealership for more fun car sales shenannigans. We do lead the life.

"Quality" Suzuki

The Friday before Christmas, Jay was coming home from work when a kid hauling kegs off to celebrate his 21st birthday failed to check oncoming traffic and pulled out in front of Jay in a friend’s brand new truck. Jay t-boned the side of the truck and needless to say Jay’s car was totaled. I won’t rant about how I’ve found Plugerville drivers to be the worst in the United States nor carry on about how I’ve felt safer driving in both Manhattan and Boston than I do the two mile stretch of road that takes me off the highway and sends me home. Suffice it to say, these people can’t drive and it was just a matter of time before one of us got into a serious accident.

This means we’ve had to enjoy the fine company of various car salesmen. And I’m sure deep-down (really deep) they’re nice people, but let’s face it they’re up there with ambulance chasing lawyers and auditors. If they’re in your family, you talk about their occupations in whispers, “y’know, Betty’s boy Albert is a… well, I don’t want to say it, but he’s a car sales man” and someone will offer up a comforting pat to help quell the shame, “I’ll pray for him.”

We all hate car salesmen because we all know as we approach the dealership that we’re moments away from being swindled. And we have to make decisions like “is that protective sealant, the one that’s guaranteed to last 5 days after the warranty, self-polish the chrome on the tires and ward off the evil eye, and that’s ultimately going to be an extra $500 worth it? I mean it sounds like I’d be a complete idiot to turn it down. It IS the number one selling addition to the car, along with wheels, seats and windows – and the price on those didn’t seem to be too bad either.”

Jay settled on a car from Quality Suzuki of Austin – the only Suzuki dealership in town. WARNING: The rest of this post is a warning to those in the Austin area to avoid this dealership. In fact, I’ll add we’ve had positive experiences at both South Point Nissan and First Texas Honda – I mean, they’re still dealerships filled with sleazy sales people, but at least I didn’t walk away from those wanting to spit on someone.

The story: First off, we drive up and there are all the salesmen sitting on the stoop hungrily looking at any car that seems like it’s going to stop. The last time I saw quality stoop sitting was in New York and I’d say these sales guys could give any native stoop haver a run for his money on the stoop front. We get out and are greeted by fastest of the pack. He explains he’s new to Suzuki as Jay is having to point out the car he wants – the name alone wasn’t enough to help the guy spot it on the lot. Jay crawls around in the car and asks a question about the rear folding seats – see, they can rotate forward and be pressed against the front seats to increase the carrying capacity in the back. Asher says he’s never heard of that, disappears and comes back “nope, they don’t do that”, then he hands us a brochure which illustrates exactly how they do that.(Image of rear folding seat NOT being folded up against the back of the front passenger seat)
We’re introduced to the sales manager whose hair is so tightly slicked back it’s making his eyes water. He tells us where the car is made, which differs completely from what Suzuki says, but I give him points for saying it with authority. We’re not impressed, but Jay really wants this car and eventually calls the sales guy up.

Of course, they don’t have exactly what Jay wants, but they’ll order it from San Antonio and it will be ready by Saturday. Saturday we get there… “hey guys, oh I got so busy I forgot to call – yeah, they like sold your car.” We drove 40 minutes and this guy says they sold the car but couldn’t be bothered to call. “Are you sure you really need THAT package? Are you sure you really have to have THAT transmission?” Yes. Yes. “Ok, like there are none in the whole wide world. Ok, like maybe there’s one and we’ll like have to fly this guy from here to go pick it up and he’ll like have to drive it back to ummm here and you’re going to pay for first class. Is that ok?” Well, maybe he didn’t say the first class part, I really couldn’t tell you because I was completely fixated on hitting him. They “work up the numbers” which we all know is complete and total bs, they’re looking at porn figuring out how to screw us over, but ultimately it fits into what Jay was planning to pay. Mind you, this guy is totally unapologetic – and why should he apologize, he’s being rewarded with a sale by virtue of being the only dealership in town (the other one that is close-by is apparently not open yet).

We’re then ushered into the finance guy’s office. (A quick note on the “offices” – hands down the worst interior of all the showrooms I’ve seen and one of their chairs actually fell apart on the main floor – they’re some of those cheesy office chairs from the mid 80’s on chrome casters with stained upholstery – and that describes ALL of the chairs there – they should be ashamed – I’ve seen Food Stamp offices that had more class and that, my friends, is not an exaggeration.) The finance guy was overly chipper and out to work Jay some more. At one point, he actually called Jay a liar when it came to how Jay’s bank was willing to finance the new car. Unbelievable. And he talked incessantly, “why aren’t you guys excited? It’s a BRAND NEW CAR! C’MON, everyone loves a BRAND NEW CAR!!!” “We’d be excited if you all hadn’t sold the car we were supposed to be picking up today.” “YEAH! But you’re getting ANOTHER one! That’s exciting, right? AMIRIGHT?!! Then he tried to match Jay’s bank’s deal, “Jay, look what your payments would be if we stretched it out over 30 years!” “HUH! Isn’t that GREAT! One time I bought a car and said I’d pay it off in FOUR and BOY I tell you WHAT that was sure a stretch on the old wallet. I wish I had said PAY IT OFF IN THIRTY! AMIRIGHT?!” (Err… 30 may actually be 6, but you get the idea.)

We left with another promise that come sometime this week ANOTHER car that we ordered will be ready for Jay to take home. I have serious doubts.

So, I say to you – if you’re set on a Suzuki, get a motorcycle or at least don’t go to Quality Suzuki of Austin. They don’t know their product, if you order your vehicle it won’t be a guarantee that you’ll get it (even with a deposit, which is what Jay had done) and it’s such an aesthetic nightmare you’ll only end up dry heaving in their showroom because your stomach can’t come to terms with how crappy it looks.

Writer's Strike Pluses

Not everything about the writer’s strike is bad. Sure, some shows will be cut short, sure we’ll miss the old punch of late night talk shows, and then there’s award show season – the great thing about that is come this Sunday I won’t feel compelled to watch the Golden Globes and will not have to yell loudly at the TV as Dexter is overlooked yet again. Instead, I’ll just pick-up the online paper on Monday and make a few disapproving grunting sounds. Plus, no one will miss that obnoxious guy from People magazine carrying on about how the stars are dressed when usually he is the most exciting eyesore “don’t” on the red carpet. Come Oscar time, I might be a small bit crankier. I mean, Jon Stewart was supposed to host and since I bow at the altar that is Jon Stewart and will boldly state that he was one of the best hosts (yes, yes, the reviews from last time said otherwise), I was really looking forward to more people not getting it again.

But I’m not here to write about how the writer’s should get their fair share of internet profits. (Psst, AMPTP members – stop bragging about residuals from new media – it makes those writer guys go berserk.) I’m here to talk about some good that’s come from the strike. And that good comes in the form of:

American Gladiator

Now who isn’t delighted to see the return of this show? With gladiators named: Mayhem, Wolf, Chesty (I’m sure that’s her name) and my personal favorite, an Amazon with blonde braided pigtails named Helga, you just can’t go wrong – I think she may have yodeled - well, you could if you didn’t have events like the Gauntlet or that one where a beefy guy (or gal) gets to shoot tennis balls at you at high velocities, but all of the challenges are back. This is the adrenaline pumping action we’ve all been waiting for since learning that Vince McMahon wasn’t really blown up in his car by a disgruntled wrestler. I fell for it. I mean really, who didn’t?

Not to mention all of the other “fine” reality shows that will spring up. I’m pulling for one called “Sweatshop” where it follows several teams of small, underaged children as they make their way from their subway bunks to compete in a sewing competition in dimly lit and crowded conditions. Each kid will receive $0.001 per pound of clothes that can be used to purchase food (candy) for the month long competition. There will be fun competitions thrown in the mix like “Factory Fire”. Which team will get out in time before being consumed? You decide! All of their substantial earnings (that weren’t spent on candy) will then be placed in a trust fund the kids can use towards college. Nothing says Ivy League like $1.50 (hey, that represents a lot of clothes) Does anyone know who I can approach to make this pitch?

On second thought, could someone please pay the writers? I didn’t get the butt I have by not watching TV and personally seeing “Johnny Fairplay” return for another season of Survivor might make me take up jogging just to avoid the show.

DISCLAIMER: I realize a lot of people are targeting American Gladiator to highlight the issues with the Writer's Strike. It's just such an easy target, it's hard to leave alone. Plus, I really did watch it and cheered like mad for "the spider monkey" kid. Hey, I was brought up in Dallas where we take wrestling seriously and since I'm not a sports fan, this is the only kind of sporting event I can get behind. If they bring back "Battle of the Network Stars" featuring a pack of B list actors, I'll watch that, too... well, maybe just one episode just so I can write about it and how much we need writers.

The Viola Lesson

Yesterday was my first official viola lesson. I was told to practice. I did - a couple of times, but whose counting? And at first the cats came in to stare at me blankly, then Sam walked into the hallway and delivered her criticism in the form of throwing-up all over the floor (am I really so bad that I make grown animals queasy?) My excuse then became, how can I practice when poor Sam has already been through so much? I’m doing her a favor. Oh, and those strings hurt my fingers. I think my ring and pinky fingers have atrophied. I don’t like sitting up straight. My rosin has died. Do I tune the A at 440? This is too hard. Oh hey, computer!

So, with viola slung on my back I entered the string shop and proudly proclaimed that I had nothing prepared to showcase my decaying talents. Patient Jason asked, “can you play a scale in C Major?” “Oh, I dunno.” Ok, I can. It makes beagles barf, but I can do it – still, I wasn’t owning up to my “skills” (note to readers: please be sure to make liberal use the air quotes as you read that word). “Well, can you hum a C Major scale?” I blinked. I don’t “hum”. Patient Jason then thought if he hummed I might join-in and we’d have a lovely little humming duet. I continued to blink as he hummed the scale and then he’d restart giving me the “join in” encouraging nod. I still blinked. “Do you sing in the shower?” “Yes! I love to sing… in the shower.” (I also love to loudly sing “Take Me Home, Country Roads” in the car and do vocal exercises I learned from my choir friends. I can even do a small bit of yodeling that I learned from my father that is really obnoxious in confined spaces. I decided not to share this information. Post my shower singing admission, I just blinked. See, I don’t sing for anyone and in the hierarchy of people I don’t sing for, Patient Jason is on the lowest rung.) The ugly reality cloud set-in and Patient Jason thankfully gave up on this fun little humming exercise. (He does an amazing C Major, for those who are interested. It was only one octave, but I’m sure he had another in him if pressed.)

Basically, the lesson went as lessons do with a heavy emphasis on posture and technique as we tried to work out an issue between my shoulder and shoulder rest. You’ll all be glad to know, I stand with my viola quite well and was praised. I was reminded not to suck in my stomach (I think we’re beyond the point where I can suck that in), not to overly flex my tush muscles (someone plays like that?) and rock back on my heels (dangerous).

My favorite Patient Jason moment, as we discussed atrophied finger muscles, was when he quoted the Polish pianist Ignacy Paderewski, "If I miss one day of practice, I notice it. If I miss two days, the critics notice it. If I miss three days, the audience notices it." I gave a thoughtful, “hmm” (my own staccato version of a hum and the closest I came to humming that night – it wasn’t in C Major). “Of course, the guy was insane.” “Oh, that’s just great Jason, you’re quoting insane composers at me and I’m supposed to learn from that.” “Yep!”

Our lesson then wrapped up with a discussion of movies (April – a guy after your heart) while he helped me get new strings and rosin that isn’t quite as dead as the caked mess that hunkers in my case.

“Beth, you’ll find I’m sarcastic.”
“Great! Me too and if I make you cry, it’s not my fault.”

Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

How is Sam?

Sam's Invisible Convertible Ride
Originally uploaded by Beth Doughty

As you've all probably guessed, I'm running low on blog ideas and the ones I've typed out just seem kind of "bleh" at the moment. So, since I get asked about Sam a lot, I'll give you the Sam update.

Sam is doing MUCH better. She's regained complete control of her mouth and ears and her little face no longer droops. In fact, I'm pretty sure she's over-compensating, because she now seems to smirk at us more (could be something we did). Sam's eye, however, is a different story. Sam can close it (if we're coming at her with artificial tears) but she cannot blink it. The closing is still a major improvement. Sam may never be able to blink again, but then again we were told her face might never return to normal, so we're both thankful that she's regained the control she has and hopeful that one day we'll see more than just that third eyelid flash across her eye.

For the most part, Sam's life is pretty good. Her major obstacle are our two grumpy cats who try to cause her to implode by glaring at her. The cats are fairly sure they just haven't got the right angle. When they're not glaring, they'll charge at her and much yelping ensues. Sam hasn't quite put it together that she has about 20 lbs. on the cats and that her barking makes them nervous. Instead, she's figured out that if she stands behind me and points at them, I'll protect her. This makes for some fun times since Sam will not cross their path and they'll occasionally block her from coming in the house, going into a room or down the hall. She'll start whimpering, which is a signal for one of us to stand between her and whatever hellbeast doesn't want her in their space (aka the house).

So there you have it - Sam's update.