I just saw a television commercial for those Special K protein water mix-in powders. A woman is leaving her office for the evening, walks into the break/lunchroom, and sitting on the top of the trash is one untouched slice of birthday cake. On top of the trash. Not on the lid, but on a pile of used food-crusted paper plates, utensils, etc.
I'm sorry, maybe the germ-o-phobe in me is flaring up, but if it's in the trash, then isn't that piece of cake... TRASH?
And does it make anyone else think of this?
PS - I think I might still buy the protein water mix-in packets.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
confessions
I've been inspired by this post over at Love is Blonde. Read them at your own risk...
I am terrible about returning phone calls. Seriously terrible.
I will often delete a voice mail before I finish listening to it.
I get totally creeped out at the "technical difficulties" voice guy on TV. This morning, I was trying to watch Regis and Kelly, and there was no sound, and THAT VOICE came on and said, "The station is experiencing technical difficulties, please do not adjust your set," and my whole body broke out in goosebumps.
Yesterday, I did not vote.
I had a goldfish jump out of its bowl once, and I found it one morning, still and lifeless on the carpet. I saw it, turned around and took a shower, and made my roommate pick it up and put it in the water 20 minutes after I'd first discovered it. I pretended I hadn't seen it before.
It was still alive.
One of my best friends from college had adorable twin girls over a month ago (joining their equally adorable bigger sister, Sarah, aka The Boo), and I still haven't been to see her. Love you Rach! I'm coming by...
I want to win the lottery, just enough so that I can be a SAHM for my kids. (This, of course, would require me to actually purchase a ticket.)
I detest the color orange.
I haven't done any serious exercise since November.
At my last doctor's appt, in the column that asks how often I exercise, I marked "3-4 times per week".
I am terrible about returning phone calls. Seriously terrible.
I will often delete a voice mail before I finish listening to it.
I get totally creeped out at the "technical difficulties" voice guy on TV. This morning, I was trying to watch Regis and Kelly, and there was no sound, and THAT VOICE came on and said, "The station is experiencing technical difficulties, please do not adjust your set," and my whole body broke out in goosebumps.
Yesterday, I did not vote.
I had a goldfish jump out of its bowl once, and I found it one morning, still and lifeless on the carpet. I saw it, turned around and took a shower, and made my roommate pick it up and put it in the water 20 minutes after I'd first discovered it. I pretended I hadn't seen it before.
It was still alive.
One of my best friends from college had adorable twin girls over a month ago (joining their equally adorable bigger sister, Sarah, aka The Boo), and I still haven't been to see her. Love you Rach! I'm coming by...
I want to win the lottery, just enough so that I can be a SAHM for my kids. (This, of course, would require me to actually purchase a ticket.)
I detest the color orange.
I haven't done any serious exercise since November.
At my last doctor's appt, in the column that asks how often I exercise, I marked "3-4 times per week".
Friday, January 25, 2008
apolitical
I've never been really big into politics. This statement will likely horrify my brother, the politics major and die-hard Republican. But it's true. And he probably already knows it anyway. He still thinks I'm awesome.
There are several reasons why, when confronted with all the primary coverage on the nightly news, my eyes glaze over and I turn the channel to Friends reruns instead. One is that on a most fundamental level, I do not trust any politician. I mean, I'm sure they're nice people and would probably make interesting dinner guests, if the possibility presented itself, but it all seems like a huge popularity contest anyway, and then all those promises? Watered down and lost in the bureaucracy of Washington. I'm not saying I want a dictatorship with one voice only - noooooo - but even the candidate with the best ideals inevitably has to contend with the five bajillion committees and subcommittees to get anything to happen. So, not much happens. Except war and taxes, both of which I don't like.
Second, I hate confrontation. I hate argument. This is why I never even considered law as a career. So, televised debates where candidates rip each other up and argue endlessly? Horrid. Why do they have to resort to tearing each other down? It makes me dislike and distrust them even more.
Third, even when I do know where each candidate stands, I never know how to vote, anyway. My family has been mainly Republican. I voted Republican for many years because I respect my family and their opinions, and I figured they were on to something pretty good. But to be honest, I didn't know what being Republican meant. I thought it was a family thing. So I looked it up. And it turns out that with many issues, I am quite the elephant - views on abortion, war, education - but on others, I'm very, er, donkey - human rights, the environment, healthcare. So, I take this poll the other day - can't remember where I found it, but you can probably Google it - where you bubble in where you stand on different topics (abortion, war funding, affirmative action, etc) and it finds the candidate most similar to your views. I thought, great, this will simplify it. I do the quiz as best as I can, fill in all the little bubbles, and it spits out my results:
Coming in at first place with only a 35% match: John McCain.
Okay, well, he's Republican... so I guess I was good sticking with the Republican party, right? Who's number two?
TYING for first place with a 35% match: Barack Obama.
Um. Okay, but he's a Democrat. Well, I'm open-minded to anything. Who's third?
Coming in a very close third at (no joke) 34%: Hillary Clinton.
Hmmmmmm... and my fourth?
Coming in fourth at (still not joking) 33%: Mike Huckabee.
I give up.
I think that each one of the candidates will have to take me out to dinner and convince me personally. Otherwise, I'm moving to Canada.
PS - I did find these really rockin' Valentine's Day cards. I'm not saying to vote or not to vote for this guy, but these cards are still pretty cool.
There are several reasons why, when confronted with all the primary coverage on the nightly news, my eyes glaze over and I turn the channel to Friends reruns instead. One is that on a most fundamental level, I do not trust any politician. I mean, I'm sure they're nice people and would probably make interesting dinner guests, if the possibility presented itself, but it all seems like a huge popularity contest anyway, and then all those promises? Watered down and lost in the bureaucracy of Washington. I'm not saying I want a dictatorship with one voice only - noooooo - but even the candidate with the best ideals inevitably has to contend with the five bajillion committees and subcommittees to get anything to happen. So, not much happens. Except war and taxes, both of which I don't like.
Second, I hate confrontation. I hate argument. This is why I never even considered law as a career. So, televised debates where candidates rip each other up and argue endlessly? Horrid. Why do they have to resort to tearing each other down? It makes me dislike and distrust them even more.
Third, even when I do know where each candidate stands, I never know how to vote, anyway. My family has been mainly Republican. I voted Republican for many years because I respect my family and their opinions, and I figured they were on to something pretty good. But to be honest, I didn't know what being Republican meant. I thought it was a family thing. So I looked it up. And it turns out that with many issues, I am quite the elephant - views on abortion, war, education - but on others, I'm very, er, donkey - human rights, the environment, healthcare. So, I take this poll the other day - can't remember where I found it, but you can probably Google it - where you bubble in where you stand on different topics (abortion, war funding, affirmative action, etc) and it finds the candidate most similar to your views. I thought, great, this will simplify it. I do the quiz as best as I can, fill in all the little bubbles, and it spits out my results:
Coming in at first place with only a 35% match: John McCain.
Okay, well, he's Republican... so I guess I was good sticking with the Republican party, right? Who's number two?
TYING for first place with a 35% match: Barack Obama.
Um. Okay, but he's a Democrat. Well, I'm open-minded to anything. Who's third?
Coming in a very close third at (no joke) 34%: Hillary Clinton.
Hmmmmmm... and my fourth?
Coming in fourth at (still not joking) 33%: Mike Huckabee.
I give up.
I think that each one of the candidates will have to take me out to dinner and convince me personally. Otherwise, I'm moving to Canada.
PS - I did find these really rockin' Valentine's Day cards. I'm not saying to vote or not to vote for this guy, but these cards are still pretty cool.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Sunday, January 20, 2008
no country for old meat
I've had some stomach issues lately. I promise to spare you all the details of the how and the why, because you really don't want to hear that, I know. But, needless to say, my list of eatable foods has decreased dramatically, limited mostly to apple-based products (sauce, juice, whole fruit), saltines, bread, and turkey. Everything else is a gamble.
Saturday night at work, I get hungry. It was time for my meal break, and I was feeling adventurous, partly because I was sick of eating applesauce and turkey sandwiches, and also partly because the hospital cafeteria was out of both turkey and apples. I happen to also like roast beef a lot, and I figured it couldn't be that much worse than turkey...and it's all the cafeteria had. So I got it. Made me a roast beef sandwich with a little lettuce, and I even threw on some cheese, because I like to live on the edge like that.
It tasted good enough, really it did. Only about three or four small bites into the sandwich, I notice it has The Sheen. (No relation to Charlie or Martin.) You know, that curious mother-of-pearl sheen deli meat gets. I don't think you're supposed to eat anything that looks like your favorite brooch, you know?
I stopped eating The Sheen. But I still paid well for those three or four bites.
Watch out for The Sheen. (No, not Charlie or Martin.)
Saturday night at work, I get hungry. It was time for my meal break, and I was feeling adventurous, partly because I was sick of eating applesauce and turkey sandwiches, and also partly because the hospital cafeteria was out of both turkey and apples. I happen to also like roast beef a lot, and I figured it couldn't be that much worse than turkey...and it's all the cafeteria had. So I got it. Made me a roast beef sandwich with a little lettuce, and I even threw on some cheese, because I like to live on the edge like that.
It tasted good enough, really it did. Only about three or four small bites into the sandwich, I notice it has The Sheen. (No relation to Charlie or Martin.) You know, that curious mother-of-pearl sheen deli meat gets. I don't think you're supposed to eat anything that looks like your favorite brooch, you know?
I stopped eating The Sheen. But I still paid well for those three or four bites.
Watch out for The Sheen. (No, not Charlie or Martin.)
Friday, January 18, 2008
things I don't understand, supermarket edition
Why my favorite ice cream flavor ever (vanilla ice cream/orange sherbet swirl) appears magically one week, then disappears the next. No love from Edy's.
The ever-popular baggy pants-half-off-the-ass look. I think I understand where it came from - tough ex-cons, lost weight in jail, now the clothes are baggy - but seriously, people: walking around with your pants hanging off your butt in decidedly un-ghetto suburban Winter Park? Yeah. HAWWWWTTTT. Totally makes me want to jump into bed with you if you're already half undressed.
Why is Prego never on sale? Why? Why?
Going into the ten-items-or-less line with more than ten items. Then, right under the sign that says, "No checks, please", writing out a check (slowly) and then balancing the checkbook, all the while flirting with the checkout girl who is exactly 1/3 your age.
Parking your grocery cart squarely in the middle of the very narrow aisle.
If you can't maneuver your shopping cart while talking on your cell phone, you sure as hell can't navigate your massive SUV out of the tiny parking lot while talking on the cell phone. Why try?
The ever-popular baggy pants-half-off-the-ass look. I think I understand where it came from - tough ex-cons, lost weight in jail, now the clothes are baggy - but seriously, people: walking around with your pants hanging off your butt in decidedly un-ghetto suburban Winter Park? Yeah. HAWWWWTTTT. Totally makes me want to jump into bed with you if you're already half undressed.
Why is Prego never on sale? Why? Why?
Going into the ten-items-or-less line with more than ten items. Then, right under the sign that says, "No checks, please", writing out a check (slowly) and then balancing the checkbook, all the while flirting with the checkout girl who is exactly 1/3 your age.
Parking your grocery cart squarely in the middle of the very narrow aisle.
If you can't maneuver your shopping cart while talking on your cell phone, you sure as hell can't navigate your massive SUV out of the tiny parking lot while talking on the cell phone. Why try?
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
the pursuit of clean
It's amazing how fast my kitchen - my whole apartment, really - can go from sparkling clean to craptastic. I swear that I just scoured the place only a day or two ago, and now, I would bet there are several new colonies of life springing forth from my kitchen sink right now.
I had really grand ambitions for today before I had to go to work, mostly involving the cleaning of my home. Instead, I woke up absurdly late, parked my butt on the couch, ate veggie corn dogs (soooo good!) and watched reruns. Cleaning? Didn't enter the picture.
Jason and I want to be parents. I'm hoping that whenever motherhood appears, so will surface the obsessive-compulsive streak I know lurks deep inside me, and I will become the Antibacterial Wipe Queen, replete with sparkling countertops and squeaky-clean floors and Febreezed everything.
Stop laughing.
I had really grand ambitions for today before I had to go to work, mostly involving the cleaning of my home. Instead, I woke up absurdly late, parked my butt on the couch, ate veggie corn dogs (soooo good!) and watched reruns. Cleaning? Didn't enter the picture.
Jason and I want to be parents. I'm hoping that whenever motherhood appears, so will surface the obsessive-compulsive streak I know lurks deep inside me, and I will become the Antibacterial Wipe Queen, replete with sparkling countertops and squeaky-clean floors and Febreezed everything.
Stop laughing.
Monday, January 14, 2008
guilty as charged
My husband tells me, "You haven't blogged in, like, forever."
Ohhhhh.
Where do I start?
Well, I can tell you that I am an RN on my own. I started back on the night shift Thursday night, and though the following three shifts were supposed to be my last with my preceptor, I got a call Friday afternoon from the charge nurse:
"We had two RNs call out sick tonight. You think you can handle a full patient load on your own?"
me: "Well, I..."
"Fantastic! I'll give you your own assignment. Thanks SO much! See you tonight!"
(click)
Hmmmm. Well, it turned out just fine. Interesting, but fine.
One of my patients was an elderly lady from Jamaica, a feisty thing who spat out incomprehensible phrases in patois any time I had to come into the room. I guess I can't disagree with her: the poor lady was on neuro checks every hour, which meant that every hour, I was in her room, asking her what the date was, did she know where she was, etc. This might have been annoying, at best, during the day... but in the middle of the night, the last thing you want to do is be woken out of sleep and repeat for the umpteenth time, "yes, it's 2008" to anyone. At around 3am, I asked her if she knew where she was, and she just glared at me, hissed, and muttered something in a language unknown. I think a pretty safe translation would have been "Get. Bent."
Another patient was a young lady who had a pretty serious spinal injury and a very protective mother. My patient was in and out of sleep, and the mother only spoke Spanish. I ask my patient if she is having any pain, and no sooner does she start to mumble "mmpfff" than her mother starts rattling away in Spanish, wildly gesturing and making pathetic faces at me. I don't know what to make of it, so I find myself just sort of nodding at her and saying "okay, okay" without a single clue. Later, one of my coworkers (a Spanish-speaker) tells me that mom is not happy with me: apparently I am refusing to speak in Spanish to her. I think she was under the impression that my dark hair and the poor lighting in the room qualified me as Hispanic. How do you say, "white as a Florida cracker" in Spanish?
Overall, it was still a successful if not entertaining three nights. Normally, I can sleep just about any time of day, but for whatever reason - nerves, anticipation, or whatever - I hardly slept in the days in between my shifts. Sunday morning, I get off my last shift, change clothes, put on makeup like spackle to hide the dark circles under my eyes, and go to church. (Side note: for those of you who were there, getting to play Aerosmith at the end of the service made my whole weekend!) I made it through two services, even sang a solo without falling asleep, and then drove home at 1pm and collapsed. I woke up just long enough to eat a South Beach microwave pizza around 8pm, then fell back asleep and woke up at 10am this morning. I think I was tired.
I'm enjoying my day off, and I finally got the motivation to blog instead of lurking on everyone else's. I won't stay away so long this time...
Ohhhhh.
Where do I start?
Well, I can tell you that I am an RN on my own. I started back on the night shift Thursday night, and though the following three shifts were supposed to be my last with my preceptor, I got a call Friday afternoon from the charge nurse:
"We had two RNs call out sick tonight. You think you can handle a full patient load on your own?"
me: "Well, I..."
"Fantastic! I'll give you your own assignment. Thanks SO much! See you tonight!"
(click)
Hmmmm. Well, it turned out just fine. Interesting, but fine.
One of my patients was an elderly lady from Jamaica, a feisty thing who spat out incomprehensible phrases in patois any time I had to come into the room. I guess I can't disagree with her: the poor lady was on neuro checks every hour, which meant that every hour, I was in her room, asking her what the date was, did she know where she was, etc. This might have been annoying, at best, during the day... but in the middle of the night, the last thing you want to do is be woken out of sleep and repeat for the umpteenth time, "yes, it's 2008" to anyone. At around 3am, I asked her if she knew where she was, and she just glared at me, hissed, and muttered something in a language unknown. I think a pretty safe translation would have been "Get. Bent."
Another patient was a young lady who had a pretty serious spinal injury and a very protective mother. My patient was in and out of sleep, and the mother only spoke Spanish. I ask my patient if she is having any pain, and no sooner does she start to mumble "mmpfff" than her mother starts rattling away in Spanish, wildly gesturing and making pathetic faces at me. I don't know what to make of it, so I find myself just sort of nodding at her and saying "okay, okay" without a single clue. Later, one of my coworkers (a Spanish-speaker) tells me that mom is not happy with me: apparently I am refusing to speak in Spanish to her. I think she was under the impression that my dark hair and the poor lighting in the room qualified me as Hispanic. How do you say, "white as a Florida cracker" in Spanish?
Overall, it was still a successful if not entertaining three nights. Normally, I can sleep just about any time of day, but for whatever reason - nerves, anticipation, or whatever - I hardly slept in the days in between my shifts. Sunday morning, I get off my last shift, change clothes, put on makeup like spackle to hide the dark circles under my eyes, and go to church. (Side note: for those of you who were there, getting to play Aerosmith at the end of the service made my whole weekend!) I made it through two services, even sang a solo without falling asleep, and then drove home at 1pm and collapsed. I woke up just long enough to eat a South Beach microwave pizza around 8pm, then fell back asleep and woke up at 10am this morning. I think I was tired.
I'm enjoying my day off, and I finally got the motivation to blog instead of lurking on everyone else's. I won't stay away so long this time...
Sunday, December 23, 2007
been soooo bad!
Yeah, I end blog posts with lines like, "more to follow!" then drop off the face of the World Wide Earth for several days. I've probably lost all three of my loyal followers... the ones not related to me ;-)
So, to sum up:
Disney is pretty damn cool when you go with kids. Yeah, I know you beleaguered parents out there are snorting a laugh, saying, "well, she CLEARLY doesn't not have kids." Yes, Parents of Difficult Ones, I see you. I hear you. I am perpetually stuck behind your slow-moving double-wide strollers at every theme park. I know the woe, really I do. I especially see you out-of-town parents, the ones who scrimped and saved for the Great Family Vacation, the ones who push the strollers like deranged holiday shoppers, clenched fists and jaws, determined to HAVE FUN even if the kids are cranky, tired, and hungry. By God, we traveled all this way and spent all this money, so we will have fun and ride every ride, dammit!
Thankfully, I went with Shannon, who may have been pushing a stroller but not slowly, and totally willing to work with her two twin boys who are barely hitting a year old. And we did all the rides that only two little ones can ride on. Let me tell you, going on It's a Small World with adults - you make fun of the animatronic, world-holding-hands glee of it all, you mock the hokey cultural homogeneity, you roll your eyes at every pause and look forward to getting on to things like Space Mountain. But when you climb in that little boat and the two boys are all starry-eyed with wonder, and then they start waving their little arms crazily in some instinctual, herky-jerky toddler dance because they just love the music... your heart just flows over and you can't help but laugh in wonder, and you want to ride that ride all day just to watch them love it. That's what Disney is for.
I will say that while I couldn't stop adoring on them all day, the novelty of The-One-Who-Is-Not-Mommy wore off after about an hour. I spent most of that time holding Matthew, the slightly chubbier of the two munchkins. And you know I'm all about chubby goodness. And he was all about me, kind of, at least until fatigue and hunger set in, and then he was all like, get this crazy lady away from me, I need some Mommy Love. The chubbiness was Denied. Good thing I'm cool like that: I get it, I do. At a year old, I don't think I would want to hang out with The-One-Who-Is-Not-Mommy for very long, either, particularly if my twin brother is hogging Mommy a mere two feet away.
They lasted about four hours, which may not seem like a long time to those of you unaccustomed to the habits of little ones, but it was a heroic feat, believe me. I was proud of them. We drove home with two snoozing munchkins in their car seats. Every now and then, one of them would wake up and cry, and since Shannon was driving, I reached my hand around to hold one of theirs. They're still in the rear-facing car seat age, so they only saw a hand, not whose hand it was... and they'd hold on tight and fall right back asleep, comforted and feeling safe. They had no idea they were holding on to the hand of The-One-Who-Is-Not-Mommy. Hee hee. The-One-Who-Is-Not-Mommy felt pretty good.
And the postlude to that warm, fuzzy moment is not really dramatic or Chicken Soup-ish or even really related to the above anecdote, but maybe just a warm fuzzy all on its own to fill out the week and my tremendous blogging gap. Other than the Munchkin Travels on Wednesday, it hadn't been a great week. In fact, it sucked major butt. There are several reasons for the suckage, reasons I don't feel up to publishing at the moment, except to say that at least none of them involved yet another pregnancy loss, but it still made for a topsy-turvy week, emotionally. So I was looking forward to getting back to Disney today, where reality can sometimes be suspended indefinitely, and spending some time with good friends and family. We rode rides and enjoyed all the wholesome theme park goodness, but the highlight of the night was seeing the Candlelight Processional Show at EPCOT. It's an awesome show: the Christmas story set to some really awesome music, featuring an orchestra (composed of many old friends of mine), a huge choir, and a celebrity guest narrator. Tonight, I heard the awesome Gary Sinise (you know... Lieutenant Dan) read a passage I know and love and have heard so many times. And though parts of the show had to be toned down a bit spiritually - part of that whole cultural homogeneity thing - I was comforted and reminded that the God I know is bigger than any bad circumstance, the God who created me and knows me intimately, came first as the original Cute Munchkin. A munchkin who saved the world.
Wanna know the real meaning of Christmas?
So, to sum up:
Disney is pretty damn cool when you go with kids. Yeah, I know you beleaguered parents out there are snorting a laugh, saying, "well, she CLEARLY doesn't not have kids." Yes, Parents of Difficult Ones, I see you. I hear you. I am perpetually stuck behind your slow-moving double-wide strollers at every theme park. I know the woe, really I do. I especially see you out-of-town parents, the ones who scrimped and saved for the Great Family Vacation, the ones who push the strollers like deranged holiday shoppers, clenched fists and jaws, determined to HAVE FUN even if the kids are cranky, tired, and hungry. By God, we traveled all this way and spent all this money, so we will have fun and ride every ride, dammit!
Thankfully, I went with Shannon, who may have been pushing a stroller but not slowly, and totally willing to work with her two twin boys who are barely hitting a year old. And we did all the rides that only two little ones can ride on. Let me tell you, going on It's a Small World with adults - you make fun of the animatronic, world-holding-hands glee of it all, you mock the hokey cultural homogeneity, you roll your eyes at every pause and look forward to getting on to things like Space Mountain. But when you climb in that little boat and the two boys are all starry-eyed with wonder, and then they start waving their little arms crazily in some instinctual, herky-jerky toddler dance because they just love the music... your heart just flows over and you can't help but laugh in wonder, and you want to ride that ride all day just to watch them love it. That's what Disney is for.
I will say that while I couldn't stop adoring on them all day, the novelty of The-One-Who-Is-Not-Mommy wore off after about an hour. I spent most of that time holding Matthew, the slightly chubbier of the two munchkins. And you know I'm all about chubby goodness. And he was all about me, kind of, at least until fatigue and hunger set in, and then he was all like, get this crazy lady away from me, I need some Mommy Love. The chubbiness was Denied. Good thing I'm cool like that: I get it, I do. At a year old, I don't think I would want to hang out with The-One-Who-Is-Not-Mommy for very long, either, particularly if my twin brother is hogging Mommy a mere two feet away.
They lasted about four hours, which may not seem like a long time to those of you unaccustomed to the habits of little ones, but it was a heroic feat, believe me. I was proud of them. We drove home with two snoozing munchkins in their car seats. Every now and then, one of them would wake up and cry, and since Shannon was driving, I reached my hand around to hold one of theirs. They're still in the rear-facing car seat age, so they only saw a hand, not whose hand it was... and they'd hold on tight and fall right back asleep, comforted and feeling safe. They had no idea they were holding on to the hand of The-One-Who-Is-Not-Mommy. Hee hee. The-One-Who-Is-Not-Mommy felt pretty good.
And the postlude to that warm, fuzzy moment is not really dramatic or Chicken Soup-ish or even really related to the above anecdote, but maybe just a warm fuzzy all on its own to fill out the week and my tremendous blogging gap. Other than the Munchkin Travels on Wednesday, it hadn't been a great week. In fact, it sucked major butt. There are several reasons for the suckage, reasons I don't feel up to publishing at the moment, except to say that at least none of them involved yet another pregnancy loss, but it still made for a topsy-turvy week, emotionally. So I was looking forward to getting back to Disney today, where reality can sometimes be suspended indefinitely, and spending some time with good friends and family. We rode rides and enjoyed all the wholesome theme park goodness, but the highlight of the night was seeing the Candlelight Processional Show at EPCOT. It's an awesome show: the Christmas story set to some really awesome music, featuring an orchestra (composed of many old friends of mine), a huge choir, and a celebrity guest narrator. Tonight, I heard the awesome Gary Sinise (you know... Lieutenant Dan) read a passage I know and love and have heard so many times. And though parts of the show had to be toned down a bit spiritually - part of that whole cultural homogeneity thing - I was comforted and reminded that the God I know is bigger than any bad circumstance, the God who created me and knows me intimately, came first as the original Cute Munchkin. A munchkin who saved the world.
Wanna know the real meaning of Christmas?
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