Chances are, if you've ever been at a big group dinner (think "a friends birthday" dinner), you have been in the situation of sitting at a long table and trying to, very subtly, arrange it so you are sitting next to and across from people you like. You probably have also been in a situation where, at such an event, you got stuck at the end of the table, surrounded by people you don't know, with the birthday person, the one you are there to see, waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay down on the other end. Bummer. Super bummer. You spend the whole time small talking and chit chatting, when you were all excited to get some face-time with the honoree.
Today i am headed to VT for a new years celebration with about 10 of my favorite people all-time. Very exciting. At dinner, you can seat me anywhere at the table, and ill be equally happy. THAT, is how you know you're with family.
Happy New Year.
Any Given Table
Wednesday, December 29, 2010 | 1 Comment(s)
Friday, December 24, 2010 | 0 Comment(s)
This is probably the last 2010 post. no promises.
And i'm that guy. Cause our new dog Grover is once again a key player in this post. this is not a dog blog. That may even have to be Mmy new tagline for 2011. To Be Read and Reread Upon My Untimely Demise: this is not a dog blog.
I have found a new role for Grover. You know how canaries are used in mines to detect carbon monoxide, well Grover can be used to determine whether or not something is alive or inanimate. Enjoy.
Cars: GULP! Upon getting within a 15 feet diameter of mmf or my car, Grover will weight his body down and go into, what i call, pancake mode. His objective is to "become the ground" so as not to be moved. If Grover is scared of something, it means it must be inanimate. Not alive = terrifying for the Grov-ster. (Full disclosure: Grover is slowly adjusting to the car situation after a bit of practice .)
Tiny tiny puppy: LOVE HER! Must be living. During a first puppy play date, Grover took on a tiny little new-born pup. While he had about 45 lbs on the lil girl, he played very nice.
Stairs: ACK!!! Grover freaks his shit out at stairs. He has not yet adjusted to them. At all. He does a little excited/nervous jig/hop around the living room when he watches us go downstairs, and has not yet attempted going down them on his own. We'll have to work on this one.
Kitten: LOVE HER! Must be alive. He sniffed this kitten's bum so much that he ended up giving her a bit of a sled ride across the linoleum floor. Not even the hint of a nip. The kitten then came back to play. If it's alive, Grover wants to play with it. Kittens are just weird small dogs to him, so lets play.
Tile floor: YIKES! The first time we brought Grover home, he avoided the kitchen and tile entrance-way. He didn't like the tile. This one is just his own crazy. Visit two, he didn't even seem to notice the change in flooring. I thing tilophobia may be a thing of the past already.
Half a squirrel (mostly the . . . um . . . inside half): This was found during a walk. There was much interested sniffing. Almost as if Grover hoped that the intestines would jump up and bound away so that he could chase them. But one solid "come" and he realized that he should probably leave it alone. Actually, considering how inanimate it was at that point, he probably should have been terrified of it.
And i'm that guy. Cause our new dog Grover is once again a key player in this post. this is not a dog blog. That may even have to be Mmy new tagline for 2011. To Be Read and Reread Upon My Untimely Demise: this is not a dog blog.
I have found a new role for Grover. You know how canaries are used in mines to detect carbon monoxide, well Grover can be used to determine whether or not something is alive or inanimate. Enjoy.
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| What?!? |
Cars: GULP! Upon getting within a 15 feet diameter of mmf or my car, Grover will weight his body down and go into, what i call, pancake mode. His objective is to "become the ground" so as not to be moved. If Grover is scared of something, it means it must be inanimate. Not alive = terrifying for the Grov-ster. (Full disclosure: Grover is slowly adjusting to the car situation after a bit of practice .)
Tiny tiny puppy: LOVE HER! Must be living. During a first puppy play date, Grover took on a tiny little new-born pup. While he had about 45 lbs on the lil girl, he played very nice.
Stairs: ACK!!! Grover freaks his shit out at stairs. He has not yet adjusted to them. At all. He does a little excited/nervous jig/hop around the living room when he watches us go downstairs, and has not yet attempted going down them on his own. We'll have to work on this one.
Kitten: LOVE HER! Must be alive. He sniffed this kitten's bum so much that he ended up giving her a bit of a sled ride across the linoleum floor. Not even the hint of a nip. The kitten then came back to play. If it's alive, Grover wants to play with it. Kittens are just weird small dogs to him, so lets play.
Tile floor: YIKES! The first time we brought Grover home, he avoided the kitchen and tile entrance-way. He didn't like the tile. This one is just his own crazy. Visit two, he didn't even seem to notice the change in flooring. I thing tilophobia may be a thing of the past already.
Half a squirrel (mostly the . . . um . . . inside half): This was found during a walk. There was much interested sniffing. Almost as if Grover hoped that the intestines would jump up and bound away so that he could chase them. But one solid "come" and he realized that he should probably leave it alone. Actually, considering how inanimate it was at that point, he probably should have been terrified of it.
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| Yin-Yang face |
Here's to health and happiness in 2011.
Monday, December 20, 2010 | 2 Comment(s)
Let's go back. Back in time. I am a wise-ass, tightly wound, over-achieving high school student. My dad, at that time, is a tightly wound oncologist who hates, above all, being interrupted by telemarketers. Especially during dinner.
Context. This is a time when cellphones don't exist and the constant interruption from phones was not yet the norm. This is before caller ID and knowing ahead of time not to pick up an "Unknown Number." Especially during dinner.
And so, when my father did, on occasion, pick up the phone to find a well-enunciating young man or woman asking him personal questions with no lead in, or telling him about the marvel that is so-and-so running for lieutenant governor, he let em have it. There were definitely a few different tactics that he employed. There was the pointed dressing down, where the fact that he wasn't screaming made it all the worse. And then there were the more seldom, but much more fun to watch "sprint and slams." These are where he says one line about the fuckery that is calling people during their family meals and then says BYE! and slams down the phone.
Context. Now, when i say 'slams down the phone', i don't mean an iPhone was thrown down on a table. This is way back when phones had two pieces, the base and the receiver. AND THEY WERE CONNECTED TO EACH OTHER! And there was this wonderful empowering feeling that could be had by violently returning the receiver to the base, thus ending the call with a slamming sound on the other end. the bases were pretty much built for that impact. These were the good ol days i tell yah.
*Quick Tangent: in the "you heard it here first department." We need a slam button for our cellphones. A button you can press that will emit the sound of a slamming phone to the caller before hanging up on them. The phone slam is an endangered species, and i think there really needs to be "an app for that." *end tangent
I tell you all this because one day back then I picked up the phone and heard what was essentially a telemarketer from some oncological journal, wanting my father to contribute. I knew how to deal with these people. I'd seen my father do it time and time before. They said, "would Dr. Z like to contribute to the . . . blah blah blah.
"I'm sorry sir, but Dr. Z passed away."
"Oh oh, i'm so so sorry. I'm sorry for your loss. Have a good night."
I'm brilliant. Face it. You're laughing. That means you're just as awful as me. Doesn't it feel great.
My dad laughed to. Hard in fact. I remember that he thought it was super funny in that way that parents do where you can show your kid that you know what he did was hilarious but at the same time you restrain yourself so as not to encourage such behavior.
I went downstairs and returned to, most likely, watching some tv. I'm not completely sure what was happening in my dad's mind upstairs, but i suspect it went something like this:
"That funny ass little shit. Telling those money-callers i'm dead. hilarious. I mean, what's the worst that can happen. Well, the journal could POTENTIALLY report that i'm dead. and i guess that telemarketer could take it upon himself to tell someone in the magazine proper to but me in the obituaries . . . holy crap they're gonna tell everyone i'm dead."
like i said, he was high-strung in those days.
about 45 min later he comes down stairs to talk to me about said phone call. He is no longer laughing. He says that i have to take responsibility for my actions. Which means, he says, I need to call this oncology journal back and tell them that my dad is not, in fact, dead, as i had earlier indicated.
I'm 17 but i'm not blind to the ridiculousness of this. I mean, it was the "fund raising department" calling for money. Do they talk to the editors. No. How does one track down the person i told? I can't. How hilarious and humiliating is it to call someone to tell them that you lied about your dad's degree of alive-ness? Very.
But the red lines slip-and-sliding horizontally across my dad's forehead made me sure that something would need to be done. So I did my best. I found a number for that magazine. I called and talked to a totally different person.
I said, "Look, here's the deal, you guys called to get money from my father, whose an oncologist, and I told the guy on the phone that my dad is dead. Which he is not. And so now i'm calling to let you know that Dr. Z is, in fact, alive. He is worried that this might somehow get to the obituary section of your magazine and thus tell everyone he's dead, when he's not dead. "
Silence from the other end of the phone. Then. "Ok . . . i'll . . . um . . . let them know."
I bet he didn't. Smart money says that the guy i first talked to hung up and moved on to the next name on the call list -- and the second guy i talked to most likely hung up, said to himself "what the f was that" and went about his business. Little did they know that in the background of those 2 ridic phone calls was a Shakespearean comedy/tragedy playing out at my house.
It seems, that once again, the joke was on me.
Context. This is a time when cellphones don't exist and the constant interruption from phones was not yet the norm. This is before caller ID and knowing ahead of time not to pick up an "Unknown Number." Especially during dinner.
And so, when my father did, on occasion, pick up the phone to find a well-enunciating young man or woman asking him personal questions with no lead in, or telling him about the marvel that is so-and-so running for lieutenant governor, he let em have it. There were definitely a few different tactics that he employed. There was the pointed dressing down, where the fact that he wasn't screaming made it all the worse. And then there were the more seldom, but much more fun to watch "sprint and slams." These are where he says one line about the fuckery that is calling people during their family meals and then says BYE! and slams down the phone.
Context. Now, when i say 'slams down the phone', i don't mean an iPhone was thrown down on a table. This is way back when phones had two pieces, the base and the receiver. AND THEY WERE CONNECTED TO EACH OTHER! And there was this wonderful empowering feeling that could be had by violently returning the receiver to the base, thus ending the call with a slamming sound on the other end. the bases were pretty much built for that impact. These were the good ol days i tell yah.
*Quick Tangent: in the "you heard it here first department." We need a slam button for our cellphones. A button you can press that will emit the sound of a slamming phone to the caller before hanging up on them. The phone slam is an endangered species, and i think there really needs to be "an app for that." *end tangent
I tell you all this because one day back then I picked up the phone and heard what was essentially a telemarketer from some oncological journal, wanting my father to contribute. I knew how to deal with these people. I'd seen my father do it time and time before. They said, "would Dr. Z like to contribute to the . . . blah blah blah.
"I'm sorry sir, but Dr. Z passed away."
"Oh oh, i'm so so sorry. I'm sorry for your loss. Have a good night."
I'm brilliant. Face it. You're laughing. That means you're just as awful as me. Doesn't it feel great.
My dad laughed to. Hard in fact. I remember that he thought it was super funny in that way that parents do where you can show your kid that you know what he did was hilarious but at the same time you restrain yourself so as not to encourage such behavior.
I went downstairs and returned to, most likely, watching some tv. I'm not completely sure what was happening in my dad's mind upstairs, but i suspect it went something like this:
"That funny ass little shit. Telling those money-callers i'm dead. hilarious. I mean, what's the worst that can happen. Well, the journal could POTENTIALLY report that i'm dead. and i guess that telemarketer could take it upon himself to tell someone in the magazine proper to but me in the obituaries . . . holy crap they're gonna tell everyone i'm dead."
like i said, he was high-strung in those days.
about 45 min later he comes down stairs to talk to me about said phone call. He is no longer laughing. He says that i have to take responsibility for my actions. Which means, he says, I need to call this oncology journal back and tell them that my dad is not, in fact, dead, as i had earlier indicated.
I'm 17 but i'm not blind to the ridiculousness of this. I mean, it was the "fund raising department" calling for money. Do they talk to the editors. No. How does one track down the person i told? I can't. How hilarious and humiliating is it to call someone to tell them that you lied about your dad's degree of alive-ness? Very.
But the red lines slip-and-sliding horizontally across my dad's forehead made me sure that something would need to be done. So I did my best. I found a number for that magazine. I called and talked to a totally different person.
I said, "Look, here's the deal, you guys called to get money from my father, whose an oncologist, and I told the guy on the phone that my dad is dead. Which he is not. And so now i'm calling to let you know that Dr. Z is, in fact, alive. He is worried that this might somehow get to the obituary section of your magazine and thus tell everyone he's dead, when he's not dead. "
Silence from the other end of the phone. Then. "Ok . . . i'll . . . um . . . let them know."
I bet he didn't. Smart money says that the guy i first talked to hung up and moved on to the next name on the call list -- and the second guy i talked to most likely hung up, said to himself "what the f was that" and went about his business. Little did they know that in the background of those 2 ridic phone calls was a Shakespearean comedy/tragedy playing out at my house.
It seems, that once again, the joke was on me.
Saturday, December 18, 2010 | 4 Comment(s)
I promise not become one of those people. I promise. This is not the end of the mattitiyahu blog and the beginning of the puppy blog. While i cannot promise there won't be pictures of grover in the future, after this post (you'll at least get a break til we pick him up for good on the 3rd), i can promise that i won't treat this dog like my child and think you want to know every minute detail about his expressions, poops, and snoring (its adorable--the snores not the poops [though the poops are now hook-worm negative--which is good--oh my god im those people!!!]). Come to think of it, i'm gonna try not to treat my unconceived child like that. No promises there.
but this is a blog post about grover. that's a lie. Like always, its a blog post about me. but in this case it's my experience of being with grover for a sleepover for the past 24 hours.
Folks, it's been a revelation. I have never had a pet. That's another lie. I have had countless fish (die) (quickly). I also had my beloved elderly babysitter convince my parents to let me get a bird when i was in middle school. I got one. For three days. Then i had an asthma attack and ended up in the ER. Bye bye birdie. But that's it. everyone was allergic to cats, and dogs were, from day one, always not an option. Yes, we asked. Yes, we pointed out that they had had dogs when they were little. But we knew, in this regard, they weren't going to budge. I don't hold a grudge (rhyme). But what i did hold onto was the feeling that "i wasn't allowed to get a dog." Or perhaps more accurately, "dogs are things that other people can have." having grover spend some real time with us started to break that self-conception. And the outpouring of happiness that is replacing it truly makes me feel like a 7 year old, giddy to get the best Hannukah present ever (even better than the previous best -- which was the original Nintendo). I couldn't even sleep the night before we picked grover up. 5:30 am. I was wide awake. Puppy day.
He is a love. We brought him to the local/our favorite pub last night which allows dogs. The music was going and there were plenty of people. He was shy at first. then he adjusted and took the pets, praise and peanuts from the bar patrons (sneaky dog--just like his mommy). Then he just chilled. We sat there getting compliments on how well behaved and good mannered he is, and we're like, "yah, we've worked really hard on him . . . . for at least 8 hrs. now." He has trouble with firsts. Steps are a no go on the first day. The tile floor near the bathroom and kitchen was a boundary until i put his food dish on it (scarfed). But mostly, i love his want to be near us. The kindness he explores with (he's in the rescue center running free with about 7 cats, and he just wants to play with them) and the thankfulness he emits when he comes and plops down next to you . . . mmf and i are deeply deeply in love. All over again. This morning, after mmf took a quick nap, i woke her up by saying, "You're still my favorite all-time, but now it's close."
this post is about happiness. excitement. change.
back surgery sucked. my eye infection has sucked. grad school has sucked. there has been a tangible lack of excitement plaguing my recent life. But right now. in the moment. I'm excited. I'm excited for new years when my friends are coming into town to play in the Vermont snow with me. I'm excited to move into a bigger place where mmf and i can coexist without being on top of each other all the time (hehe--not in the good way). I'm excited to be a dog owner and share myself with a pet in a way i have never had the opportunity to in the past. I'm excited to give grover the bourge-est, most spoiled, love-fest of a life that he was denied for his first year and a half. I'm excited that amongst the crap of this year i've had two of the all-time best days of my entire life (engagement & yesterday), as well as getting to watch my brother get married. And im excited to be excited about things again. I love the new. I love the nervous excitement. It makes me feel alive. and that's what this blog post is about.
but this is a blog post about grover. that's a lie. Like always, its a blog post about me. but in this case it's my experience of being with grover for a sleepover for the past 24 hours.
Our little gentleman
Folks, it's been a revelation. I have never had a pet. That's another lie. I have had countless fish (die) (quickly). I also had my beloved elderly babysitter convince my parents to let me get a bird when i was in middle school. I got one. For three days. Then i had an asthma attack and ended up in the ER. Bye bye birdie. But that's it. everyone was allergic to cats, and dogs were, from day one, always not an option. Yes, we asked. Yes, we pointed out that they had had dogs when they were little. But we knew, in this regard, they weren't going to budge. I don't hold a grudge (rhyme). But what i did hold onto was the feeling that "i wasn't allowed to get a dog." Or perhaps more accurately, "dogs are things that other people can have." having grover spend some real time with us started to break that self-conception. And the outpouring of happiness that is replacing it truly makes me feel like a 7 year old, giddy to get the best Hannukah present ever (even better than the previous best -- which was the original Nintendo). I couldn't even sleep the night before we picked grover up. 5:30 am. I was wide awake. Puppy day.
He is a love. We brought him to the local/our favorite pub last night which allows dogs. The music was going and there were plenty of people. He was shy at first. then he adjusted and took the pets, praise and peanuts from the bar patrons (sneaky dog--just like his mommy). Then he just chilled. We sat there getting compliments on how well behaved and good mannered he is, and we're like, "yah, we've worked really hard on him . . . . for at least 8 hrs. now." He has trouble with firsts. Steps are a no go on the first day. The tile floor near the bathroom and kitchen was a boundary until i put his food dish on it (scarfed). But mostly, i love his want to be near us. The kindness he explores with (he's in the rescue center running free with about 7 cats, and he just wants to play with them) and the thankfulness he emits when he comes and plops down next to you . . . mmf and i are deeply deeply in love. All over again. This morning, after mmf took a quick nap, i woke her up by saying, "You're still my favorite all-time, but now it's close."
this post is about happiness. excitement. change.
back surgery sucked. my eye infection has sucked. grad school has sucked. there has been a tangible lack of excitement plaguing my recent life. But right now. in the moment. I'm excited. I'm excited for new years when my friends are coming into town to play in the Vermont snow with me. I'm excited to move into a bigger place where mmf and i can coexist without being on top of each other all the time (hehe--not in the good way). I'm excited to be a dog owner and share myself with a pet in a way i have never had the opportunity to in the past. I'm excited to give grover the bourge-est, most spoiled, love-fest of a life that he was denied for his first year and a half. I'm excited that amongst the crap of this year i've had two of the all-time best days of my entire life (engagement & yesterday), as well as getting to watch my brother get married. And im excited to be excited about things again. I love the new. I love the nervous excitement. It makes me feel alive. and that's what this blog post is about.
