Resolved

I don't do New Year's resolutions. I think the last time I formally made one was New Year's 2006. I said I wasn't going to drink during the week. Of course, on New Year's Day that year I found out one of my best friends had been in a horrible accident, and two weeks later she died, and I spent the next three months almost constantly drunk. I really haven't had the heart to make a resolution since then.

It isn't that I don't need to make changes in my life, I do. After all, if I don't start working out again I am going to end up a gelatinous blob that doesn't have enough muscle tone to bend over and tie my shoes. I wear slip-ons most of the time, but that's beside the point. Also, my car is going to be classified as a Superfund site if I don't start cleaning it out regularly. So, I guess committing to going to the gym, or keeping trash bags in car would make excellent resolutions. The only problem is that I actually want to do these things, and making them resolutions almost certainly means I won't.

I think my reticence comes from the fact that I don't like taking orders from anyone, even myself. And New Year's resolutions feel less like great ideas, and more like demands. That makes me want to shake my little fist in rage. Also, I resent the fact that people want to know what your New Year's resolutions are. When I join Weight Watchers in March no one gives a damn. But do it on January first and everyone wants to know about it -- most likely to place bets on when I give up.

I guess I could be a smart ass about my dislike about New Year's resolutions, and say jerky things like "I resolved not to make any resolutions." Oh, that's really clever. Do you say you would wish for more wishes too? And who is your fifth grade teacher next year? Or I could resolve to do something easy -- like breathe. But no, I would do either. Instead, I will just raise a glass to toast the new year, and any changes I may intentionally, or unintentionally make over it's course. I mean, like sucking less at keeping up with my blog.

I wish you all a happy 2009. And I don't think any of you need to make any resolutions. You are perfect just the way you are... No, I'm not being sarcastic.

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We Now Rejoin Our Normal Programming

Yeah, I haven't posted for a week. I guess if I actually got paid for this I would be fired. I have a really good reason for not living up to my blogging responsibility, but it isn't that interesting, and it definitely isn't funny. That post would basically be all about busy holidays, guests visiting, and me whining like a little bitch. If you want to read posts like that there are a million blogs out there featuring them this week. I like to think I am better than that though, so I am giving you a multiple choice list, and you can pick the reason I haven't been blogging that makes you feel best, and makes you hate me the least.

1. I have been trapped under something heavy, but not so heavy that it really hurt me, and that it couldn't keep me from eating.
2. I was kidnapped by aliens. Not the ones from Mexico, Bush-ites.
3. I was coaching Sarah Palin's daughter through the birth of her child.
4. I burned my hands saving a group of penguins and nuns from a burning biodome.
5. I was busy sorting our recycling, because I like to save it up until the end of the year.
6. I was wearing Lee press on nails and couldn't type.
7. Two words: box wine.

I hope that helps you heal. And don't worry, LibbyLogic will be wrapping up big for those of you still sticking around...

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It Seemed Like A Good Idea

One of the lessons my Mother taught me, besides to never stick my arm out of the window of a car, is that, if I ever want to kill anyone, an icicle is the perfect weapon. I don't know why my Mom thought this was an important thing to teach me, but I remember her mentioning it more than once, and even listing her reasons for her opinion. She said that icicles gave you options, since you could stab or bludgeon your victim, and that it would be impossible for the cops to catch you, since the evidence would melt. I mean, unless you told your kids about how you could kill someone with an icicle -- then they might have probable cause.

Icicles have been plentiful in Utah in the past few days, due to the large amount of snow, and fluctuating temperatures. By yesterday afternoon every house in the valley looked as if it had a cold and no tissue. My Mom's house had the lion's share. When I arrived I was amazed at the size and number hanging from her roof. I took a moment to worry about her storm gutters, and another to wonder if my Mom was planning a Christmas Day massacre, before I decided to grab a broom handle and knock the suckers down. Luckily, Luke was there to help.

We started out slowly, knocking down the smallest ones, taking turns and hitting lightly. After all, it is almost Christmas and I didn't want either of us to lose an eye. However, the excitement of the cracking ice got to both of us, and we got a little crazy...

Don't worry, he's fine. It isn't like he really needs to be able to do calculus anyway. We probably should have stopped after he got hit on the head. Yeah, we probably should have done that. I mean, if we had we might not have broken the cover to the porch lamp, and probably wouldn't have had to make an emergency trip to Home Depot to fix it before my Mom got home. But that's a story for another time. After all, if my Mom finds out about it she might kill me, and I know exactly the weapon she'll use.

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Gift Ideas

I had fully intended to do a full fledged gift guide this year. Really, I did. I was going to give gift ideas for politicos, for environmentalists, for fashionistas, and for douche bags that you have to have to buy presents for. It probably would have helped you immensely. Unfortunately, I didn't it get it done. I could give you a lot of excuses, stories about how I had to walk seven miles through the snow for a gallon of milk, or how I was knitting scarves out of llama hair for dogs at the pound, but, the truth is, I just kept putting it off until it was too late.

I don't want to leave you totally clueless when it comes to last minute gifts though, so here are three gift ideas that I stumbled upon while out and about today.

Two great gifts idea -- RIGHT NEXT TO EACH OTHER!! I could not believe it. I was actually really, really, disappointed that I had already finished my shopping, and so no one on my list will be getting either of these excellent tomes. I am sure they are both filled not only with inspirational stories, and humorous anecdotes, but also the kind of inventive literary structures that exisist only in the classics. I think that 50 years from now kids will be required to read Shakespeare, Lee, Salinger, and Norris.

This is really more of a stocking stuffer than a full fledged gift, but I think it's prefect for anyone who appreciates spiced meat products -- and that is pretty much everyone. After all, some times an entire can of Spam is just too much in one sitting. Some times you just need a slice. And at just a dollar 19 each, you can get one for everyone on your list.

I hope this has helped. It may be just one day of gift ideas, but I think they are the gifts that will keep on giving. I mean, especially if Spam effects you the way it does me...

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An Early Gift

Something for all of you... Just because I care.

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Christmas Bloat

This morning I had to suck in when buttoning my jeans. Now, that wouldn't normally be news, except I was putting on my fat girl jeans, and I normally buy pants baggy. Yes, I know that a lot of my weight gain over the past year is due to fertility hormones (a lot of my crazy is too), but I think at least some of it, the last little bit of fat that just spills over my waistband, is due to the fact that since Thanksgiving I have pretty much put almost anything and everything edible into my mouth.

There are a few things I have been able to avoid. Anything with walnuts for instance, and homemade fudge. Really, I just don't get fudge. Why don't you just let a can of icing sit out for a few days and spoon it into your mouth. It's the same thing. Of course, for every tiny piece of fudge I have turned down I have doubled up on those things I really do like. Like those really soft store bought iced sugar cookies. I looove those. I swear they have crack in them. That's what keeps them soft even after they have been sitting out for days on end. They melt in the mouth, which makes it even better, because then I don't have to waste calories chewing them. And the sugar rush is almost immediate.

The other treat I have been heartily enjoying are these wonderful chocolate dipped peppermint marshmallows my friend Rich made. I haven't been able to enjoy them as much as I would like, since I can't buy them at the store and Rich is insistent that other people get some too, but the ones I have had have been a highlight. It took all my willpower to share with Ryan.

Since I used up all my willpower on sharing the marshmallows I have had none left to pass up the loaves and loaves of sweet breads that have come into the office. Pumpkin chocolate chip. Holiday berry. Banana nut. I rationalize my partaking in the fact that they all have some kind of fruit in them, and also are considered breakfast foods in most parts of the county. Of course, one piece of bread is too small for breakfast, so I have to have two, or three.

I really worry about my eating on Christmas day, because that is when things get really good. In years that I have been able to resist the onslaught of goodies leading up to the holiday I still have fallen apart on the day itself. Homemade cinnamon rolls. Bacon wrapped asparagus. Meatballs. Mimosas. My Mother lays out a brunch that could kill you, and very well will kill me.

Maybe I should ask Santa for bigger pants...

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The Santa Situation

When I was a kid I loved Santa. I was one of the very last among my friends to stop believing, and I only accepted it after my Mom basically flat out told me. I even think she had me wrap some of my own presents. I don't remember being upset by the fact there really isn't a Santa, just kind of resigned to it. It was like "okay, that part of my life is over. Bring on the anti-depressants." I don't think believing in Santa harmed me in any way, but nor did it make me a better person, or instill a sense of optimism that I wouldn't have had otherwise. However, while I may have fond childhood memories of Santa, and no psychological scars from the revelation he isn't real, I worry about other children, especially those who are growing up today. And that's why I think we should get rid of Santa.

My anti-Santa platform began forming a little over a week ago. I was out with my book group doing shopping for Sub for Santa. Four women in their 30's, most of us without kids, shopping for two families that we didn't know. Sure, they had written down what they wanted, but it was really up to us. One of the little girls wanted make-up, which we decided was inappropriate. Another wanted Teeny Pupini, which, besides being obscene, was definitely out of our price range. After all, we also had to get them clothes and shoes. And that's when it hit me. There was really no way these children weren't going to be disappointed -- and it is all Santa's fault.

I am not saying that kids shouldn't get gifts on Christmas. They should. But those gifts should come from their parents, not some magical man who judges whether they have been good or bad. After all, good or bad really has nothing to do with it. Household budgets, and the inventory at stores are the real keys. We are setting kids up for disappointment, and self-doubt, when really we could be instilling in them thankfulness and familial bonding.

Is Santa a "noble lie" though? Something kids need so that they aren't thrust into the cold harsh reality of adulthood too early? So in the weeks before Christmas they can believe anything is possible, and not just possible if Dad or Mom happens to get a bonus? I don't know. I do know though that looking back on my favorite Christmas, the one where I got a Cabbage Patch doll when we thought they were all sold out, I prefer to remember my Mom as the giver, rather than the mythical Santa. Yes, it was supposedly from him. But knowing that my Mom spent hours going from store to store, just to find some dumb doll, is more touching to me than any fairy tale.

Looking at it now I see Santa and Jesus, the two prime figures of Christmas, at opposite ends of the continuum. Jesus is on the spiritual, charitable side, talking about love and acceptance, while Santa is on the other end, basking in commercialism, and promising gifts if you do exactly what he says. I think the mid-point is giving gifts to family and friends, but not hiding our efforts behind a jolly old elf. We can keep Santa around though as a gimmick though. After all, he's cute. The sitting on the knee thing has got to go though. That is just creepy.

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Christmas Card Writer's Block

Ryan and I are in the midst of doing Christmas cards, which I really don't like doing. It isn't that I don't want to keep in touch with our family and friends, it's just that I don't want to get in touch with them all at once. It's hard being funny, personal, and poignant 70 times in a row, especially when I have to keep drinking wine to keep writers cramp from starting in... It would be so much easier if I could space these out through the whole year. Everyone A thru D in January, E thru H in February, etc. I just imagine the long beautiful notes I could write then. Instead, by the time I reach the end of our list I am write as if I am still in high school: "Stay cool and have a great 2009!" No wonder the Zimmermans never want to come and visit.

Okay, time to get back to the grind. At least we don't have to lick the envelopes. Sally has to pull her weight somewhere. I'll blog more tomorrow. Until then, I hope you have an awesome evening and that we have more time to get to know each other next post... DAMNIT!!! It's happening again!

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Christmas Rodents

My niece Amaya wants a gerbil. No, wait. She doesn't just want one, she is obsessed with having one, in that strange, manic ways only 8-year old girls can be. Oh, and don't say she wants a hamster, or a guinea pig -- that will only get you a withering look that implies you have no idea about the superiority or gerbils in the rodent world.

Amaya's obsession began on Tuesday, when she wandered into a classroom at Ryan's school and found it had several cages containing various vermin. I told Ryan about it, but he insists it does not mean the school needs to be fumigated, and is, in fact, the best way to teach sixth graders exponential math. Amaya instantly fell in love with the gerbils, and decided there would be nothing better than having one of her own. Since that time any adult that has come in contact with her has heard about nothing else.

It was the first thing she mentioned to me when she got into the car after school yesterday. After telling me that school was fine and that she had learned"nothing" (quite disturbing considering the tuition cost), she asked if I had ten dollars. I said yes, and she informed me that money would be best spent on a gerbil. I told her I didn't need a gerbil, because Ryan and I were having chicken for dinner. That is when she announced her plan. "The gerbil would be for me, " she said, "it would live in my room in a cage that Mr. Waters said I could have. I would feed it, and clean it's cage, and it could sit on my shoulder and climb on my head. Oh, and don't worry about the poop. gerbils have dry poop, but hamsters have wet poop." I was really glad she clarified the poop part.

The inside of Amaya's head.

Because I really like Amaya's Mom, and don't want her plotting my death, I told Amaya I didn't think it would be a good idea to go get a gerbil. She instantly went to plan B -- wanting to call her Mom every five minutes to discuss the gerbil situation. I managed to stave her off, but there was no stopping the gerbil assault when Andrea arrived to pick Amaya up. Then there was no stopping it. After five minutes I had heard the word "gerbil" at least 30 times, and the word "responsible" at least ten. Finally, Andrea sent Amaya off to change her clothes -- and then she gave me the scoop. "I keep telling her she has to ask Santa," Andrea said, "but she keeps insisting that Santa can't bring it because it's livestock." She hung her head, defeated by an 8-year old genius.

There is no doubt in my mind that Amaya will be getting a gerbil. She might even be getting three. After all, she has her Mom, her Dad, and me. Oh, and Santa, of course. However, he might mess up and get her a hamster. After all, it's a busy time of year, and this is a last minute request. I wouldn't want to be him after Amaya opens it though. He will totally be on her shit list.

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How To Fell the News Media

There is a secret weapon that could be utilized to bring down every news organization in the world. Brilliant in simplicity, relatively easy to make, and disturbingly harmless looking, I am surprised no one has tried it before. No, it isn't anthrax. It's food. Free food to be exact. And now is the perfect time to launch the attack.

Yes, yes, I know that there is no business in the world where free food is not welcomed. My husband and mother say newsrooms have nothing on teachers' lounges. My Mom remembers fondly the time that a box of chocolates stamped with the word"irregular" were devoured in less than an hour. No one asked why they were irregular -- if they were dropped on the floor, or filled with weird flavors like wasabi -- they just ate. That's a good story. However, if those chocolates had been delivered to the newsroom they would not have only been eaten, but people who didn't get any would have been pissed, and others would have been hoarding them.

Now is the high season for newsroom food. Candy, cookies, burritos, you name it. Companies or PR agencies send it, and it lands up on the counter not five feet from my desk. We call it the "trough." That is not hyperbole. When food is placed there it is a matter of seconds before it is set upon. I don't mean in a "hey, is that food" way, I mean in a "I will rip out your throat unless I get my share of that" way. If it is something palatable, like bagels or donuts, the goods last less than 2 minutes. The more questionable items, like raisin filled cookies or vegetables, may last up to 30 minutes. No matter what it is, after an hour it is consumed. The only thing I have seen last longer than that? Halloween candy I found in my basement more than a year after the fact. And that didn't last until the end of the day.

Al Qaeda (or any terrorist group your choice) could take down a news room with a plate of cookies laced with poison. They could even write on the card "enjoy the poison cookies." It wouldn't matter, because people would be too busy eating the cookies. Those who did look would think it was just a funny joke, and consider blogging about it before the st0mach cramps set in. The only thing the terrorist group would have to worry about is delivering all the cookies at once, so we can't warn others. That could be their downfall though, since terrorists don't seem all that organized.

You know, maybe the terrorists don't want to hit us all at once though. Maybe they are sending non-poisoned, extremely fattening food to newsrooms in order to kill the American news media slowly. We will become slower, and fatter, and uglier, and the world will have even more disdain for our country. High blood pressure, and excessive sweating will keep us from warning of problems overseas and imminent threats here. If we go to the gym? The terrorists win.

I should really contact the FBI and tell them about my theory. I just don't want them to take any pumpkin chocolate chip bread. I love that stuff.

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P.S. I Hate Myself

I have a bet with my friend Murphy that has been going on for a decade. It has to do with the movie "Titanic." When it came out, we both decided it was quite possibly the worst movie ever, and that which ever one of us saw it first would have to declare themselves the biggest wuss of all time. It is the only bet I have, and probably ever will, care about winning. Murphy claims he has already won it, and, that my being a girl means I have already been dragged to see it. How wrong he is. See, there is one thing Murphy seems to forget about me: I am not a fan of romantic comedies.

I have not always been this way. In the early 1990's I looooved all things schmaltzy. "When Harry Met Sally" was my favorite movie, and I watched it like a training film. However, in recent years, I don't know if it's me, or the movies that have changed, but now I can't stand them. The heroines all seem so vapid and marriage obsessed. Everyone has to look gorgeous at all times. They all swoon about fashion and shoes, have much bigger apartments than they should, and never seem to go to work. It was charming in 30 minutes of "Sex and the City" every week, but in a two hour movie? Obnoxious. I have avoided all romantic comedies since my sister and I went to see "27 Dresses" this summer. And that was enough for at least two years. Or so I thought...

Last night I was flipping through the channels waiting for Ryan to get home when I happened upon the movie "P.S. I Love You." I won't go into details, but I watched the whole thing, and even teared up at one point. And I wasn't even drunk. Making it even worse? I have ridiculed by Mom for renting this movie, and then liking it so much that she bought it. I am really afraid that on Christmas morning a t-shirt with a picture of Hillary Swank and the words "I LOVED THIS MOVIE" will be waiting for me under the tree.

I woke up this morning just feeling dirty. Not only does the heroine of this movie embarrass herself to the delight of men who find her foibles "adorable," but, the way she finally finds herself? Shoes. She decides to make shoes -- and take feminism back 40 years. And when it happened? I sighed. I think I have to let me armpit hair grow until the new year to make up for it.

But at least I still haven't seen 'Titanic." I'm pretty sure Murphy has though...

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Christmas Ooooh and Ughs

The Christmas season is upon us, whether we like it or not. I usually enjoy the holidays, but this year I just can't get into it. That probably has something to do with the fact it's still in the high 50's here in Utah. Damn global warming, stealing my yuletide glow. Without the snow and the cold all I can think about are the things that annoy me about Christmas. As you may well expect, there are quite a few of them, so I'll just list the top five....

1. Eggnog This stuff had to invented on a bet. It's like someone said "let's create a liquid answer to haggis." And the fact that some people drink is sans alcohol? That is something that belongs in the DSM.

2. Cinnamon Scented Pine Cones One bag? Charming. Five hundred bags stacked right at the entrance of any supermarket I may enter from November 1st through January 31st? An olfactory nightmare that makes me want to toss my cookies. We get it, Christmas is here, but does that mean we can't smell anything else?

3. Gift Cards Gift cards should only be given in cases where you a) are pitching in for a large gift, or b) the person getting the gift has to be there to pick it out/try it on/get it licensed. At any other time all a gift card says is "I am obligated to get you a gift, but I don't know you well enough to know what you would like." If it truly is "the thought that counts," then gift cards are literally a no-brainer. And people who ask specifically for gift cards? They should just get a bell and a bucket and ask for cash.

4. Breakfast with Santa Why does it have to be breakfast? Doesn't Santa realize that the weekend is the only time some of us get to sleep in? Why can't it be cocktail hour with Santa? Or even brunch with Santa? I would be willing to split the difference and do brunch. Oh, and could we do it somewhere that the food doesn't suck? I have never been to a breakfast with Santa where the food was better than what I could get at Denny's. Santa has to have at least one elf that can cook...

5. The Nutcracker My hatred of the Nutcracker could have something to do with the dance teacher who told my mother lessons were a waste of her money and my time, but I prefer to believe that it is simply because this ballet sucks. The plot goes right in the crapper when Flora heads off to the magical land. After that it's just every stupid dance that can be crammed in in order to make sure it isn't under four hours long. I've already told Ryan that he is on Nutcracker duty if we ever have a daughter. Maybe they can drink eggnog beforehand.

I know that several of you disagree with at least one of the items on my list. And I know even more of you secretly agree with all of them. Or are there other things that bug you even more? Let me know... Let's share Christmas pain.

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An Open Letter to Keith Olbermann

Dear Keith Olbermann,

Thank you for making my job harder.

You see, I am a television producer here in Salt Lake City Utah, the state that is home to your pick for “worst person in the world” Representative Chris Buttars. You bestowed the honor on him Tuesday night on your MSNBC talk show because of his call for the passage of a resolution encouraging retailers to use the phrase “Merry Christmas” in their holiday promotions. By doing so, you have given him more attention than he ever deserves, and brought people out of the wood work wanting to defend him, and Utah, from a “sad lonely bitter man” (their words, not mine). That’s just great.

Let me explain something to you, Keith, here in Utah Buttars is a joke. Few people give what he says credence, and he is seldom mentioned in the press unless it is a in a “how does this guy get re-elected” or “what kind of crazy thing is he saying now” sense. Of course, that was before you stepped into the picture. Just as we were about to file this story away in the “not important” bin you came along and blew everything to hell. Now, not only are we covering it, but people are writing in saying Buttars has a good idea. The economy is in a shambles, more people here in the state are seeking food and housing assistance than ever before, and cuts are being made to state and local programs that could help them, but we are wasting time on Chris Buttars. Thanks.

Look, I know how hard it is to make people care about the important issues, and how great it is to have a firestorm issue to rant about. We do stories on the economy, or the election, and I can hear remote controls across the Wasatch Front changing the channel. But sensationalizing the person who is basically Utah’s crazy uncle is not the way to increase viewers, and it certainly isn’t the way to improve the viewer’s opinion of television news.

So, please, leave Chris Buttars alone. For me, and for everyone else covering news in Utah. We’ll take care of him. Don’t worry. And if you really need something to talk about, why don’t you go after Peggy Noonan? She says we can’t be in a recession because people are still overweight. Doesn’t that make her worse than Hitler? Go get her!

Sincerely,

Libby

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Sam and Gary

In my line of work, everyone has a story that they hate to cover. A journalistic Achilles heel, if you will. Some of them are ongoing, mind numbing affairs that eat away at the soul year after year. The Presidency of George W. Bush is the first example that springs to mind in that category. Still others are short, and explosive, but no less painful in their crapitude. It could be a car accident that was caused by a clown that backs up the freeway for miles. Or, maybe a SWAT standoff that goes on for hours, even though officers aren't sure if the man inside has a rifle -- or a spork. Or, in the case of my friend Sam, the arrest of Gary Coleman.

I have written on this blog about Mr. Coleman, and his arrest, which was for backing over some guy in the parking lot of a bowling alley. What I haven't mentioned before is that every time Coleman appears in court my friend Sam (with a trusty cameraman, of course) has had to drag his cookies all the way down to Payson, wait outside the courthouse, and try not to doubt his choice of career while doing a minute thirty report on whatever happened with a straight face. Oh, and he also had to do so without commenting on Coleman's wardrobe, which has included toughskin jeans tucked into tiny cowboy boots, an enormous oversize cowboy hat, and, today, what appeared to be snow pants. There are few people I know that could show that kind of restraint. I know I couldn't.

As of today Sam is being set free of his Coleman shackles. Well, kind of. Gary decided to take a plea deal, and as long as he doesn't get in trouble in the next year his record will be wiped clean. He will once again just be a washed up child star, instead of a washed up child star with a criminal record. Yeah, sure, he'll still have to deal with the civil suit against him, filed the yahoo who assumes Coleman is just sitting on a pile of "Diff'rent Strokes" money, but we probably won't cover that. Even we have our limits. So, now all Sam has to do is sit back, and cross his fingers that Coleman keeps his nose clean. Well, that, and that Todd Bridges doesn't move to town...

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Props to the Shorties

I am a short person. Tiny. Minute. Vertically challenged. If I were two inches shorter I would technically be a midget. However, I have never let my short stature bother me -- instead allowing my bombastic personality and cowboy boots with three inch heels to compensate. Now, though, I am thinking of getting rid of the boots, because short people are taking over the world. Witness members of Obama's new administration...



Hell, yeah. Obama knows what he is doing. Not only are all of these people smart, savvy, and ready to undo years of Bush administration incompetence, they can also go for the ankles when things get rough. Yes, they may need booster seats at the table in the cabinet room, but they still walk tall. I bet they don't even need boots with three inch heels. I bet they all have them though. And Hillary's probably are stiletto.

*All photos from Huffingtonpost.com

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Frickin' Sweet

No, your eyes are not deceiving you. No, this is not some beautiful dream. What you see before you is real, and it is for sale just blocks from the home of my parents. It is a Varuck. Half truck. Half van. All awesome. I totally know what Ryan is getting for Christmas...

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